My pregnancy seemed like a normal one until glucose tests began. I took the test twice and was on the borderline both times, so I had to attend a nutritional class and have another ultrasound and Maternal Fetal Medicine. After the ultrasound was conducted, I met with a doctor in his office. During the meeting, he seemed to take great pleasure in fear mongering me about the likelihood of birth complications and death because of the gestational diabetes diagnosis. He made me feel like I made this happen and was putting my child in jeopardy because of “decisions I made.” Little did he know I lost over 30 pounds before getting pregnant and continued a healthy eating lifestyle during pregnancy. I did not cry until I walked out to my car. I called my husband sobbing and trying to understand how I was so wrong in what I was doing.
By my son’s due date on November 10th, which would be end up being his birthday and the closest the death that I have ever been.

In the small hours of the night on November 10th I began to experience symptoms relating to a headache and brain fog. I took some Tylenol and went back to sleep with no other presenting issues. A feeling of fogginess came over me as I awoke the next morning. Something wasn’t right but I couldn’t place it. I tried to drink water and relax, no changes. I tried taking a shower, no changes. I laid back in my bed all alone in my home and everything around me was becoming grey and dark. Like when you’re in a dream and it feels like morning and night happening at the same time. The panic then set in as I started to lose my vision. I kept blinking repeatedly thinking, “What is this? What is happening?”. Using only my hands to feel around me as I was barely able to see, I found my phone and kept blinking trying to find my doctor’s phone number. After a few minutes I found it and called. When I explained my symptoms, the operator put me on hold. I knew something wasn’t right. After the longest 3 minutes of my life, she told me to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I asked, “I could barely make this phone call, how am I supposed to drive myself to the hospital?” Because I knew ambulances were expensive, I called my husband who arrived 15 minutes later from work. In that time, I somehow got the hospital bag ready next to the front door. Once he arrived and I explained the best I could what I was going through, we started to walk towards the front door. Then it all went black.

I woke up in a hospital bed and my baby was gone. I then heard the screams of another person in what seemed to be labor. It was November 11th at around 4pm; over 24 hours had passed. I thought I was at the hospital but was at a completely different hospital that did not have an operating maternity ward.
A few minutes after waking up, a doctor came in and described what had happened, but to this day I cannot recall much of it. I knew that they were telling me what happened and why I was there. They said I had two eclamptic seizures. As they said this, I could feel bumps and bruises all over my arms and hands. They said I had a seizure on the pavement out front of my house. The other one occurred in the ambulance on the way to this hospital. Throughout this whole conversation, I was simply too disorientated to understand most if any of it. Our baby was born by emergency cesarean at 11:54am.

An hour and half later, I finally met my baby, Isaac. He was 6lbs 2oz and 19 inches long. When I was told he was mine, I had no idea where he came from. I would later find this was the beginning of my post-partum depression. While it took months for me to feel connected to Isaac, I was just so happy he was healthy at that point. I look back on photos that were taken during our first meeting and see my completely swollen hands and scraps all over my arms.