Both of my pregnancies were affected by preeclampsia, and my first experience completely changed how I view pregnancy, healthcare, and self-advocacy.

When I was pregnant with my son, Sebastian, I began feeling unwell early on. I had been on Zofran since eight weeks due to severe nausea, tore an abdominal muscle in my first trimester, and dealt with painful sacroiliac joint issues. But none of that compared to what came later.

In the last two months, my blood pressure climbed, I had swelling, headaches, lightheadedness, and blurry vision. I repeatedly told my OB’s office that something felt wrong, especially knowing my sister had preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome, but I was told everything looked fine.

I went to the hospital twice for my blood pressure. The first time it dropped after a few hours, and I was sent home. The second time, I was admitted for three days. They said my labs were okay and sent me home on bed rest. Later, I found out those labs actually showed protein in my urine, a clear warning sign that had been missed.

Just four days later, I felt worse and went to another hospital for a second opinion. This time, my labs showed severe preeclampsia with early signs of liver and kidney distress. I was told I needed to deliver immediately. I was put on a magnesium drip to prevent seizures or stroke and flown to a larger hospital. Magnesium is lifesaving, but it’s also brutal, it makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside, you can’t eat, and you have to stay on it for at least 24 hours after delivery. Because of that, I missed the entire first day of my son’s life.

Sebastian was born at 28 weeks, small but strong, and cried right away. He was placed on a ventilator for a couple of days before switching to a CPAP and then finally moving down to a nose cannula. He spent eight weeks in the NICU, including his first Halloween and Thanksgiving. He came home on oxygen, and that adjustment was a steep learning curve. Between the NICU stay, postpartum depression, postpartum psychosis, and what I later learned through therapy was PTSD from his delivery, it was a long road to healing.

When I became pregnant again, I was determined to do everything I could differently. I knew the symptoms to watch for and felt hopeful. For most of my pregnancy with my daughter, Elodie, everything went smoothly until Monday, June 3rd. My blood pressure spiked, and I started having blurry vision. I went to the hospital and was monitored, then returned later that week to receive steroid shots for her lungs. By Sunday, June 9th, my labs worsened, and I was taken for an emergency C-section at 32 weeks.

Just like before, I was placed on the magnesium drip again. The burning, the nausea, the exhaustion, it’s something you never forget. And once again, it meant missing out on those first 24 precious hours with my baby.

Elodie spent three weeks in the NICU at our local hospital. She was never on a ventilator, just CPAP for two days before moving to a nasal cannula. Watching her grow stronger every day gave me hope.

Both of my children are now thriving, but their births have left lasting marks on me. Preeclampsia is unpredictable, dangerous, and can escalate quickly. I’m endlessly grateful for the care that ultimately saved us, but I also know how differently things could have gone if I hadn’t spoken up and trusted my instincts.

If there’s one message I could share, it’s this: trust your gut and advocate for yourself. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t be afraid to push for answers. Your instincts can save your life and your baby’s.