At 26 weeks pregnant in summer 2024, I was 6 hours from home visiting family when I started having intense Braxton Hicks and leaking fluid. I went to a maternity unit, worried—but was told it was "too early" for Braxton Hicks and that everything was “normal.” My BP had jumped from 120s/60s to 138/80s. I was dismissed.

Back home at 28 weeks, I returned to triage with reduced movements and swelling. Again: “You’re fine.” No doctor. No proper checks. But I knew something wasn’t right.

At 30 weeks, I had headaches, blurred vision, and right-upper abdominal pain. My consultant didn’t show. I returned the next day in tears, begging someone to listen. I was admitted with hypertension (145/95), diagnosed with COVID, and given BP meds. A sepsis screen was stopped without explanation. After just 3 days, I was discharged—still feeling unwell.

From there, I was in and out of hospital every few days. No one listened.

At 31.5 weeks, I was sent to another hospital. I was left in a cupboard. No monitoring. No admission. No labs. My mum was sent home by a tea lady. I was discharged at 2am after one high BP reading. By 11am, I was admitted again.

At 33 weeks, protein was found in my urine—preeclampsia. At 35 weeks, BP soared to 170s/100s. I begged to stay and for steroid injections. A male consultant told me:
“You’re a first-time mum. You don’t know pregnancy or preeclampsia.”

At 35+4, I had another scan at antenatal. My baby had gained less than half a pound in a month. Admitted to hospital and on day 2 CTG showed his heart rate over 200—but staff said it was just “movement.” I couldn’t feel him. Transferred to labour ward due to BP I was nearly discharged to triage after midwives used a thigh cuff until a new midwife took over, used the right BP cuff, and kept me in.
That night, I had a seizure. BP hit 210/200. It took over 5 hours to stabilise me. During the chaos, a consultant walked out leaving an arterial line uncapped—I was bleeding. My mum shouted him back.

The next day, I was told my baby would be born that evening. But by afternoon, his heart rate dropped and matched mine. A scan showed only a flicker. Category 1 emergency section followed. In theatre, I heard the anaesthetist say:
“This baby isn’t viable.”

He’s now a thriving 10-month-old. 

But my recovery wasn’t over.

I returned to hospital several times with high BP, migraines, no urine output. A doctor told me postpartum preeclampsia doesn’t exist. No CSF leak test. One time, I was kept in a discharge lounge all day—no doctor ever came.

At 4 weeks postpartum, I went to A&E with chest pain. BP high again. I was sent home. Two days later, routine bloods (for my DVT & PE treatment) showed my liver was struggling. It corrected before repeat testing—but I’ll never know how close it got.

In Feb 2025, I received my medical notes. I’d been discharged with sepsis and worsening liver function. I was never told.
Since then, I’ve battled rebound hypertension after being taken off meds too fast. For 5 months, I was told it was just “hormones” and to “lose weight.” In March 2025, a pharmacist suggested a new medication combo that worked—finally linking my migraines to my BP.
Oh, and my baby? Dairy intolerant. Ignored again. I managed it myself.
 I was silenced, dismissed, and nearly died.
 My baby almost wasn’t here.
It’s been the fight of our lives—and we’re still standing.