I thought the hard part was over.

My son was born on October 2022, at 37 weeks via C-section after my blood pressure began rising around 35 weeks. He was perfect but had trouble breathing. About two hours after he was born, he was rushed by ambulance to another hospital with a higher-level NICU.

I hadn’t even gotten to hold him yet.

Still groggy and recovering from surgery, I struggled to move—just trying to get into a wheelchair so I could see him before he left. I made it in time, barely. I spent about 10 minutes with him. We took one family photo with him in the incubator. But I didn’t get to hold him. Not that day, and not for several more.

While he was in the NICU, I remained at another hospital. My husband went back and forth between the two so we were both supported. After a few days, my OB-GYN discharged me early so I could be with our son. I’m forever grateful for that. The moment I finally got to hold him, I felt like I could breathe again.

After five days, he was healthy enough to come home. We thought we were finally in the clear.

Eight days postpartum, I was sitting on the couch watching a movie with my husband when I suddenly felt anxious. My heart was racing. My thoughts felt scattered. My husband suggested we check my blood pressure, just to be safe.

It read 190/110.

We assumed the cuff was broken. I called a friend who’s a nurse and we FaceTimed to make sure we were doing it correctly. Same result. We waited ten minutes, tried again. No change.

She told us to go to urgent care. I wasn’t in pain, so I felt silly, assuming it was just stress from having a newborn recently discharged from the NICU.

Urgent care had a three-hour wait just for a vitals check. The receptionist looked at my reading and said, “If it was that high at home, you need to go to the ER now.”

At the ER, a doctor confirmed my blood pressure was 180/112. He asked how I was feeling, then quickly left the room. When he returned, he brought a team of doctors and nurses and said I was being sent to labor and delivery.

He offered me a wheelchair. I said I could walk. I still didn’t realize how serious this was. One of the nurses gently placed a hand on my back as we walked. I later realized they were worried I might seize.

In labor and delivery, they started a magnesium drip right away and wrapped my hospital bed in soft foam. I asked why. A nurse told me it was in case I had a seizure.

That’s when I was diagnosed with postpartum preeclampsia.

I had heard of preeclampsia during pregnancy, but I didn’t know it could develop after giving birth. I thought I was just tired and adjusting. I had no idea I was in danger.

I spent more than two days on the magnesium drip. That time is a blur. I felt awful—weak, foggy, and sick. I couldn’t hold my baby, but I somehow kept pumping milk for him. I’m so grateful the hospital allowed my husband and son to stay with me. I didn’t have to go through it alone.

After three days, I went home on blood pressure medication, which I took for six weeks before my numbers finally returned to normal.

I still think about how close I came to something much worse.

That blood pressure check—sitting on the couch, watching a movie—saved my life. My husband, who suggested checking it, will always be my hero. The friend who answered my call and the urgent care receptionist who took it seriously were guardian angels looking out for me.

If you’re a new mom, or you know one, please pay attention to the signs. Postpartum preeclampsia can be deadly. I didn’t have a headache. I didn’t have vision changes. I didn’t have pain beyond my C-section recovery. I just felt off.

If something doesn’t feel right, check your blood pressure. Speak up. Seek help.

Your body just did something incredible. It deserves to be cared for too.