New Mom vs. Postpartum Preeclampsia
This post is coming at you with raw emotion, friends. It’s going to be long. Pour yourself a cocktail and hunker down or bounce. Truly. This particular blog is more of an exercise for me to release anxiety talking about the first weeks of being a Momma. There’s a good chance it will not resonate with you, and that’s okay by me. I need to get it out.
Since Cameron’s first birthday is less than two weeks away, I thought it would be a great time to reflect on the past year and the transformations that have taken place during the first and wonderful year of motherhood. But, after a some serious reflection and flashbacks, I think I will save that for another post.
Social media leads you to believe that the first weeks being a new mom are oh-so-wonderful, amazing and life changing, and yes, it’s all of those things. But the first weeks are so much more than that. There’s another side to that story, and this is mine.
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THE FLASHBACK
Early Days
The best and hardest of times
The very first moment you meet your tiny, mystery human is so incredibly precious and at the same time, somewhat…strange. There are so many feelings and words you can use to describe it. Humbling, unworthy, pure joy, elated, scared and even peaceful. They say change does not happen overnight, but oh, I’m telling you it does.
You’ve patiently waited nine long months using your body and energy to brew a human and keep him/her safe. You eliminated (or decreased) your caffeine intake, alcohol sat the sideline, raw sushi and deli meat were “no-no’s” (and when you’re the Brand Manager of the areas best sushi and Happy Hour, this is a wicked kind of torture), the list goes on. Then after a few hours of discomfort, you suddenly have a new role and title. You’re responsible for an innocent life. Don’t F this up. You’re officially a mom and nothing has ever felt so right. The stars align and despite all of the drugs pumping through your veins, you know a new purpose. It’s strange and yet the coolest all in the same.
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I am so grateful that I was able to keep Cameron safe on the inside for 40 +1 (40 weeks and 1 day), but my body was bustin’ at the seams. I was SO swollen, seriously. Think memory foam legs. Not cute. I was not sleeping, and drinking water gave me heartburn. Yet, those things are so minor when you are carrying another life and sharing your body with another human. I was doing any and all the things to try and get things moving, only to no avail.
When the time was right, Cameron came by a scheduled cesarean. After 14+ hours of unsuccessful labor, I was pumped full of all sorts of medications and looking back, it saddens me to share that the birth and hour or two after are a little fuzzy. However, the things I do remember, I will always cherish with my whole heart and will always bring a tear to my eye thinking about it. Like hearing him cry for the first time, to which, my first and highly medicated response was, “Awwwwww, he sounds like a squeaky toy! How could you not love that?!”
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Traditionally, you leave the hospital 2-3 days after you meet the sweetest soul ever to exist. You go home to figure out a new norm, haha, yeah…but don’t plan on feeling “normal” anytime soon. Life is upside down. You don’t know the body you see in the mirror, or what the hell is happening to it. I realize I’m avoiding sharing my story with you, because well, it wasn’t traditional, and it physically gives me anxiety thinking back to the day I was supposed to go home.
Never did I ever think I would have an extended vacation at Women’s Methodist Hospital the frigid and snowy month of January 2018. I mean, I guess it was only a week that I was admitted, but if you’ve ever had any sort of extended and unplanned hospital stay, those rooms can really wear on a person’s mental strength.
I recently birthed my life’s biggest milestone. Dan, my fiance, and I are overjoyed. He’s perfect. Beautiful, strong, healthy and I can’t help but show him off to the world! My Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat entered a new era and were officially under Cameron’s reign. I felt great and was moving around hours after a serious procedure. Everything was perfect.
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The night after having Cameron, I woke in a cold, clammy sweat. I felt super anxious, which is not a feeling that is normal for me. I figured it was just hormones, but I NEEDED to get out of the bed and walk around to shake the feeling. I buzzed the night nurse, and she acted like I was super human even wanting to get out of bed. My soft, sore and floppy belly walked down the hall so I could see Cameron in the nursery. I asked if we could bring him back in my room, but she thought it would be better if Dan and I got some sleep to recover from the day’s events. So, that’s what we did.
Fast forward to day three postpartum. This was supposed to be discharge day! I was ready to go home and bond as a family of three. I could hardly wait for the doctors to come with the papers. Our bags were packed, we had everything ready by the door. The doctor came shortly after 10 a.m. and told us that they would not be releasing me because overnight and early morning my blood pressure spiked several times.
“We just want to keep an eye on it one more day, “ they said. I clearly remember my boss had just texted me asking if we were home yet. To which, I responded with tears that I would be staying another night. I was hormonal and incredibly disappointed in myself. I thought it was my fault. I wasn’t handling the new stress of being a mom and my body was yelling from the inside. I told myself “it’s one more day, I’m lucky they are playing it safe.”
My blood pressure continued on an aggressive incline over those next 24 hours, and what was supposed to be a traditional c-section delivery, turned into a seven day admission.
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I was later diagnosed with Postpartum Preeclampsia, a rare condition that develops within the first 48-hours after childbirth.
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THE MAG
The next morning, a doctor from my OB’s office came to see me since it was her day off. He was gorgeous. I’m talking super-duper good looking, y’all. But his face was hiding terrible and scary news. He came over, and sat at the end of my bed while I was feeding Cameron. After he introduced himself and told me that I would need to cancel all visitors, two nurses came to the room, one with a wheelchair, and the other with a cart. We weren’t going home, again.
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My blood pressure levels were so high, I was high-risk for a stroke, or seizure and I was immediately taken down to the high-risk parental floor.
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They hooked up my IV to a mag drip (Magnesium Sulfate), a magic mineral that typically brings a person’s blood pressure back to normal levels within 12 or 24 hours. I was told it would make me feel “icky,” but I was almost excited to get this under control so we could GO HOME, a family of three!
When you’re on a mag drip, you’re not allowed to have your baby in the room. My blood pressure was too high to even be around my own baby, how could this be possible? They were afraid of Cameron crying near me. You know, the thing that babies do quite a lot. The room is kept dark, and cool to help ease some of the icky side effects, I assume. I could only see Cameron for feedings (every 2-4 hours), and if he was fussy, the nurses would take him from me and send him back to the nursery. Talk about heartbreaking. Carrying your child for nine months, meeting him and not being allowed to be with him feels like someone ripped out your heart, but I knew the doctors were looking out for me and doing their job, so I put all of my trust in them.
The first 12 hours on the mag, were not great by any means, but I mean, I powered through them. Dan was by my side for a good part of it, sitting next to me in silence, holding my hand, changing the music on my headphones to classical, because you know, I was too weak and sick to operate a phone. I can still hear the machine ding when my blood pressure spiked too high even while on the mag that the nurse would have to come in and emergency treat me to temporarily get it down to the 170/90s. For perspective, my day-to-day blood pressure is typically 116/69 range. I cannot even remember how many times I had to hear that machine ding, only to hear nurses rush in with emergency meds. After the first three times, I stopped looking at the machine to see what my numbers were, and curled on my side facing away from the machine, but only if I had the strength to do so.
The only good thing I remember about being on Magnesium Sulfate is that it must have triggered something in my brain to tell my body to release the excess water I retained the past two or three weeks. I lost 23 pounds in 24 hours. No Lie. And though I was super weak and could not walk myself to the bathroom without aid, I woke up sometime while on the drip, and felt like a new human. I COULD SEE THE BONES IN MY ANKLES AGAIN!
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FINAL DAYS INCARCERATED
Once I was taken off the mag drip, I expected things to be on the up-and-up; however, again, that was not the case. My blood pressure was still in the 170’s post mag. The next three or four days were spent loading up on and trying all different sorts of blood pressure meds to continue to treat this… parasite… that has taken over my body. It was a fine balancing act for the nurses—I almost felt bad. They had to continue to increase my meds, but not too quickly as there’s a possibility for the meds to put me in dangerous low blood pressure levels. Well, that never happened. Getting it down was a quite struggle.
In order to be discharged, my blood pressure had to be below 160/80 for more than 24 hours and the last two days I was borderline, but my spikes were still too high. It almost became a game to me. Anytime the machine went off, or was about to (which was every 15-minutes, mind you), I would lay back and do everything in my power to zen the F out. Deep breathes, clear my thoughts, go to my happy place, listen to calming music…you name it. When the machine stopped and dinged its horrifying ding of completion, I quickly turned around to see my “score".
I shit you not the hour before I was finally discharged, the nurse came in to take my blood pressure and my numbers came in at 161/83. The nurse look so sad for me. Our eyes connected and both swelled up. I couldn’t help but blurt out,
“I know my blood pressure is high, but I SERIOUSLY get anxious every time have to take it now. I SERIOUSLY think this mini spike is because I know this scan determines whether I get to go home, or if I stay another night.”
I was in a constant state of prayer during this stint, and I had seen each of the nurses multiple times, because of course I was there for a week. Not this nurse though. This nurse had to have been an angel sent from above, because she replied with, “I believe you. Take it easy, and relax. I will be back in 15-minutes to retake it." We did and it was slightly better, but still right on the verge. I looked at Dan in defeat and somehow this angel was able to convince seven OB and parenatal doctors to agree to discharge me. The last time of day to be dischaged is 4 p.m., I was given the “okay” around 3:50 p.m. and was home around 6 p.m. I finally felt relief.
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The Reflection
Not going to lie, remembering all of this has been SUPER HARD and all the good and terrible emotions reappeared as I wrote this. Probably a good thing I am not hooked up to a BP machine right this moment. I have not spoken about this in much detail with many people because, well, I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed to have not had a perfect, magical, wonderful birth and first week PP. As I write these final phrases, I feel a weight lifted. And while I will likely experience a bit of anxiety and PTSD every time I get my blood pressure taken, at least for a while, I could not be more grateful for the amazing doctors and nurses that took such great care of me and Cameron during such a stressful prelude to motherhood.
No longer do I feel embarrassed, but proud that I survived and am here to be the best mom to the sweetest little boy.
Gosh, I cannot put my gratitude into words for Dan sticking by my side, putting on such a strong and positive face and sharing words of encouragement that we’d get through it together. He’s truly my rock and I cannot wait to marry that man! My family was there to see us through everything and we could not have done this alone.
Being Cameron’s mom is the best job in the entire world and I would not change a thing about our experience and journey meeting each other. It made me stronger and forced me to put my trust and faith in the Lord.
It feels so cliche saying this, but postpartum depression/anxiety is real, and it’s okay to recognize that something is off. I was not depressed after having Cameron, but I was super anxious and scared to be alone with him. I didn’t want to be on anti-depressants as it’s known they can be very hard to get off of, so I stopped taking the anti-depressant they prescribed me. A week later, I called the doctor because I felt super anxious randomly, and had intense feelings of anger when I dropped some bottles one evening. The next morning, I spoke with my doctor and started taking the medication again. Apparently, you want to wean yourself off of drugs like that. Who knew ;). I was 10 months postpartum before I was able to get off of the meds completely.
Hopefully, just maybe, sharing this with you will help someone not be so hard on themselves as a new mom. Because whether you have/had it easier, or your experience was also scary and somewhat dark, YOU’RE AN AMAZING MOTHER and God would not have chosen anyone else to be your kiddo’s mom. Keep your head up, and know that Instagram and Facebook make everything look pretty, or easy. It’s not, but you’ll survive by coffee and an overflowing love tank.
-xoxo
Sarah