Postnatal PTSD- My birth story

It would be an understatement to say that giving birth is hard. No matter how you give birth, it is an incredible experience like no other where you feel an immense amount of pain and joy all at once. I am so grateful to God that I was given the opportunity to birth two children. However, when your birth isn't what you expect, you are left feeling incomplete, and in a way traumatized. In some cases, it may not even be the birth that has traumatized you but what happens postpartum that leaves you in shock.

The weeks leading up to my son's birth were a bit trying. I was traveling back and forth, with my toddler, between New Jersey and Brooklyn for work. I was constantly tired, and stressed out from sitting in hours of traffic. Around 34 weeks, I woke up one morning with a swollen face, feet, and hands. I immediately thought #preeclampsia but after checking my blood pressure, realized it was within normal range. I continued to worry about this sudden swelling and I ended up going to my doctor that evening where preeclampsia was ruled out because of my normal blood pressure readings. The swelling continued to last over the next few weeks.

At 37 weeks, I began to bleed. My mucus plug had dislodged and I was beginning to contract. My husband and I went to the hospital where I was monitored, admitted, and had a membrane sweep performed (which the attendant apologized for performing since she did not realize I was only 37 weeks at the time, and membrane sweeps should not take place before 38 weeks). When my labor did not progress, I was ultimately discharged. I remember feeling this overwhelming sadness. I did not expect to be sent home from the hospital without my son. The drive home was silent. I continued to have labor pains, contractions, and bleeding. The next morning, I called my OBGYN to see what I should do next.

He was livid that I was discharged without his approval. He told me to head back to the hospital, where he would meet me right away. At this point, things were happening so quickly, that I didn't even have a chance to think. I was given an epidural almost immediately after being admitted and induced to progress my labor. (The epidural I was given was so strong that I could not lift or move my left leg. It felt as though it was not part of my body. This made pushing a bit more difficult.) After a few hours of laboring, I felt an enormous need to push. All at once, my delivery room was filled with countless doctors and nurses. Each one took turns staring at the monitors, and speaking about how my son's heart rate was dropping. I began to panic. I was told to push as quick and as hard as I could in order to get my son out. My husband held my immobile leg up, while my incredible nurse held my hand and counted my pushes. Needless to say, my son was born in less than five minutes, and under three pushes. It was an exhausting & indescribable task. Since my son could not regulate his breathing after birth, he failed his Apgar test and was monitored & checked out by NICU nurses. Thank God, a few moments later his breathing regulated and he was mine to hold.

Over the course of the next few days, we got into the rhythm of breastfeeding, sleeping, and bonding with one another. On the second day, we were discharged to go home. At home, I was feeling amazing. I watched my daughter become a big sister, and our family of three become a family of four! Thankfully, my mother-in-law chose to stay with us, to help with the transition from one child to two, and my sister came over to meet her Godson.

Although I felt amazing, my mom and mother-in-law were still concerned that my swelling had not subsided. I brushed the swelling off as a side effect from the Pitocin that was given to induce my labor. Within five minutes of me feeling the best I ever had, I felt the worst I ever had. My vision blurred, my heart rate dropped, my head pounded, and I had pulsing in my neck. At that moment, I thought I was having a stroke. I had no idea what was happening to me. I cried in my sister's arms, asking her if I was going to die. My mother-in-law told my husband to call the ambulance. After being assessed by the EMTs, I was told my blood pressure was dangerously high (168/95), and my heart rate dipped to 44. I was terrified. I had never experienced anything like this before.

As much as I knew I needed treatment for whatever was happening to me, I did not want to leave my newborn and toddler. The ambulance took me to the nearest hospital (which was not the hospital I had just delivered my son at, & this particular hospital did not have a labor and delivery unit). Once in the ER, I was told that I was experiencing a spinal headache from the epidural, and dehydration. I was given a mixture of Reglan and Benadryl to help ease my headache, as well as an IV (for dehydration). This combination of medication, had not only not helped my symptoms but had actually caused me to have an allergic reaction and break out into hives throughout my body. My blood pressure was never controlled or treated. I was sent home soon after my allergic reaction was treated.

Back at home, I continued to feel sick. I could not stop the pulsing in my neck or the shortness of breath I was feeling. Now, high blood pressure had never been an issue for me. I have always had rather low bp, and live a very active lifestyle, so this was very concerning to me & I knew something was not right. The next day, I went to my primary care doctor, where she told me that I had extremely high blood pressure but did not have #postpartum #eclampsia since the proteins used to diagnose this disorder were not present in my urine. I once again left the doctors feeling hopeless. I knew I could not continue to feel this way; something in my body felt wrong.

For the second time in less than a week, I had left my newborn (who was/is exclusively breastfed). I finally went back to the hospital where I delivered my son, and was admitted for postpartum eclampsia and immediately placed on a 24-hour #magnesium drip. The relief I felt was unspeakable. I was finally being treated for something I had questioned about since my pregnancy.

After I was told that I was being placed on a magnesium drip to stop the potential risk of having a seizure, I was told I was no longer able to get out of bed. Since I could not get out of bed to use the bathroom, I was also placed on an all liquid diet and had a catheter placed inside me. Within an hour of being put on the IV drip, I lost the ability to move my body, open my eyes, and speak louder than a whisper. At this point in my treatment, I honestly believed I was dying and there was nothing I could do about it.

Since magnesium sulfate is a muscle relaxant, my speech was slowed because I couldn't open my mouth wide enough, my hands couldn't make a fist so it was hard to grasp things, and my eyelids were heavy. One of my nurses came into my room, noticed my discomfort, and began to assist in every way possible. She used a pair of hospital underwear to create a bra that held up my breast pumps for me, since I could not hold them up on my own. She kept my mom on speed-dial so that I could communicate, since holding my phone was too much for me, and she helped me open and drink the liquids that were placed on a table too far out of my reach. I will never forget how she went above and beyond for me and was one of the only hospital employees that showed me empathy during this time.

Once the magnesium drip was complete, I was cleared by a nephrologist to go home. However, my bp levels were still extremely high, and I was given no treatment to help lower it. That night, I went back to the ER (where I gave birth) with a blood pressure reading of 170/100. I felt like this would never end, and no one could help me. This time, after multiple hospital and doctor visits, I was finally given a medication to help lower my bp. I started seeing a nephrologist, who treated me instantly, and showed so much compassion for my situation. It took some time, weeks even, for my blood pressure to stabilize but I was finally recovering.

Going through all of this, plus being postpartum, took a toll on my mental health. For months after giving birth, and recovering from postpartum eclampsia, I couldn't stop myself from being depressed. Although I was so grateful to God for healing me, and giving me more time with my babies, I couldn't help but feel anxious, and sad. I realized that I was experiencing some form of PTSD. I was traumatized from what I had experienced shortly after giving birth.

Postpartum eclampsia is a silent killer. If you ignore your symptoms, you might be too late. I will never stop telling women to trust your body and instincts. I was told by three doctors that I definitely did not have eclampsia before being admitted for treatment. If I would have put my trust solely in them, who knows where I would be today. I thank God everyday that I can continue to tell my story.