“Without immediate action, both your lives are at risk.” My doctor’s words were firm, but I felt utterly unprepared. It was seven weeks before my due date, and I was in disbelief. How could I be so ill when I felt perfectly fine?
For the past month, I had been confined to that hospital bed, and now the doctors insisted my baby needed to be delivered right away, at just 33 weeks. Overwhelmed, I broke down into tears for what felt like the millionth time since I had been admitted.
A month earlier, life was uncomplicated. I was working late one night, chatting with an old friend about my excitement for the baby. After two years of infertility and three rounds of in vitro fertilization, my husband and I were finally expecting. There was a brief scare at 18 weeks when the Triple Test results were questionable. Thankfully, an amniocentesis confirmed everything was fine, and it seemed like smooth sailing until…
I came home from work and went to the bathroom. There it was—blood. My heart raced. This couldn’t be happening; I was only 29 weeks along! Trembling, I called my doctor, who advised me to head to the hospital for a checkup.
I cried while calling my husband, asking him to meet me there. Upon arrival, I was reassured that the baby was fine, but they wanted to keep me overnight for tests. All I wanted was to return home, but fear gripped me.
I barely slept that night. The next morning, my doctor entered with two specialists. “Why do I need high-risk pregnancy specialists?” I thought, panic rising. Thankfully, my husband was by my side. The doctors informed us that I had preeclampsia—a serious condition marked by high blood pressure and protein in the urine.
“But I feel fine!” I protested, tears streaming down my face. It was hard to accept that I was battling something so dangerous.
The doctors assured us that the baby would be okay, but I needed to follow their strict protocols. I would remain in the hospital for the duration of my pregnancy, confined to bed rest except for bathroom breaks and one daily shower. They would monitor the baby closely, but she would likely need to stay in the NICU after birth.
The thought of leaving the hospital without my baby was devastating. As I spiraled into another round of tears, one of the specialists grasped my hands and reassured me, “Your baby will be fine. She’ll go to kindergarten, celebrate her bat mitzvah, and attend college. Yes, she will be born early and spend time in the NICU, but once she’s strong enough, she’ll come home with you.”
His words brought me comfort. I resolved to do whatever it took for my baby’s health.
During my extended stay, I was given a private room, which wasn’t too bad. My husband brought some comforts from home. I became engrossed in daytime TV, read books, and enjoyed visits and gifts from friends. It was a strange mix of anxiety and pampering, but I was still overwhelmed by the daily tests, steroid shots, and ultrasounds. Sleep was elusive.
The constant worry loomed—what if the doctors were wrong? What if my baby wasn’t okay? For four weeks, I was trapped in a cycle of fear and anxiety.
Finally, the day came when one of the tests indicated that it was time for my baby to be delivered. I wasn’t ready; I thought she was still too small. The doctors assured me she was strong enough but needed to be born via emergency C-section. If we waited, neither of us would be safe.
Trusting their expertise, I underwent the C-section that same morning. My beautiful daughter arrived, weighing just 3 pounds and 3 ounces. She needed to stay in the NICU until she reached 4 pounds, which felt like an eternity. After three long weeks, we finally took home our tiny miracle; it was the happiest day of my life.
Now, my daughter is almost 18 years old. The doctor was right—she thrived, attended kindergarten, celebrated her bat mitzvah, and is heading to college next year. She doesn’t remember any of the early struggles, while I will never forget a moment of our journey.
Looking back, I’m grateful I trusted my doctors, even though my experience wasn’t the “normal” pregnancy I had envisioned. In the end, the outcome was what mattered most. Preeclampsia made the road to motherhood daunting, but I would face it all over again for my daughter. For more insight on similar experiences, check out our blog post here. If you’re considering home insemination, visit Make a Mom for reputable insemination kits. Additionally, UCSF offers excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
This article shares the emotional journey of a mother facing preeclampsia during pregnancy. Despite the fear and challenges, the author emphasizes the importance of trusting medical professionals and ultimately celebrates the joy of motherhood.