I knew something was wrong long before anyone else believed me. From five months pregnant,my body was telling me something wasn’t right. I had constant headaches,extreme swelling and difficulty breathing. Every time I tried to explain it to my doctor,I was dismissed. I was told what I was feeling was “normal,” that pregnancy was uncomfortable,that I should be grateful to be pregnant. So I kept going.But my body was falling apart.The swelling became so severe my feet grew from a size 4 to a size 9. My skin stretched until it broke, leaving cuts across my body. Walking hurt. Existing hurt.I asked my doctor if I should take time off work because I could barely move, I was told to continue working until I went into labour.At the same time, I was terrified for my baby. During appointments, I was told my son’s stomach was not growing.I knew that wasn’t normal. I knew something was happening to us. Still, no one seemed alarmed.At my 6 month appointment, I was not even asked for a urine sample because the practice was busy and running behind schedule. Looking back, I think about how much was already being missed while I sat there trusting the people who were supposed to protect us.Then came my 7 month appointment.I walked in that morning expecting to go back to work afterward. Instead, my entire life changed.Protein was found in my urine. My blood pressure was dangerously high.

My gynecologist told me I needed to be hospitalized immediately. This was during COVID, which meant I had to face it all alone.Before being admitted, I went through COVID testing alone. No husband allowed. No family holding my hand. No support. Just me, terrified, watching medical staff move with urgency and clear panic.Once admitted, I was hooked up to endless IVs and monitors. Nurses came in constantly. Needles were never ending. Doctors kept asking if I had urinated yet. I hadn’t. My kidneys had stopped working.They gave me large amounts of fluid, desperately trying to get my kidneys to respond. They kept asking me to pee. Over and over. But I couldn’t. Then my heart began showing signs of strain. My liver followed. My body was shutting down while I lay in a hospital bed alone.

At the same time, nurses continuously checked my baby’s heartbeat. I watched their faces change. The room became quieter, more tense. Then came the moment every mother fears: they could no longer find his heartbeat properly. I will never forget lying there, listening to people speak around me while terror consumed me. I knew we were running out of time, but I still didn’t fully understand what was happening. Suddenly, I was rushed for an emergency C-section. There was no time to prepare emotionally. One moment I was in a hospital bed,the next I was being wheeled into an operating room under bright lights. I overheard a nurse say the fluid in my body would drown me. My husband arrived seconds before surgery began. They could not wait. Moments later, my son was born. I don’t remember much after that. I was told I was sedated for 24 hours so medication could try to save my body. When I finally woke up, around eight nurses stood over me, worried I hadn’t regained consciousness. I was heavily medicated with morphine, confused, and disconnected. I couldn’t even remember having my baby. They told me to shower. I walked into the bathroom in a haze, looked down at my body, and saw the incision.

Then everything came back. I had had my baby. He weighed only 1.4 kilograms. His skin looked almost transparent. He was tiny, fragile, and surrounded by tubes and machines. He kept fighting. For 3 weeks, he stayed in the NICU, fed through tubes while we prayed for every bit of progress. Despite everything preeclampsia took from us, despite how close we both came to dying, he survived. We both did. Preeclampsia is not “just high blood pressure.” It is organ failure. It is fear. It is trauma. It is mothers begging to be heard. And it can turn deadly faster than anyone realizes.