My birth story isn’t one filled with rainbows and butterflies, but I feel it’s essential to share it to shed light on a rare yet serious pregnancy complication. Plus, a little humor never hurt anyone, right? So here goes…
First off, let me admit: my pregnancy was mostly a breeze. I happily waddled through eight months filled with long weekend naps, a husband who graciously let me lounge (though I still remind him he never rubbed my feet—sorry, James, but that one’s sticking around), and plenty of ice cream. My doctor visits were routine, with the same questions on repeat, and I gained weight at a perfectly acceptable rate. You know, typical stuff.
Around 35 weeks, I started feeling off. This unwellness coincided with James being out of town for work. I dramatically called him, begging for Ginger Ale and saltines, and tried to nibble on whatever I could, but nothing seemed to stay down. After a week of feeling poorly, I finally decided to reach out to my doctor.
Fast forward a few days, and things escalated quickly. My doctor was pacing the hospital floor, urgently requesting an OR while gently informing me that without immediate action, I had mere hours to live if my baby didn’t arrive. I was in and out of consciousness, barely processing that I would need a general anesthesia C-section, with James unable to be by my side when our child was born. Wait—what? I can’t even be awake for this life-altering moment, and my partner won’t be there to hear our little one’s first cry? Talk about a plot twist. I might as well ask for a refund on that birthing class I attended!
When I finally woke up in intensive care, I was surrounded by machines and tubes, completely unaware of my baby’s whereabouts. James had taken on the role of super dad, staying by my side, doing skin-to-skin with our son, and managing the flood of calls and texts from concerned family. With limited visiting hours in the ICU, he played the gatekeeper, ensuring our loved ones didn’t witness my less-than-glamorous recovery.
As for our baby boy, he was doing relatively well for being born a month early. However, he developed pneumonia and spent a week in the NICU. Now, he’s a happy, healthy five-month-old with rosy cheeks and a toothy grin.
As for me, the recovery is ongoing. It turns out I was diagnosed with HELLP Syndrome, along with some kidney and liver failure. Most people have never heard of it because it’s that chapter in the back of the book labeled “serious complications” that many pregnant women prefer to skip. Who wants to read about the potential risks of losing both themselves and their baby? Not me, that’s for sure. But the reality is that it happens, and it’s crucial we talk about it.
After breaking out of the ICU, I spent another eight days in my own room. I nearly lost it when a nurse casually mentioned there was a patio outside, after I had spent six days inhaling hospital air in the summer. Seriously, every moment of summer counts when you live in Minnesota!
Sure, my birthing experience didn’t go as planned. I don’t recall holding my son for the first time or being there to feed him his first meal. I couldn’t even reach for him during those first few nights because of the surgery. But you know what? I have a healthy baby and a supportive partner (who I’ve officially forgiven for the foot rub incident). I have a doctor who greets me with hugs and asks for pictures of my little guy. I have a resilient body that’s healing from a tough ordeal. And that little fighter, who weighed just six pounds at birth? He’s got his mommy.
To all the expectant moms out there: don’t get too attached to that “birth plan.” Instead, be ready to adapt and embrace the unexpected journey of motherhood. Ultimately, you’re someone’s mom, regardless of how your child enters the world.
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Summary
This blog recounts a mother’s experience with HELLP Syndrome, a serious pregnancy complication that disrupted her birth plan. Despite a challenging journey, she reflects on the importance of resilience, support, and embracing motherhood, regardless of unexpected circumstances.