I had been noticing swelling in my face, hands, and feet, but my blood pressure was always normal, so I brushed it off as a typical pregnancy symptom.

One Thursday, I woke up with a deep, unsettling feeling that something was wrong. I went to my OB for peace of mind and found out I was already dilated and having real contractions—at just 34 weeks. I was sent home with strict instructions to rest and go to Labor & Delivery if my contractions progressed.

That night, the sense of impending doom was overwhelming and sent me into a panic attack. Then came the worst headache of my life—pain so severe I was dunking my head into bowls of ice water just to get relief. I barely slept. By Friday, I felt slightly better, and my contractions slowed.

By Saturday morning, they picked back up. This time with dizziness and shortness of breath. My blood pressure read 135/102, so I went to Labor & Delivery. After monitoring, even with a spike to 160/102 and my list of symptoms, I was told it was likely dehydration and sent home.

By Tuesday, I returned with rising blood pressure and was admitted for monitoring. Medication helped stabilize my blood pressure and headaches, and by Thursday, I was discharged.

That night, my blood pressure reached 163/110… then 170/108. By Friday, I was back at the hospital, and this time, everything changed. It was a whirlwind. They quickly determined it was too dangerous for my baby to remain in utero. I was started on a magnesium drip to prevent seizures and prepared for induction.

The magnesium drip was overwhelming. My body felt like it was on fire. My vision blurred, sounds were muffled, and I was too weak to walk. I felt trapped in my own body, unable to rest.

Then things took a turn. I developed HELLP Syndrome, a severe form of preeclampsia. My liver and kidneys began to fail, and my body could no longer process the medication, leading to magnesium toxicity.

My baby’s heart rate began to drop.
I lost all reflexes.
My blood pressure crashed to 50/40.

I remember feeling overwhelmingly weak and telling a nurse, “Please don’t let me fall asleep. If I do, I will die.”

Six minutes. That’s all it took for my OB to get him out. Six minutes that saved both of our lives. He was immediately taken across the room to be stabilized and then rushed to the NICU.

Preeclampsia is a thief.
It replaced excitement with fear.
It kept me from hearing my son’s first cry.
It stole our golden hour and our first night together.

I still grieve the experience I had always imagined, but I am incredibly grateful for our outcome— one we may not have had if I had not continued to advocate for myself.

If there is one thing I want others to take from my story, it is this: you know your body better than anyone. Trust your instincts. You are not overreacting. Ask questions, push for answers, and never stop advocating for yourself.