I Almost Died Giving Birth to My Son

I was 27 years old the summer of 2017, and 32 weeks pregnant with my eldest son, my rainbow baby. Andy.

He was named after his father, we had picked his name before he was born. He was my third term pregnancy ( I birthed 2 daughters) ... But the first to make it that far in over 5 years, and my first son. I’d lost several early pregnancies before him, one after another. Each one took a piece of me with them. I had tried to conceive for five long years, five years of hope and heartbreak, over and over again. I had what my doctor called unexplained secondary infertility. So when I finally carried Andy to term... I cherished every moment. It was a hard pregnancy, physically and emotionally, but I loved it. Every wave of nausea, I smiled through, every kick, every sleepless night, it didn’t matter. I had waited so long for this. I was just so grateful.

But nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened next.

On June 26th, I went in for a regular doctor’s appointment. Everything felt okay on the outside. I did have some swelling, but I thought it was normal in the third trimester. I was also older than with my previous full term pregnancies. But inside, my body was already shutting down. They found protein in my urine, other than the swelling, that was the first red flag. That night, I was admitted to the hospital, and by then, my organs were starting to fail.

I remember telling the nurses, “I’m dying.” Over and over while I vomited. Turns out, I really was dying.

Preeclampsia had taken over and the only way to save my life… was to deliver my baby early. Way too early. Southeastern Med in Cambridge, Ohio, didn’t have the facilities for a premature baby. But they gave me steroid shots to help Andy’s lungs develop, and the next morning, I was rushed to Aultman Hospital in Canton, Ohio. Which is cool, because I was actually raised in Canton.

But, I was so out of it at first. The pain was unbearable, and the medications had me drifting in and out. I was only at Aultman for maybe an hour when I started seizing and I was rushed into an emergency C-section. Everything went black.

When I woke up, I didn’t even know I’d given birth at first.

I couldn’t remember where I was. When they asked me what year it was, I answered 2017 pretty quickly. But when they asked where I was… I said Zanesville, Ohio. I was scared. Confused. My brain was foggy from everything that had happened. My heart though? It was somewhere between life and death.

Eventually, I came to. The hospital staff made me get up and walk to the NICU if I wanted to see my baby. I could barely stand but better believe I did it. I walked, step by painful step. I was mad at first, but I'm greatful. Made the healing process easier.

There he was. My son. Andrew (Andy).

He was so small at just 3 pounds. His body was hooked up to wires and a little oxygen mask was over his face. My heart cracked wide open. But he was alive. And he was fighting.

I stayed at the hospital with him for over a month. I basically moved in. Went home once, just for 4th of July weekend, but I came right back Sunday night. I couldn’t stay away from my baby. I needed to be there with him, and he needed me to be there.

The NICU was a place of both hope and heartbreak. Next door to us was a Yoder baby. (Legit the baby's name, he was Amish though) That was the only other room that had someone there all the time, like my son had. The rest… stayed dark, stayed quiet, and the babies inside, they were all alone. I still cry thinking about that.

Three babies died while we were there. I didn’t know their names, I know one was a twin. But I cried for them, for their families, for the unfairness and bitterness of it all.

But my little Andrew, he kept growing. Every pound he gained felt like a miracle. Every breath he took on his own? Another victory. Every little milestone he had, his first bottle, his first cry without wires... I held on to all of it. Like they were sacred. Because they were.

He was my miracle. We made it. Both of us.

But a part of me is still there, still in that hospital room, holding my breath while he learned to breathe. Still whispering love to the little babies left in the dark. Still thanking the Gods that somehow, through all the pain, we survived.

Andy will be turning 8 this year. He is so smart, strong, and right on track.