Our Birth Story

Pregnancy

When I first got pregnant, even with my anxious mind, I never imagined hearing my doctor say "I've never seen this happen in my career", or having a safety case opened at the hospital to review what happened during labor and how it may have been prevented.

I had all the typical concerns. Would I miscarry? Would our NIPT come back low risk? Would there be any issues detected at our anatomy scan? A lot of my nerves were centered around our baby being well but they were rarely for my own health or for labor itself.

I was miserable being pregnant. It started with extreme morning sickness in the first trimester. I rarely could stomach a true meal and when I did all I wanted was a Chipotle burrito bowl. I joked that our baby was made of 50% Chipotle.

I had said to my husband, even in the early days, that I had so much respect for women who survived the first trimester without the ability to work from home, or while caring for another child.

I started to feel better in my second trimester as the nausea went away - though it did come back again in the third trimester, this time due to indigestion. I never did get that second trimester glow up I was promised. After a few weeks of feeling more like myself, more symptoms started to set in. My fibromyalgia pain got worse the bigger my belly got, my feet started swelling when I stood too long, and I struggled to sleep. While I was thankful to be pregnant and excited to meet our daughter I didn't enjoy what it put my body and mind through. It wasn't the magical experience that movies and television made it out to be. I had to remind myself constantly that I didn’t need to love being pregnant in order to love my baby.

Regardless of how I was feeling, our pregnancy was low risk. On paper things were typical. No issues at our anatomy scan, NIPT was low risk, all my blood work came back normal, and I passed the gestational diabetes screen with ease. It was at our thirty two week appointment that things started to go sideways. My blood pressure was high, and baby's heart rate was elevated. I was sent back to do a NST (Non Stress Test). They monitored her heart rate for twenty minutes, which was normal the whole time, and took my blood pressure again. It was still elevated into the 'hyper tension' category. I was instructed to take my own blood pressure readings at home and come back later in the week for another NST. At that time I’d be meeting with the doctor as well. I was told at this point that if my blood pressure was still high at this next screening I'd be diagnosed with gestational hypertension and would be induced at 37 weeks.

I mourned for several days. Not because anything was wrong with my baby - she was fine. I mourned because everything I had envisioned about the end of my pregnancy was very likely to be shattered. Reaching forty weeks, waiting for labor to start, deciding when to go to the hospital, the drive. Gosh, every time we drove to an appointment at that hospital I imagined what driving there in labor would be like. What time of day would it be? Would there be traffic? How would my husband handle himself? With an impending induction none of those questions would be answered because they weren't even relevant anymore.

I never had an issue with the act of being induced itself. It was no scarier to me than going into labor naturally. My emotions were purely a period of mourning I had to go through. Grieving what I had imagined and coming to terms with a new reality. After a couple of days, as I was taking my blood pressure at home and consistently seeing high readings, I found peace in the likelihood that we would be induced early. We could have a planned date, which meant a much easier time getting a pet sitter. My husband wouldn't have to drive under the stress of his wife in labor. I could be unpregnant sooner!

I went into my follow up NST later that week in good spirits. I was, as I had anticipated, diagnosed with gestational hypertension. Baby still looked great. As part of the NST an ultrasound was done to check fluid levels and I got to see for the first time how much hair she had. Did you know you can see hair on an ultrasound? I met with my doctor and we discussed what induction at 37 weeks would look like. We planned to try to push to 37+6 if possible. I had to schedule a massive number of appointments before I left - two NSTs a week and I was to meet with the doctor weekly. At this time my doctor also supported me beginning my leave from work early. I finished out the following week then began short term disability.

Weeks 33 and 34 were mostly uneventful. I went to my appointments. I became chummy with the nurse who I saw regularly. I took my blood pressure at home. Baby was always fine, but my blood pressure consistently was creeping up. I tried to get last minute things done at home. I also had to go out and buy newborn clothes since we were advised she'd likely be six pounds. I had previously only collected clothes in sizes 0-3 as many women on the internet had said their babies only fit in newborn clothes for a week or two, and the advice was to just stick with 0-3. I found some joy in getting to buy more clothes. It gave me something positive to do.

Week 35 is where things started to take a turn. It was actually my birthday. I was scheduled for both an NST and to meet with my doctor that day. My husband and I planned to get dinner afterward but I hadn't decided where yet because, as many pregnant women may be able to attest, your tastes can change suddenly. I went into my NST first and my blood pressure once again had risen and when I saw the doctor they expressed concern, saying that they are recommending extended monitoring, and that they were going to send me across the hospital to the labor and delivery unit.

While they did make it clear that it was unlikely we'd be induced that day, it still shattered me. I had already had to come to terms with a 37 week induction, now there was some unknown ahead. Before we went to labor and delivery we did get our induction on the books for Sept 5th - I put it in my phone calendar with a little heart next to it. I was trying to make myself feel better about our situation, and about my birthday being so crummy.

I was monitored for several hours. I ate a cold grilled cheese from the cafeteria for my birthday lunch. The top of my meal ticket wished me a happy birthday. While high, my blood pressure did remain stable. It never reached the "treatable zone" which is any reading above 160/110 (either number). We were sent home with strict instructions to call if my blood pressure readings at home ever exceeded 150/100.

Spoiler alert - they did. The very next morning I took my blood pressure and clocked in at 153/115. After calling and speaking with the triage nurse I was instructed to head back to labor and delivery. My husband left work early to meet me there. I am so thankful for his unwavering support during all of this because by this point I was already mentally exhausted.

I was monitored again, but my blood pressure had dropped back below the "treatable zone". The thing with hypertension, as it was explained to me, is that they couldn't just put me on blood pressure medication and send me on my way. At this point the baby had become accustomed to my higher blood pressure, so it was a delicate balance of not distressing her and keeping an eye on my health. If and when my blood pressure remained over 160/110 for two consecutive readings 15-20 minutes apart then they would start medication. At one point one of the doctors did begin to talk to us about what a 35 week induction might look like should the need arise. Up until this point protein hadn’t been detected in my urine so I didn’t have pre eclampsia but they began a 24 hour urine sample on me, just to ensure they weren’t missing anything. It's super glamorous collecting all of your pee in a giant jug that is sitting in an ice bath to keep it cold.

At this point I was incredibly anxious. I had already been admitted once the day before, now I was back again. If I went home was I just going to repeat the same thing? The hospital offered to let me stay for monitoring overnight, which I said yes to. I distinctly remember how supportive my nurse was, saying that she would advocate for whatever made me most comfortable. I felt so seen and so taken care of.

Throughout the night and into the next morning my blood pressure was high, but never did reach a critical point again. I was sent home, but I was left on pins and needles. That night I had another blood pressure reading that exceeded 150/110. I called in and was told to stay home for now, especially since my labs earlier that day had all looked good and I had an NST the next morning.

Going to that next monitoring appointment I felt so defeated. Not because I felt like any of this was my fault, but because nothing was certain anymore. Every blood pressure reading, whether at home or in clinic, left me questioning if I was going to be admitted again. Thankfully, that NST appointment went fine. I also turned in my 24 hour urine sample which came back normal (though it is super awkward waiting in the lab lobby with a giant container of your pee). I was sent off for the weekend with another NST scheduled that Monday.

I immediately left the clinic and drove straight to Costco. This was August, I was almost 36 weeks pregnant and it was wicked hot. My husband was at work, but I couldn't wait to make this trip. There was so much left on my to-do list to prep for the baby, and knowing that I could be induced at any moment put so much pressure on me. Of course, I was the only one applying this pressure, but it felt crushing and I was willing to do anything to lift it. I shopped, loaded, and unloaded the biggest Costco purchase I'd ever made all by myself in the summer heat. That weekend, between celebrating my birthday with friends, I frantically cleaned our house and stuffed our freezer full of prepped food. Looking back on it now, I'm thankful for the preparation I'd done but I wish I would have let others help me do it. My last days pregnant should have been focused on relaxing and floating in the pool that I rented with my friends without worrying about my long to-do list and how long I had to complete it.

Induction

When Monday morning rolled around there was this eerie sense of calm that set in. I didn't take my blood pressure at home that morning because I had an NST, but there was something in my gut that told me I wasn't going home that night. I brought along my to-go back, I told my husband that I felt like this was it. Mom intuition is real, and I think this was my first true experience with that.

My blood pressure readings from over the weekend had been borderline, but never reached 160/110. In my NST that day my first reading was 164/99, and my second 153/98. When I met with my doctor afterward and she let me know she was sending me back to labor and delivery.

I remember not being surprised, or even really upset. In fact, when she let me know that it was likely they'd make the decision to induce that day I felt relief. This waiting game would finally be over. I wouldn't have to spend another week watching for pre eclampsia symptoms, monitoring my blood pressure, and wondering when I'd inevitably be readmitted.

I walked with my husband down to labor and delivery. They collected my urine and bloodwork for labs, and sometime around noon when protein was detected in my urine I was officially diagnosed with pre eclampsia. Due to my gestation, 36 weeks exactly, they recommended inducing. The risks to baby were low. They anticipated she'd be small, of course, and might struggle with breast feeding but most 36 week babies do incredibly well.

I was so relieved. So relieved I cried. I was going to meet my daughter, this guessing game was going to be over. It was the biggest win for my mental health I'd had in weeks.

My husband rushed home to pack a bag for himself. We called his brother to watch our dog. We hardly told anyone where we were and what was happening. We wanted to keep this experience intimate, just for us. It was a decision I'd make again. There was no external pressure and I got to ease into my induction in peace.

Much to my shock my early induction went well. I had my first dose of misoprostol at 3pm and within a few hours I was actually contracting regularly. Almost too much, because my care team didn't want to give me a second dose. Instead we moved to a foley balloon when I was 1cm dilated.

You know what they don't tell you about foley balloons? They freaking suck. They work incredibly well but boy are they painful. It isn't so much the intensity of the contractions but that there was never a break. They roll one after the other. Mine was placed sometime around 9pm and fell out around 1:30am that night. Funnily enough the second it came out I felt much, much better. Since I was three cm dilated I was started on Pitocin.

Around 5am I went to use the toilet and my water broke. Since they were still monitoring water intake and my urine output it all went into the container, overflowing it. I found this pretty funny and remember coming out of the bathroom and saying to my nurse "Uhhh...I don't think that's pee in there."

Contractions ramped up from there and started to get more consistent and intense. Shift change happened, and I said goodbye to my night nurse who I adored and had given us so much support. My day nurse from the day before was back and gosh - I think about her so often. She was so attentive and invested that entire day. She helped me through contractions, she supported me through getting my epidural placed, and she always had a barf bag ready when I needed it (which was every time I tried to change positions, by the way.) At one point my progress had slowed and it was because baby was sunny side up. She worked diligently to help flip her, all while I couldn't move effectively. After a few hours she was successful in getting her to turn over. She was so proud of that accomplishment that she was bragging about it at the nurses station. Her and my first night nurse had been truly present, and I felt a genuine connection with them. They weren’t just there because it was their job, but because they were passionate and genuinely wanted the best for our family.

Pushing & Delivery: The Heart of the Trauma

Shift change came again at 7pm and I was assigned a new night nurse who we hadn't met before. She was in her third trimester of pregnancy, and I had anticipated having a similar connection to her that I had my previous nurses.

I want to preface this part of our story by saying that my intention isn't to direct hate toward this individual. I think what ended up happening was a combination of an understaffed hospital, a poor fit, and a situation so unprecedented that no one could possibly know to look out for it.

At about 8:45pm it was time to start pushing. Things were okay at first. It was tiring of course, and it was only the nurse, myself, and my husband in the room. She wasn't as big of a cheer leader as I had hoped for, but I had never done this before. I didn't know if my expectations had been too high or if maybe we were just not as good of a fit. While it wasn't her intention I often felt like I wasn't trying hard enough. When I struggled to get in another push her tone came off as impatient, and she didn't acknowledge my fears or concerns.

There was a moment of stress at one point in the evening (I can't remember if this was right before pushing or soon after) where my baby's heart rate dipped while I was vomiting. Without communicating to me or my husband what was going on she paged multiple nurses into the room. I was distracted, but it gave my husband a huge scare. Looking back on it, we are glad she was on top of our daughter's vitals but we would have avoided a lot of anxiety had she taken a moment to explain what was happening.

It was a busy night at the hospital. My doctor came in around 9:45pm to check on our progress. Baby had descended to somewhere between 0 and +1 station. This means she was approximately one centimeter beyond my ischial spines, which is the front part of the pelvis that protrudes a bit. We were making progress and my husband jokingly predicted that baby would arrive around 10:30pm. The doctor chuckled at him, I rolled my eyes, and we were in good spirits even though we knew there was still a ways to go.

One thing that gets incredibly fuzzy for me is what began happening after this point. The thing with trauma is sometimes in order to protect yourself your mind locks pieces away, and no matter how hard you fight to try to recover those memories they just appear like big blank spots. From this point forward I have a lot of those - missing pieces. My husband has helped me fill in some gaps but there are parts of this story that feel out of body. Where I know what happened to me, but I don't remember how it happened, how I felt, or what the timeline of events was. It’s not the same way memories fade over time and become less detailed. These are true holes where little remains.

I do know that at some point during my labor my nurse was relieved for a break. The nurse that came in to take over was incredibly supportive and was the first person to give me true feedback on how I was pushing. She actually put her hands on me to feel the pressure of my pushes and confirmed that I was being effective. I remember saying to that nurse "This is the type of support I really need right now." After that some midwives did come into the room for a bit. I think that nurse relayed the feedback. However, they couldn't stay long.

As time passed I was getting incredibly tired. Every contraction my husband held one leg up while I was instructed to hold the other. Looking back on it now I feel awful for the position my nurse was in. Heavily pregnant and having to support someone through labor? From my perspective it seemed like she was struggling to stay mentally and physically engaged. When it wasn't time to actively push she went straight back to the computer. She had charting to do, which I understand, but I had wanted to badly just to feel like she wanted to be there with us - not that I was a chore. I wanted her to talk to me, to distract me, and to encourage me.

At some point after my doctor checked in, my IV pump started alerting us that my epidural medication was running low. From what we were told this starts happening when there is about 30 minutes of medication left. This leaves time for it to be replaced. Unfortunately that didn't happen for a long while. The medication eventually ran out, and it didn't take too long for the full force of the labor to hit me like a truck. I went from medicated labor, feeling pressure but not pain, to the worst pain I had even experienced in my life.

We were told that anesthesiology had been called. We are still working with the hospital to see what the timeline on this was. My husband estimated that my epidural had been fully out for sometime in the ball park of an hour or more. When your medication runs out the machine continues to beep, and our nurse kept instructing my husband on how to press the mute button. I will never forget the way he was so powerless to do anything to help, and how badly I know he wanted to.

At some point during this whole ordeal I suddenly developed excruciating arm pain. It was like shockwaves going up and down my right arm, and the pressure of trying to push made it even worse. Another nurse told us at a later point that she had seen this a couple times before, but it wasn't common. I hardly remember our nurse acknowledging my pain, only seeming frustrated when I would stall in pushing because everything hurt. The way she said "I need to know what hurts!" made me feel like a child, and I didn't know how to communicate more clearly that this pain was so bad it was distracting me from being able to push. That, and I was still without an epidural. I felt so ignored. I understand that there was likely little she could have done, but all I wanted was to be acknowledged. Instead, she kept asking me to hold up my leg while I pushed - with that very arm that was in such distressing pain.

Eventually anesthesiology did come. I'll always remember the tone of voice that the doctor - an angel of a man - when he asked "How long has this been out for?" There was an undertone that read to my husband and I as "Why didn't you call me sooner?" Again, we don't actually know what happened here, or where wires got crossed, and in the moment I was too relieved that he was there to ask any probing questions.

It didn't take too terribly long for the pain to ease. If I remember right, the anesthesiologist gave me a bolus to bring some more immediate relief. Funnily enough, as the pain of labor started to fade so did the pain in my arm. I was dead tired at this point, but I finally felt like I could focus on having my baby.

Sometime after this some other folks came into the room. I remember at least one of them being a midwife, the other may have also been a midwife or perhaps she was a nurse. This time was the most supported I had felt the entire pushing process. They were again checking to ensure my pushing was effective, something the nurse assigned to me never did. They were helping with different positions, they were encouraging. As tired as I was I felt like they were giving me energy.

My doctor came into the room sometime around 1am. I want to reiterate that things were incredibly busy that night, and I don't think she'd been completely aware of what my labor had been like. She also happened to be my doctor. Even though this particular hospital rotates who is working labor and delivery, I got lucky that the doctor I saw for the second half of my pregnancy was there that night.

She checked to see how far along we had progressed. We were still between 0 and 1+ station. Three hours of pushing, pushing that multiple people had confirmed was powerful and being done correctly, and she hadn't budged. My doctor stayed in the room for a bit to also help me through some pushes but at that point it was clear. My baby hadn't budged in three hours and we were told that it was unlikely I'd be able to deliver her vaginally.

The sad part is that both my husband and I remember very clearly throughout the night that I often expressed concern that "it felt like nothing is happening." I didn't know how right I was at the time. I tried to advocate for myself, and I often look back at this particular detail and wonder if I could have done more. That's the thing about hindsight, you are able to look back and see things so much clearer. Past me didn't know what the outcome of that evening would be, but if she did she would have screamed until someone listened.

At this point my doctor suggested a caesarean delivery. I remember asking her if I could keep going, but at this point I had been pushing for around 4 hours and 15 minutes. I was fatigued, and would only get more tired. The chances of a successful delivery this way were slim, and we didn't want to further distress baby. I agreed. At least, I thought, this would be over soon.

Once that decision was made prep happened so incredibly fast. It was less than an hour between giving consent and being in the operating room. I don't remember much of it but I do remember my anesthesiologist. The same one who renewed my epidural earlier that evening. He came in to get me prepped and was the one person who was with me most of the procedure. I don't know exactly what happened, but while he was getting my epidural ready for surgery something broke. I just remember him saying "Well this has never happened before." He was masterful, and was able to fix it, but I look back on it and chuckle sadly because that was truly the first in a long line of similar statements.

Once I was given the spinal my system did not respond well. I began vomiting uncontrollably. My husband wasn't able to be in the room yet so the anesthesiologist kindly held a bag up to my mouth and moved my hair out of the way while I lay on the table. Something he said during that time sticks with me, and every time I think about it I start crying again. While everyone else was preparing for surgery and he was helping me not make a mess of myself he said "You're so strong for everything you've been through tonight." Those were the words I'd needed to hear all night from someone other than my husband and he'd finally said them. I responded by telling him that he is one of the nicest people I'd ever met - which remains true.

My husband was able to join eventually. Unfortunately, by this time I was starting to experience a side effect of the spinal. Tremors and shaking, specifically of my arms and my jaw. My husband recalls that it looked like I was seizing, and I was so scared I was going to bite my tongue off. My husband physically held my face to try to control some of the clattering. It felt like it was never going to end and was so distressing and uncomfortable. Thankfully, we still had the anesthesiologist by our side to assure us that this was normal and as soon as he could he'd give me something to make it stop.

I didn't feel any part of the c section except the pressure of my daughter being pulled out. I find this amazing, because we didn't find this out until later, but she required heavy manipulation to get her out. She was so deeply impacted that they had to use a rare, extreme maneuver called the "push technique" or an "assist from below." It is exactly what it sounds like. Someone had to reach into the vaginal canal to try to push her back up so she could be delivered. I still don't have a full grasp of how common this is, but I do know that multiple people later made comment on it - usually expressing some surprise or awe.

When she was out she didn't cry. My heart dropped. I remember saying "Is she okay?" and the anesthesiologist assured me she was stunned, but alright. She did end up needing to be on CPAP for a few moments. I can't remember how long exactly, perhaps 2-3. I could go back at her medical notes and check but every time I dig into her medical notes I end up crying. All I can think about is her first moments of life and how I wish they had been calmer.

They asked my husband if he wanted to be with her. I remember insisting he go to her, but he was so concerned about me that he said he'd stay. One of the nurses, or maybe a doctor, asked for his phone. I am so thankful for that because they took some pictures of her.

Things were fuzzy for several minutes. I remember looking over to see my placenta being put in a bin. Someone communicated to us that my daughter had an abrasion on her head and would need to go to NICU. They were concerned about it getting infected. Memory only becomes clear when they brought her over to me. I didn't get to hold her, but they held her close to me. I remember the way she looked toward me when I spoke to her. I told her that I also had milia on my face. Everyone laughed when she licked my nose. Then, she had to be taken away.

I didn't get to hold my baby, or have skin to skin, or love on the daughter I had fought so hard for that night. It was both the best and worst moments of my life.

Birth Injury & Hypertensive Episode

I hardly remember anything else from that night. My tremors did eventually stop, but it was long after I was moved back to our room to recover. I think I might have been given something to help me sleep. There was one point where my husband was asked to come to NICU. It scared the crud out of him, but they only needed sign off to put an IV through her umbilical cord since they couldn’t get one into her hand.

I vaguely remember shift change coming around again and we met my new nurse. Due to my preeclampsia I knew I would be staying in PSCU and she ended up being on my care team for a few days. She's another person I will never forget. From the get go she was so focused on getting both me and my daughter cleared for a visit. I was coping surprisingly well, mostly because I was in shock I think, but I was very vocal about wanting to see my baby. All I had at that point were the few pictures the NICU staff had taken on my husbands phone. I stared at them off and on for hours.

Given that I would need to be cleared to go to NICU, and that my baby also had to be cleared for a visit, this took some time but once cleared our nurse happily wheeled me over to NICU. I know moving into the wheelchair was painful with my fresh incision but I was so anxious to see my baby I didn’t care.

My daughter had been born at 2:07am and I finally got to hold her for the first time just before 11am. Nine hours of separation. They were so painful, and it took me a long time postpartum to feel okay going somewhere without her. I worried for a long time that not being able to have skin to skin after she was born would hurt our bond. That I would need to some how make up for this lost experience. There is a lot of lingering trauma in those nine hours, even though they were quiet and calm considering all that had happened. I’m still working on processing the deep wound they left.

This is another point where things are hazy. I don't really remember much from our first visit to the NICU. My husband has filled in some gaps but there are some I'm just not ready to hear. I can't remember if we were in the NICU or back in our room when we met her doctor. She had explained that there was a build up of fluid in the back of my daughter's head, and while they were fairly positive it was on the outermost layer and wouldn't cause long term damage, they wanted to do an x-ray to be sure.

She was rested on a special pillow to keep pressure off of it. I hadn’t noticed in the brief moments I saw her after birth but seeing her in the NICU the fluid build up was obvious. Now when I see her first pictures I can see why the doctors were concerned because it was there from the moment she was born. It looked like she had a water balloon in the back of her head.

When we saw her they also pointed out the abrasion on her head. She had those scabs for many weeks after birth. They talked about how she was stable, and they'd probably give her donor milk soon. I remember thinking "Wow, she hasn't even eaten yet?" which looking back on it is a bit silly, given that she wasn't even 10 hours old.

The rest of that day continues to be extremely fuzzy. Sometime later in the day the results of her x-ray came back and her doctor came to speak with us. I don't remember much of this conversation except that they suspected she had a skull fracture and they wanted to do a CT scan, then consult with the surgeon at the nearby children's hospital. This was a level three NICU, one of the best in the area, and my baby might need to be transferred for surgery? I think I went into defense mode at this point because I was way more positive than I was weeks and months after, when I had fully realized what had happened.

The CT scan later confirmed that she did indeed have a depression fracture. One of the plates of her skull was depressed toward her brain. I can't remember if we had to wait again to know what the surgeon at the nearby hospital advised, or if all this news came at the same time. The silver lining was that there was nothing surgery would be able to do in her situation and the prognosis was good. It would heal on its own and shouldn't impact her long term health or development.

Later that evening I remember my doctor coming to visit. I don't remember the entire conversation, but I did share with her what happened during the end stage of my labor. My epidural running out, my feelings of being under supported. When I gave her an update on my daughter and her injury, she said something about our situation will forever be imprinted in my memory. "In my career, I have never seen something like this happen."

This is when I really started to understand the gravity of what had occurred. My baby had been stuck on my pubic bone and I pushed so long and hard that it had fractured her skull.

Every person who has touched our case so far has made similar comments. Every time a professional remarks on how unusual the situation it feels validating - but it also is a reminder what what happened was real.

It's a reminder that as she entered this world my body hurt her body.

I know logically that nothing was done with intent, and that no one could have predicted an outcome like this, but the pain and guilt still linger. I'm still unpacking these feelings, and think I will be for a long time.

The next day was also pretty blurry. A few things I remember are having to have a second catheter put in due to not being able to empty my bladder post surgery/the first one being removed.

I got a visit from a member of the anesthesiology team and after explaining what had happened with my epidural, he said that their policy was "thirty minutes, and that's on the extreme end." It was just another sign that things really had gone sideways.

We visited our baby several times in the NICU, and the swelling on her head was going down significantly. My husband had to double check that we had gone to visit the right baby, she looked so dramatically different!

We decided on a name.

We had to say farewell to my incredible day nurse - she was heading off on a week vacation and wouldn't be there the next day. We talked for a while about The Office and Jury Duty. I'll always think of her when I see clips of that show.

At around midnight on Sept 1st we were woken up with excellent news. Our baby girl was being released from NICU and could stay in my room. She had to stay on a bili blanket to help with her jaundice, but was doing well enough that she didn't need to be under such close observation. She had to wear this little eye mask to shield her eyes from the light and looked like a little cyborg caterpillar.

Sometime later that morning my blood pressure clocked in at 171/94. A recheck fifteen minutes later showed 163/89. My preeclampsia was now severe preeclampsia and I had to undergo hypertensive protocol. This was another thing that I remember being abnormally calm about, despite the risk that I could have eventually progressed to eclampsia and experienced seizures, stroke, or coma. Thankfully that wasn't the case and after being put on medication my blood pressure did regulate.

In the following day I had two more conversations about our experience with hospital staff. The nurse leaders for both PSCU and L&D. They both took mine and my husbands experience very seriously, and further confirmed that our experience was abnormal.

At one point our baby's NICU doctor visited and made the comment about how "everyone in the room was traumatized that night".

My incredible day nurse from L&D came by to say hi, she gave me a hug, and mentioned how when she go to work that day a coworker said "Did you hear what happened to your patient?"

I remember all these comments so clearly because they painted such a clear picture, even though I struggled to see it at the time.

The last couple of days at the hospital weren't quite as eventful, thankfully. As my blood pressure stabilized I didn't need monitoring quite as frequently, but we were now caring for our daughter and feeding her every three hours. We had another absolutely amazing nurse at night time. She went out of her way to help wash pump parts and bottles, and was such an incredible care taker. The last night I was there I sent my husband home to get a good nights rest, and he said he felt confident doing so because this particular nurse would be there to help me and our baby. Before she left on shift change I remember her saying "I say this with love, but I don't want to see you tomorrow."

She didn't, because after being admitted Monday 9/28 I was finally going home Sunday 9/3. Despite all the circumstances our baby was also being discharged with me. I thought things would get better once we got home - but as the days went on and I started to process all we had gone through, on top of hormone crashes and trying to navigate caring for a baby, things got worse.

Early Postpartum: PPD & PTSD

I've been outspoken for a while now about my struggles with mental health, and I remained on my medication throughout pregnancy. I knew I was unwell when, despite being on this medication, I was still an absolute wreck a couple weeks postpartum. I found little enjoyment in anything, I was crying constantly, having flash backs, and trouble sleeping. I felt hopeless, worthless, like a terrible mother. I was trying to figure out where I had gone wrong that all of this had happened, and that my baby had gotten hurt.

Given that I had a c section I saw my doctor two weeks post op. This was a hard appointment because the emotional flood gates flew wide open. I asked her how this had come to happen. I asked why did it take so long for anesthesiology to renew my epidural. I asked why no one checked progress on her descent for so long. I expressed grief over my experience, and talked about the symptoms I was experiencing postpartum.

I told her that no matter what search terms I typed in I couldn't find similar cases of this happening to other people. What I had learned was that skull fractures in neonates were rare, ~3 in 100,000 births and they typically occur due to improper use of forceps and vacuums. I couldn't find any stories like ours.

She said “I know.”

My doctor, bless her, took on a lot of blame. Blame that I don't entirely place on her. Obviously she had never seen anything like this happen before, but she also knew that I was a first time mom, with a pre term baby who was likely to be small, and that it wasn't abnormal to push for 3-4 hours. She said it was on her to make the call to move to a c section, but there was nothing to indicate at the time that it should have been done sooner.

She said "It's okay to be angry. It's alright to be angry at me." I told her I wasn't. I'm still not. I think there were a lot of factors at play that night. It was busy, and had someone checked to see how my baby was progressing during the three hours she wasn't able to be in my room she might have had the information she needed to make a different decision.

What I am so thankful for is her honesty, transparency, and how quickly she took action. She was swift to work with my GP and hospital resources to get me the mental health care I needed. She also opened a case with the hospital which is still active and open. At a later visit with her she said it was likely they would be doing an M&MC around our case. First, an audit needed to happen so they could identify where things went sideways and how it could be prevented in the future.

With the support of the therapist I had been seeing during my pregnancy I transitioned to seeing a psychologist who specializes in birth trauma. I also began seeing a psychiatrist to assist with medication management. I was diagnosed with PPD, and PTSD.

I could get into all the ways this has impacted me. All of the tears. The progress. The set backs. The anxiety. The fear.

For now, I'll save that for another time.

Life After Trauma: Finding the Missing Pieces & A Message to You

What was important for me to start with was writing down what happened - or at least the pieces that I can remember. There was a part of me that kept putting this off. Partly for the pain of reliving it, partly because I knew how many missing pieces there were. Then, with the help of my therapist, I realized that the picture would probably always be incomplete. This story is still ongoing, and if I waited until it was "done" and tied up in a perfect little bow I would never put it out into the universe.

There is so much more to say and in time I’m sure those words will come.

I finally feel like I am in a place to share this trauma. At first I kept it close to my chest - sharing only the high level details but not the deep hurt, or how unprecedented our situation was even to the medical staff. I told very few people about my PPD and PTSD.

I don't share this now to garner empathy, though my heart is now open to receive it. In the beginning I think I was in such a survival state that asking for too much help, other than from my medical team, or sharing our story was just another reminder that the trauma was real.

I have also come to realize that a part of this is beyond me. I remember all the sleepless nights where I googled every search term I could think of, trying to find a story similar to mine. Maybe it is out there, but I didn't find it.

It was isolating and lonely.

I knew that eventually I wanted to share what had happened. Not just for my own healing journey, but in the off chance that this happens to someone else perhaps they will find these words and feel less alone.

If that is you, no matter what part of this story resonates with you, please know that I see you. You are important, and worth being taken care of. It is hard to think about caring for yourself when you are caring for a new life, especially if you feel broken beyond repair.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I can't tell you what it looks like yet because I'm still following it, but the further along I travel the more light shines on me and the warmer it feels. Eventually you’ll be able to turn around and see just how far you’ve come.

If you need someone to talk to I am here. Whether you are a friend or a stranger, please contact me.

And for all others who might happen to read this - please check on your postpartum loved ones. Not just the couple weeks after birth, but continue to check on them. Direct as much of that love as you can toward the new parents. I promise that their baby will be receiving an abundance of attention, love, and care. Even if they say they're fine, even if they seem to be holding it all together, they might very well be feeling lost and alone. Unsure of how to say so, or maybe not ready to say so at all. Parenthood is a hard adjustment in the best of circumstances, and you never know what someone might be holding close to their chest. Perhaps they really are fine, perhaps they are not. Either way, your love will be appreciated.