My Challenging Birth Journey: Overcoming Preeclampsia and Choosing to Be ‘One and Done’

On a sweltering July evening in 2019, I found myself in my eighth month of pregnancy, attending a wedding at a picturesque farm on the outskirts of town. Feeling overwhelmed, I asked my partner Ryan to help me find a shaded patio lounge chair I had spotted. There, I settled in while the festivities unfolded around us, and someone even captured a Polaroid of the moment: a visibly pregnant woman, feet elevated, being cared for by her attentive partner. As I watched the party from my seat, I dreamed of lying down on a nearby picnic table, desperate for sleep. Little did I know, this profound fatigue was an early warning sign that my pregnancy had taken a dangerous turn.

Up until that point, my pregnancy had been anything but ordinary. During my 20-week scan, I learned that my daughter had a marginal cord insertion, meaning the umbilical cord attached to the side of the placenta instead of the center. This can lead to potential growth restrictions and other complications. I was also informed that her kidneys were underdeveloped, hinting at possible urinary tract issues after birth. At that stage, she was in the 20th percentile for growth—decent, but still concerning. I was advised to undergo monthly ultrasounds to monitor the situation, and my pregnancy was officially classified as high risk. No specific cause for these issues was identified, but I was reassured that they were not uncommon and required closer observation.

Compounding my anxiety, I have lived with general anxiety disorder for most of my life. Once I discovered I was pregnant, I found myself checking an online “miscarriage likelihood calculator” daily, obsessively tracking every detail of my health. I avoided any foods that could jeopardize my pregnancy and meticulously regulated everything from bath temperatures to my coffee intake—down to the milligram. The weight of ensuring my child’s safety intensified my already high anxiety, leaving me feeling ill-equipped to cope.

A week after that wedding, as I prepared for my scheduled 36-week ultrasound, I found myself sobbing in Ryan’s arms one Sunday night. Overcome with fear, I expressed my worries about dying in childbirth and not being able to support him in raising our daughter. My eyes were swollen from crying, and I felt shaky as I entered the routine appointment. Driven by what I would later recognize as maternal intuition, I was consumed by an intense, unshakeable fear of death. When the ultrasound technician abruptly left the room to consult with the physician, my heart sank, and I entered a state of shock.

The doctor, Dr. Smith, who I had grown to trust during my pregnancy, arrived with a concerned yet calming demeanor. She informed me that my blood pressure had reached dangerously high levels—nearing 200/120 at one point (normal is 120/80). She also revealed that my daughter’s growth had plummeted to the 2nd percentile. Fighting tears, she instructed, “You need to go to labor and delivery immediately. Don’t stop at home; it’s time to go to the hospital. You will not leave without your baby.”

Ryan had come to the appointment prepared to go to work afterward, and our plans for the day were thrown into disarray. Luckily, our go-bag was packed in the trunk of my car, thanks to my anxiety reminding me to do so weeks earlier. We had been preparing, and now we were heading to the hospital.

Within an hour of arriving, I received a steroid shot to help my baby’s lungs develop for her premature birth. I was diagnosed with severe preeclampsia and placed on IV medication to lower my blood pressure. For the first time in weeks, I began to feel a sense of relief as my blood pressure stabilized.

The next 24 hours were spent in the hospital, monitoring my blood pressure and our baby’s heart rate. Conflicting information from various members of the medical team added to my anxiety. Some indicated I would be induced right away, while others suggested I might go home and return later. As the second day progressed, it became evident that I was no longer responding to the blood pressure medication, and my dosage continued to increase. Eventually, it was decided that I would be induced on the third day of my hospitalization.

On induction day, my blood pressure spiked again, and I hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time since my arrival. I was put on magnesium to control my blood pressure while also receiving Cervidil to begin the induction process. As my contractions intensified, my blood pressure remained a constant concern, and our baby’s heart rate began to show signs of distress. Desperate for relief, I pleaded for a C-section. I was exhausted and disoriented, my mental state deteriorating under the weight of pain and medication.

Finally, I was dilated enough to move to the delivery room, which felt like a sterile spaceship filled with medical professionals. The NICU team was on standby, prepared for the arrival of a fragile preemie. After hours of pushing, I was finally able to deliver our daughter, Amelia, at 1:44 AM on the fifth day, weighing just 4lbs 11oz. Although she required assistance to regulate her temperature, I was able to hold her for skin-to-skin contact shortly after delivery. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep soon after.

However, our challenges were far from over. A couple of days post-discharge, we had to return to the hospital due to jaundice, where we learned that Amelia had a heart condition and was struggling with bradycardia and hypothermia. The nurses informed me that she should have been in the NICU from the start. As they worked to stabilize her, I was grappling with my own health issues, having been discharged with postpartum preeclampsia.

The trauma of my birth experience weighed heavily on me, leading to PTSD and postpartum anxiety. I openly shared my journey with friends and family, seeking support as I navigated the aftermath of our challenges. Yet, just a week after returning home, people began asking when we would have another child. They reassured me that preeclampsia was unlikely to recur. However, by the time we left the hospital, I was already leaning toward being “one and done.” The arrival of COVID-19 solidified my decision; the thought of another pregnancy felt overwhelming.

This journey inspired Ryan and me to create our podcast, One and Only, where we connect with others who have chosen to have just one child for various reasons. Many have faced similar birth traumas, infertility, or personal struggles that influenced their decision. In a society that often pushes for larger families, we advocate for the choice of being one and done, finding community and support in shared experiences.

In hindsight, having Amelia was the most challenging experience of my life, but I have no regrets. She is our light, and I am content with our family of three. This is our story, and it is one of resilience, choice, and love.

For more insights on parenthood and related topics, check out this post on parenting humor or explore authoritative resources on home insemination. If you’re considering starting a family, this blog offers excellent pregnancy and home insemination advice.

Summary:

This narrative recounts a harrowing birth experience marked by preeclampsia, leading to the choice of having an only child. The author shares the emotional and physical struggles during and after childbirth, ultimately finding peace in the decision to remain a family of three. The journey has inspired advocacy for those who choose to be “one and done,” fostering a supportive community.