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Surviving the Scariest Chapter Of My Life

A year ago, I walked into what I believed would be a routine 35-week prenatal checkup. Due to scheduling issues, it was already later than expected, but I had been monitoring my pregnancy closely. I had been diagnosed with both low platelets and gestational diabetes—conditions I had tried not to let scare me too much, even though I knew they made my pregnancy high-risk.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

At 37 weeks, I was induced. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the seriousness of the situation—I was exhausted, physically and mentally. The weeks leading up to the induction had taken a toll on me, and in some ways, I think I was in survival mode. I was just trying to make it to the next moment.

But then, finally, my son was born. He was healthy, and in that moment, all the fear and exhaustion blurred into the background. We had made it. He was here, and that was all that mattered to me.

Immediately after delivery, the nurses started me on an iron drip. My body was depleted. The birth had taken everything out of me, and my medical team worked hard to begin rebuilding me from the inside out. Over the next couple of days, they focused heavily on my blood pressure, which had become a growing concern. I was given medication in an effort to stabilize it, and eventually, they felt it was safe to send us home.

But something didn’t feel right.

The very next day, I felt sick. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I started checking my blood pressure at home, and the numbers were climbing higher and higher. My intuition was screaming at me, so we made the decision to go to the emergency room.

It felt like forever before anyone took action. I remember being told I should’ve been sent directly back to the birthing center, but there I was—waiting, scared, and feeling worse by the minute. Eventually, they started me on three bags of magnesium.

I had no idea what that meant at the time.

No one prepares you for magnesium. It hit me hard. It made me feel disconnected, foggy, and miserable. My body was heavy and foreign to me, and emotionally, I felt like I was slipping further and further away. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever endured.

Once stabilized enough, they transferred me back to the birthing center, where I stayed on magnesium for a full 24 hours. For two or three more days, I remained there as they tried different medications to manage my blood pressure. There were moments I didn’t know how things would end—moments I felt lost in the pain, the fear, and the overwhelming confusion of what my body was doing.

But then… I got to go home.

Looking back, I can see now just how close everything came to going a very different way. And it terrifies me. It also humbles me beyond words.

This entire experience changed me. It made me more aware of how fragile life can be. It reminded me how important it is to advocate for yourself, to listen to your body, and to never ignore that quiet little voice that says, something isn’t right.

Through all of this, I also met some of the kindest, most compassionate medical professionals I’ve ever known. The care I received during that traumatic experience made a difference in my life, and I’ll never forget their patience, their empathy, or the way they held space for me when I couldn’t hold it for myself.

Now, a year later, I’m sitting here reflecting with my one-year-old son by my side.

He’s healthy. He’s thriving. He’s funny and sweet and strong—and so, so loved.

And me? I’m still healing. But I’m here. I survived what was, without a doubt, the scariest chapter of my life. And now I get to celebrate my baby’s first birthday, which is more than a milestone—it’s a victory.

For anyone reading this who might be in the thick of it—pregnancy complications, scary postpartum days, or just feeling like your voice isn’t being heard—I see you. You are not alone.

Surviving the Scariest Chapter Of My Life