Severe Postpartum Preeclampsia Nearly Killed Me
The silent mom killer no one really talks about.
“Picture your wife as a jet plane right now with two engines. One of her engines just went out. Either it will come back on, and she will keep flying. Or the other engine will go out, and she will crash. Quickly.”
That’s what my OB/GYN said to my then-husband, as I lay in bed in a morphine and magnesium-sulfate induced sleep.
I was suffering from severe postpartum preeclampsia. And they were afraid I would start with eclampsia — seizures. I also had a complication: HELLP Syndrome. And it is life-threatening.
I wasn't aware of just how sick I was until the day I was discharged, my arms covered in bruises from all the IVs, and the nurse asked, “Honey, do you realize how sick you were? You weren't making platelets. So if you needed surgery, we couldn’t have performed it. You would have bled out on the table.”
Platelets. As a biology major, I knew what they were. Precious little fragments of cells that clot our blood. At that moment though, all I knew was that I was exhausted beyond belief. And I wasn’t ready to be discharged. I was faced with going home with a newborn where my 18-month old daughter was awaiting my arrival, attention, and care.
I had heard very little about preeclampsia, otherwise known as toxemia. After my experience, I began my research, desperate for answers. How and why did this happen to me? It wasn’t something my doctor mentioned during my checkups with my first pregnancy or this one. Wasn’t on my radar as a possible complication. As it turns out, there really isn't an explanation for why I suffered from it.
Preeclampsia accounts for approximately 63,000 maternal deaths worldwide annually. And is a leading cause of pregnancy related deaths.
Here in the US, the maternal death rate is very low. Around 700 annually. Most maternal deaths occur in less developed countries. Our low death rate is a testament to our health care system. And I know for a fact, it was my doctors and nurses that saved me. They recognized the symptoms, worked together to figure out what was happening, and knew how to help me.
My 2nd pregnancy had been status quo. Besides suffering from morning sickness throughout the entire pregnancy, I had no other issues. I left all my prenatal visits with a gold star: I gained minimal weight. My blood pressure was always good. I had no edema. I measured perfectly. There was never protein in my urine.
There were literally no warning signs.
I also didn’t have any of the risk factors for postpartum preeclampsia, which include: a history of preeclampsia, high blood pressure, being under the age of 20 or over 40, being a black woman (who is at the highest risk), obesity (I weighed a mere 135 pounds the day I gave birth), diabetes, or carrying multiples.
Despite having no risk factors, I ended up with severe postpartum preeclampsia. My doctor told me they might see one case a year in their practice. But that didn't make it any less scary for me. And I wish preeclampsis was something that was discussed at one of my visits prior to birth.
When I was awoken by severe chest pains shortly after giving birth to my son, I called for a nurse. She quickly left and told the doctor. She came back with Tylenol — told me the doctor wanted me to take them. I looked at her and said, “I can’t take those as I am about to throw up.” And then I started vomiting. She grabbed the pan just in time. I was in so much pain I couldn't take it. I was having intense chest pain right between my breasts. It felt like the worst case of heartburn imaginable, times ten. She went and grabbed another nurse. That nurse took one look at me and said — “Something is wrong.” She had triaged me a few nights prior when I thought I was in labor and she instinctively knew something was off.
The next thing I knew, a code was called on me.
People began rushing into my room. I was writhing in pain. I was being hooked up to machines and I wanted nothing to do with any of it. I was beside myself. Acting like someone I had never acted like before. I pulled the oxygen mask off and threw it to the side. I didn't want that thing on my face. I couldn’t be still or get comfortable. Three doctors from my practice stood at the foot of my bed, along with a hospitalist, and other technicians. They looked perplexed. They asked my then-husband if I had anxiety or if he'd ever seen me like that. I remember him saying “Never. I have never seen her act like this.” They were discussing what they thought it could be. My gall bladder said one. Preeclampsia said the other. The third lifted the blanket, revealing my ankles, and said, “But there is no swelling.” My blood pressure was telling another story — it was sky-high. I heard the hospitalist ask, “Can I call? I want to give her morphine.” After that, I can only recall bits and pieces of what happened.
I remember being wheeled out of my room, onto an elevator. The next thing I knew, a nurse was holding my hand, saying “You will be ok.” She was helping move me onto the bed for an MRI. I felt her hand and recognized her voice — it was my dear friend and neighbor who happened to be a nurse in that department. She was like an angel at that moment — as I looked up at her sweet smile, she comforted me.
I was in and out of consciousness. The next thing I remember, I was waking up in my birthing room. A nurse was taping blankets around the bed rails. I asked why. She said, “You might have seizures and we need to protect you.” My blood pressure was dangerously high.
That’s when they started the magnesium sulfate, which prevents seizures. They also shut down my room: I wasn't allowed any visitors, they kept it dark with the blinds closed, no noise. I slept a drug-induced sleep for over 24 hours. I would briefly awake to see someone drawing blood from me, then drift right back to sleep.
During that time my platelet count dropped dangerously low. I had HELLP Syndrome.
HELLP Syndrome is a life-threatening condition. It rarely pops up after childbirth; in my case it did. It stands for hemolysis, elevated liver enzymes, and low platelet count. The mortality rate can be close to 30%.
Thankfully, though, my body fought back. My “engine” — in this case, my liver — decided to start working again. I began my road to recovery. Two days after giving birth, I awoke to sunlight streaming in my hospital window. I hadn't seen my son since giving birth to him. He was the first thing I thought of as I opened my eyes. I desperately wanted to hold him and nurse him. Knew I needed to bond with him. I called the nurse's station and asked them to bring him to me. They hesitated — I demanded.
I was unable to get out of bed at that point. Physically exhausted, hooked up to multiple IVs, and still had a catheter. But they wheeled him in and handed him to me. I got my first real cuddle. I can still feel him in my arms, as I kissed his soft blonde hair, inhaled his sweet baby smell, and smiled at him.
Later that day, the nurses helped me out of bed, encouraging me to shower. I nearly passed out in the bathroom; a nurse caught me and shoved smelling salts under my nose. Then helped me back to bed. When I finally got in the shower, I had to sit — I've never been so exhausted. It was a frightening whirlwind of an experience.
I was discharged the following day along with my son. I was exhausted — physically and emotionally. I was genuinely afraid to leave the hospital — but they sent me home.
I was completely unprepared for getting that sick after giving birth. And for the long healing process after. Walking up a flight of stairs at home was nearly impossible. It took months for me to feel “normal” again. I then had a cascade of other illnesses/conditions for over a year after — colds, sinus infections, yeast infections, recurring BV, and shingles. My theory is that my immune system was completely rundown and couldn't fight off infections. My body had been through a lot — pregnancy, birth, and a serious life-threatening condition afterward.
Looking back, I realize I was under stress during my pregnancy, working full-time from home while caring for my young daughter full-time. And doing all the other things: cleaning, cooking, shopping. I’ll never know whether stress was a cause or not, but I feel it contributed.
Looking ahead, as a result of having suffered from preeclampsia, I now face double the risk for heart disease and stroke, three to four times the risk for high blood pressure, and an increased risk for developing diabetes. Staying heart healthy has to be a priority for me.
Our society often looks at pregnancy and birth in a very casual sense. Millions of women do it, right? It's no big deal. But it is. It comes with risks, complications, and loss.
But thankfully, more often than not, it ends in pure joy.
