On Wednesday, June 24, 2015, I had a routine OB-GYN appointment. I was pregnant with twins, 1 boy, 1 girl. I was 33 weeks and 6 days. I had normal blood pressure throughout my pregnancy. But that day, it was 140 over 90. I told my doctor we'd better re-test me for pre-eclampsia.

That night, we took my blood pressure. It was 165 over 105. Everyone told me it was stress. I was regularly storing urine in a container. The next morning, I had work and called the doctor just to notify them. They said to come in right away.

I was given magnesium sulfate in the labor and delivery unit. The hospital workers tried in vain to keep me pregnant. Later that night, my blood pressure shot up into the 180s and 115. My babies were still alive. My instinct, which was correct, was that my 34 week viable babies were better off being born early than trying to keep them in my body, which was a sinking ship at that moment. I had a sister, Sarah, who died 3 years before I was born in 1972 from pre-eclampsia when my mom was carrying her.

My Ob-gyn talked to a neonatologist, and came to the same conclusion. He told my doctor that at 34 weeks they were likely going to be viable. The nurse told me the high blood pressure could tear the placentas and kill the children inside me. I agreed to a C section.

The nurse thought I wasn't taking the problem seriously enough and started telling me that the babies might be stillborn and wouldn't cry.

As they wheeled me into the surgery room, I could barely breath. I now realize this was likely a complication of the preeclampsia. The most painful part was being given the epidural. I felt like a wasp stung my lower back. Then the doctor started cutting. I couldn't see it, but the anesthesiologist could see the surgery taking place. I know the doctor was cutting my lower abdomen open with incisions but the anesthetic made it feel like blankets were being pulled.

I am pleased to say the nay-saying nurse was wrong. I felt a relief of pressure, as the doctor reached amniotic sac number one and popped it. Out came my son Max. He screamed very loudly and then cried. So much for her grim prognostication that he would be stillborn. He was the tinier of the twins, small for his gestational age and only 4 pounds 6 ounces, but he was as strong as an ox.

Then the ob-gyn started popping amniotic sac number two. I felt the same sensation, a relief of pressure. Cindy Rose started crying, but not as loudly. She had respiratory distress, as it later turns out.

It was a challenging week afterwards. Child birth did not cure my pre-eclampsia with bp. I had several episodes of needing new magnesium sulfate.

Cindy Rose is now 4 years old and she and her brother are happy. But she spent a solid 5 days fighting for her life with respiratory distress and jaundice. She was in the NICU for 3 weeks, and had brady episodes, which meant her heart and lungs slowed. She also needed coaching to learn how to eat.

She had been born on June 25, 2015, but on June 29, 2015, I took it upon myself to baptize her because I was convinced she would not make it. My husband and a nurse watched as I poured water on her forehead and baptized her. I was crying myself sick. I'd never cried so hard in my life. I thought I would lose my previous girl.

I was heartbroken when Cindy Rose was transferred to a more intensive NICU and only my baby boy Max got to come home with me.

On June 29, 2015, when she was transferred to the Rockford Memorial NICU, she started getting better and I began to have hope. I knew she was getting better on July 10, 2015, because I was holding her in the hospital doing skin to skin. She opened her mouth and started bobbing her open mouth on my chest. I knew my girl was asking to breast feed! In fact, she started getting angry at momma when she had a hard time locating the source of food and crying! One week later, she was released on an apnea monitor to our home.