My birthing experience was far from the idyllic, heartwarming tale many expect. However, I share my story to shed light on a rare yet critical pregnancy complication and to remind you to embrace the unexpected moments in life.
My pregnancy began as a dream. For eight months, I relished in long Saturday naps, enjoyed the support of my husband, who let me rest endlessly (though he still owes me a foot rub), indulged in ice cream, and had uneventful doctor visits filled with the same repetitive questions and typical weight gain. Life was good.
Around the 35-week mark, I started feeling unwell. This discomfort lingered while my husband was away on a business trip. When he called to check on me, I dramatically pleaded for Ginger Ale and saltines. I nibbled on snacks, but nothing substantial stayed down. Eventually, I decided it was time to reach out to my doctor.
Fast forward a few days, and everything changed.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness in the hospital, I remember my doctor pacing anxiously, urgently requesting an operating room. She gently informed me that I would have only hours to live if my baby didn’t arrive immediately. I needed an emergency C-section under general anesthesia, and my husband wouldn’t be allowed in the room for the birth of our first child.
Wait a minute. I won’t be awake for this monumental moment? And my husband can’t be there to hear our little one’s first cry? Are you kidding me? Should I ask for a refund on that birthing class I attended?
When I woke up in intensive care, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes, I had no idea where my baby was.
During my recovery, my husband slept in a chair beside my bed for days, bonding with our newborn through skin-to-skin contact, ensuring he was fed, and managing a flood of concerned messages from family. Visitors were allotted only brief moments with me, so my husband took on the task of keeping them away from the sight of my medical condition (and my hair, which had not seen a wash in days).
As for our baby, he was doing well for being a month premature but developed pneumonia and spent a week in the NICU. Now, he is a happy, healthy, and teething five-month-old.
As for me, the recovery is ongoing. I was diagnosed with HELLP Syndrome, along with kidney and liver failure, which doesn’t happen in every case. Many people are unaware of it, as it’s one of those topics tucked away in the back of pregnancy books under “serious complications” that most expectant mothers choose to ignore. Who wants to read about the risks of dying during pregnancy? Not me.
Sadly, it’s a reality for some — and it’s rarely discussed.
Eventually, I moved out of the ICU and spent another eight days in a regular room. I may have wanted to punch the nurse who casually mentioned, “Did you know there’s a patio outside?” after six days of hospital air in the summer. I live in Minnesota, where every moment of summer is precious.
Sure, my birthing experience was far from ideal. I don’t remember holding my son for the first time or feeding him his first meal. I couldn’t even reach for him during the night because my surgery left me nearly immobile.
But you know what I do have?
- A healthy baby.
- An incredibly supportive partner (who is forgiven for that foot rub).
- A doctor who warmly greets me and asks for photos of my son.
- A resilient body that is healing from the tough hand it was dealt.
- And that little 6-pound fighter who showed us his tenacity? He has his mommy.
To all the moms-to-be out there: don’t cling too tightly to your “birth plan.” Be ready to toss it aside and embrace the unpredictable journey of motherhood. In the end, you are someone’s mother, no matter how your child arrives.
We are a community of unique women, bonded by the experience of motherhood. We are proud, and we support each other as partners, daughters, sisters, and friends.
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In summary, my experience with HELLP Syndrome was challenging and far from the traditional birth story. However, it taught me resilience, the importance of support, and to cherish my healthy baby above all else.