I can’t see the light, but I am acutely aware that I am on the brink of death.
It’s a Friday night. I find myself in an intensive care unit bed just after giving birth to my twins at 35 weeks and 3 days. My blood pressure is skyrocketing at 240 over 120, and my body is uncontrollably trembling. I’ve lost muscle control and cannot respond when the doctor asks if I can hear him. Suddenly, three doctors rush into my room, inserting a second IV into my other arm. They are urgently administering medication to lower my dangerously high blood pressure. I may not see the light, but deep down, I know that my life hangs in the balance.
Fast forward eight months earlier. My partner and I were eager to expand our family. We already had a beautiful daughter, and we wanted her to have siblings. A pregnancy test revealed the exciting news, and after confirming with multiple tests, we eagerly anticipated our first ultrasound. The technician’s words, “Congratulations are in order,” quickly turned to “How many congratulations would you like?” Our simultaneous reply of “One!” was met with, “Well, it’s two, from what I can tell.” My laughter erupted, while my husband remained visibly stunned. After a brief pause, he simply stated, “I need to get a second job.”
While details of the pregnancy can be tedious, it’s important to note that carrying twins is no easy feat. By week 12, I was already enormous, suffering from relentless morning (and afternoon, and evening) sickness until week 26, and struggling to find two names that felt right.
The real shock came during a routine checkup at 28 weeks. I was running late, and when I finally sat down, my blood pressure reading was high, as expected. After the nurse asked me to wait and retake the measurement, I noticed her growing concern. When she inquired about blurry vision, I understood that something was seriously wrong. A urine sample confirmed the diagnosis of “preeclampsia” for the first time.
For those unfamiliar, preeclampsia is a serious condition characterized by high blood pressure that can lead to organ failure or even stroke, posing risks to both mother and baby. I was promptly admitted to the hospital, where I spent the next two months under constant observation. Each day, specialists informed me that I might deliver within 24 hours, a prospect I dreaded. The thought of my tiny twins needing extensive care in the NICU was overwhelming.
Determined to foster a positive mindset, I focused on uplifting stories shared in social media groups and educated myself about my condition. I drank copious amounts of water, convinced it was detoxifying my body. I visualized my babies thriving until at least 35 weeks, knowing that reaching that milestone would significantly improve their chances.
Meanwhile, my eldest daughter, who had just turned two, was at home without me, which was the hardest part of this ordeal. I could endure the hospital food, the constant testing, and the uncertainty, but being away from my daughter was heart-wrenching. I often found myself wishing the twins would arrive early just so I could reunite with her.
Miraculously, I managed to hold on for nearly two months. During my stay, I met many courageous women who inspired me with their strength. Witnessing mothers endure painful struggles to provide milk for their premature infants was both humbling and inspiring. This experience, while incredibly challenging, was transformative and eye-opening.
At 35 weeks, I told the doctors, “It’s time to deliver.” I was thrilled to finally meet my twins! When I first laid eyes on them, tears filled my eyes. They were smaller than I had anticipated—Dylan weighed 4 lbs. 6 oz., and his sister Mia was just slightly less at 4 lbs. 3 oz. Admittedly, she was not the cutest baby I had ever seen, but my love for them was immense. I felt such relief that the ordeal was over.
That night in the ICU, I awoke feeling something was terribly wrong. I requested the nurse to check my blood pressure, which was alarmingly high and rising rapidly. My husband, who had been sleeping in a chair by my bedside, awakened to the commotion.
Within moments, I was surrounded by doctors. I knew the impending danger as I had read about eclampsia, a serious condition marked by seizures that can lead to coma or death. Suddenly, my body began to convulse uncontrollably, and panic set in. My husband appeared confused, and I realized I could not leave my daughters in his care if he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
In that moment, I chose to escape mentally. I envisioned myself on a beach, sipping cocktails. I imagined the taste of a piña colada followed by a margarita. I could hear the doctor asking if I was okay and if I could hear him, but I transported myself to Paris, savoring the cheeses I had missed during pregnancy. My body continued to shake as more medication flowed into my veins, but I vividly pictured my daughters in my mind, and I knew I would be okay. I found myself smiling, perhaps making the medical team think I had lost my mind.
Moments later, my blood pressure began to stabilize, and I opened my eyes—I was still alive. All I could think of was how fortunate I was to have such dedicated medical staff by my side, including my husband, who had just realized how close he came to losing me and having to raise three children alone.
That night felt interminable, and while the immediate crisis seemed to have passed, I knew that the real challenge lay ahead. A few days later, I was finally able to return home with my babies, and thus began our new, exhilarating life as a family of five.
From that point forward, I resolved to use humor as my secret weapon and maintain a positive outlook as my shield as I navigated the ups and downs of motherhood.
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In summary, my experience with eclampsia was harrowing yet transformative. Through determination and the support of healthcare professionals, I was able to overcome significant challenges and emerge stronger, prepared to embrace the joys and challenges of motherhood.
Keyphrase: eclampsia after birth
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