My daughter's traumatic birth: A CityMom story
(EDITOR’S NOTE: At theCityMoms, maternal health and well-being means the world to us. Whether it’s a woman’s journey thru IVF, or her path thru the first moments of motherhood, to years under her belt as a veteran mom, we recognize no mother has the same experience. But It Starts With Mom as our friends at March of Dimes say. This month we’re joining forces with them to elevate awareness about the heart health and mental health issues women face during pregnancy and childbirth, postpartum care and support, and other related concerns. CityMom Kira bravely steps up below to share her story.)
I went into my third trimester like every other first-time mom. I was planning for childbirth, taking the recommended hospital classes, having baby showers, and making last-minute plans with family and friends. I had no idea how ‘wrong’ my childbirth process was about to go. I had no idea that a traumatic birth was even possible. Looking back, all I can think is, “It’s just not fair!”
It was a difficult road for my husband and I to get pregnant successfully (there were a lot of unsuccessful results in there).
We were beyond excited that it was finally going to happen for us, after waiting almost 10 years.
We had found out on Christmas Eve that I was pregnant after taking a break from fertility treatments that month but I decided to take a test just to see. And those lines lit up like a beautiful Christmas tree. We waited until the end of our first trimester to tell anyone as we didn’t want to relay heartbreak if things didn’t work out, just like all the other times before.
I was considered a high-risk pregnancy due to advanced maternal age and several other health complications along with my history of unsuccessful pregnancies. I was very careful during my entire pregnancy.
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Although it looks like it in pictures, I barely gained weight and was very sick the entire time. Still, I knew these months would fly by, and I was willing to suffer daily bouts of vomiting in order to have my precious girl in my arms.
I was due at the end of summer and was given the all-clear to travel to our favorite place in Michigan at 31 weeks. It was very very hot that summer, reaching 100 degrees, which is especially warm for Michigan. At that point I began to have a lot of swelling that we chalked up to heat, not realizing it was a warning sign.
When I got back from vacation, I had my 32-week checkup as well as an anatomy scan to measure growth. We discovered my platelets and iron was so low I needed immediate iron transfusions – and that’s when my blood pressure spiked. I was admitted to the hospital for monitoring at 33 weeks and stayed 1 week. The doctor let me return home with strict instructions that my only job was to be an incubator for this baby, and we’d be inducing at 38 weeks.
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We went home and into panic mode. I had held off on purchasing a lot of items because I wanted to see what I might get at a baby shower and suddenly looked around realizing I didn’t have a car seat or stroller, a place for my baby to sleep, or even newborn clothes for her to wear!
After only two days at home, I was back at the doctor. Not surprisingly, my blood pressure spiked again, and I was admitted.
This time I didn’t get to go home; for my safety and the baby’s, it was time to deliver. I began induction at 2 p.m., and everything was really going well.
My blood pressure had stabilized to a manageable level, and I was in good spirits. I received my epidural in the middle of the night, and I was able to rest. At noon the next day, my doctor said things weren’t progressing very quickly, and she was leaving for a prearranged vacation. Another doctor would manage my delivery.
Just two hours later, things drastically changed.
Suddenly, I couldn’t feel my legs. The anesthesiologist determined my epidural had shifted. She gave me IV pain meds and attempted to redo my epidural, but the line immediately kinked. I suddenly began rapid contractions, and my blood pressure rocketed into the 200s (because hello, pain). The anesthesiologist gave me more IV morphine, gas, etc. Then reran my line a third time.
After that point, I remember nothing from my daughter’s birth.
My husband described listening to the constant beeping of the heart monitors for myself and the baby, and suddenly they both stopped. I had gone into cardiac arrest, and they had about 30 minutes to get the baby out alive. Suddenly the medical staff swept me out of the room, leaving my husband standing there alone, with no explanation. A nurse threw him some scrubs but wouldn’t talk, only saying she didn’t know what was happening. He told me later that he had watched C-sections happily wheeled in and out of the operating room all day- all scheduled and calm. He knew something was not right. I don’t know much about what happened. When we reflect on that day, it wasn't just me who experienced birth trauma, the fear that overtook my husband was overwhelming.
They prepped me for a C-section while quickly trying to reverse my epidural and pain medication all while trying to save my life (which left my sternum and arm injured due to their efforts. Eventually, my husband was allowed into the operating room, but couldn't be next to me due to the sheer number of doctors surrounding my bed- a team for me and a NICU team waiting for the baby. Somehow, and only by what I assume are many angels looking out for us, I did not need a C-section. That little gal sped on up and, apparently, with two pushes, she was born.
She was exactly 5 weeks early and weighed just 5lbs.
I don’t remember the moments of her birth. I didn’t get to hold her because I couldn’t use my arms. I don’t remember seeing her for those few seconds, though I have a picture of her being held by my head.
Sometimes I look at the ‘live view’ of that picture and can only focus on the doctors running around me. I look at it more than I’d like to admit because it’s the only way I’ll know what happened during my daughter's traumatic birth. She was rushed off to the NICU, and I began a long and challenging recovery.
I didn’t see my baby for over 24 hours after she was born. I was bedridden, in an unstable condition, incoherent, and absolutely traumatized.
I will never get back that moment of her birth, and quite honestly I find myself very resentful. I get jealous of my friends when I see them posting pictures with their families freshly after birth. I feel jealous of seeing pictures of mommies holding their unwashed newborns on their chests. I even feel sad at the memory of being with my sister during her delivery and being able to immediately hold my niece.
My traumatic birth robbed me of those experiences, of those memories.
I was not permitted visitors because they were extremely worried about my heart. They didn’t want me excited, hence why I wasn’t even allowed to visit my baby or even walk to the bathroom. After what felt like ages, but was about 30 hours, I was moved to postpartum for monitoring and finally wheeled to the NICU to visit my daughter. Those pictures are also hard to look at. I am crying in all of them. I remember feeling so full of guilt that I had done this to my daughter. My body had failed her. My body caused her to be here before she should be. It was my fault she was in that plastic case, in that room alone, without her parents.
After several days postpartum, I was still not feeling well.
My blood pressure continued rising to the 200s. As a Certified Brain Injury Specialist, I knew where those numbers were heading – stroke. I won’t go into my treatment from the doctor I was assigned to while in the hospital, it’s a sore subject (I’ll just say I really missed my regular doctor).
Finally, after a week, a new doctor evaluated me and immediately determined that I had developed postpartum preeclampsia and that it was a result of having HELLP Syndrome during my pregnancy.
HELLP Syndrome is a very dangerous complication during pregnancy that is difficult to diagnose, but results in elevated liver enzymes, low platelet counts, and a breakdown of red blood cells. I received an overnight treatment and was discharged the next day because my blood pressure came down under 160.
I was discharged on a lot of medication, strict instructions to rest, and only take care of my baby. Honestly, all I wanted to do was lay with her and never let go. Our daughter was so amazing and strong and got to come home with me. I am forever grateful that she is so healthy and amazing. She started out small and mighty and continues to be so.
My maternity leave was packed with weekly doctor’s appointments to check the inflammation in my heart from cardiac arrest, monitor my blood pressure, and weekly therapy appointments to process my traumatic birth experience. I cried a lot. I felt alone and couldn’t talk about what happened because I knew no one who had gone through a similar experience. The sight of a blood pressure cuff still causes me to panic. I walked into the doctor’s office terrified they wouldn’t let me go home.
I’ve since had a handful of, now permanent, health complications that necessitate I be monitored and on medications for the rest of my life.
My doctors recommended I not give birth to any future children due to the exceptionally high risks I would face. That has come with its own set of grieving. I had one chance, but it didn’t go well, and I’ll never get another. I’ll never get another maternity leave to simply bond and enjoy my baby. I was anything but happy the entire first year after my daughter’s traumatic birth, but it’s getting better. She’s 1.5 now, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that moment sneak up on me. I still have a hard time looking at happy birth pictures, and I find myself asking my husband to tell me about her birth again, trying to understand it all.
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I really wish I would have known about the severe complications that could arise from my epidural. I wish I knew about HELLP Syndrome and that you could get preeclampsia after delivery. I wish I had more people around me to support me, without me having to ask. I wasn’t about to ask because I wanted to try and do it myself.
But I wish more people would have insisted on helping when I was still struggling to recover physically and emotionally from my birth trauma.
But you know what? It happened the way it did and I came out the other side. I know that I can do anything because I stared death straight in the face and said “not today.” I have a greater purpose in this world than the trauma surrounding my birth story, and with that, I have created a goal to help other mothers with traumatic birth experiences share their stories. I want them to feel normalized in their experience and know they are not alone in their grief.
And I want to remind more expectant mothers that even with a plan and a dream, it might not happen, and you need to have the strength to push through.
