Scarred but Strong: Rising Above a Traumatic Birth Experience

My journey to motherhood was a wild ride that took three years of determination, hope, and unwavering belief that it would happen. Those years were a mix of ups and downs, but they taught me so much about resilience and staying positive.

Looking back, I'm excited and also anxious to share my story with you—because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that sometimes the most incredible things in life take time and it doesn't always go your way. If you're on a similar path, know that every step brings you closer to that beautiful moment you've dreamed of!

My pregnancy was a beautiful and challenging journey. While I was thrilled to carry my little one, the experience was far from easy. I faced some tough symptoms that eventually led to high blood pressure and severe preeclampsia. It was a physically and emotionally draining time, filled with moments of fear and uncertainty.

But through it all, I held onto the love and excitement of meeting my baby. Despite the pain and the complications, every day brought me closer to having my child in my arms, and that made every challenge worth it. It was a journey that tested my strength and deepened my appreciation for the miracle of life.

The Beginning

Before diving into the details of my pregnancy, I want to share how I even got pregnant. My husband and I have been together for 15 years, but it wasn’t until 2020—right in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic—that we decided to start trying. The uncertainty of the world around us made us realize it was time to push our lives forward.

We spent months eagerly hoping for that positive test, but each time, disappointment hit hard. Seeing those negative results month after month felt like a little piece of my heart was breaking each time. When we decided to get my hormones checked and everything came back normal, it was a strange mix of relief and frustration. We kept trying, staying hopeful, but nothing seemed to be happening.

My sisters suggested I try ovulation test strips and track my periods more consistently—a routine I wasn’t exactly great at sticking to. Even after months of doing that, we still had no luck. That’s when I turned to herbal medicine, something my husband was a bit skeptical about. But at that point, we figured, why not? We had nothing to lose.

After trying herbal medicine and still not seeing any results, I decided it was time to let go and focus on enjoying life with my husband. We made a conscious decision to travel and just be us for a while, something we hadn’t done in years due to other obligations. It felt liberating to finally prioritize ourselves and our happiness.

Now, here’s a little superstitious secret that I believe played a part in our journey. The herbal root I used to help with conception was initially tucked away in my closet, out of sight and out of mind. But one day, I decided to move it into my cupboard, where I would see it every time I reached for spices. To me, placing it there in the open was like sending a message to the universe, asking for a little help in making our dream of becoming parents come true.

Three months later, I found out I was expecting. The circumstances surrounding the revelation of my pregnancy were extraordinary. The events leading up to it were peculiar, almost borderline superstitious, but that's a tale for another time.

My Pregnancy

The beginning of the first trimester was off to a good start. I experienced minimal symptoms, mainly cravings, mild nausea, fatigue, tender breasts and nipples, slight weight gain, and some discomfort in the tailbone. These were all bearable and easy to handle.

At my first doctor's appointment, I took a urine test for the first time. Surprisingly, this was the only time occasion I had this test done. Looking back, I should have realized something was amiss, especially considering all my sisters had their urine tested at every visit. Despite informing my OB about all my symptoms, she reassured me that everything was normal. Consequently, I took her word for it and assumed that my experience was normal.

As I entered my second trimester, my situation began to deteriorate. I experienced increasing problems with my tailbone, reaching a point where I needed a cane to move around and had to exit my bed in a backward crawl. The swelling became a widespread issue, affecting my hands, feet, and face. Despite expressing my worries to my OB during our monthly appointments, she reassured me by saying, "It's a common occurrence." Trusting her expertise, as a first-time pregnant woman, I accepted her explanation.

Into my third trimester, my symptoms appeared to double in intensity and I gained 3 pounds in one week. What's more, I began experiencing persistent pain in my arms. It wasn't until a colleague shared her experience of having carpal tunnel syndrome during pregnancy that I realized I was also suffering from it.

My visits to the obstetrician increased to twice a week, and each time I raised all my symptoms, only to be reassured repeatedly that everything was normal.

Not until the 38th-week checkup did something unusual happen. I attended the appointment feeling nervous as I was nearing the due date. The fact that both my sisters were pregnant at the same time, and had already given birth a month or a few weeks earlier, added to my anxiety. Being the last one expecting, I was extremely anxious.

During the checkup, the medical assistant noted a slight elevation in my blood pressure while taking my vitals. Although I also observed it, I decided to wait for my OB to discuss it further as I was unsure. Despite mentioning my concerns about swelling, carpal tunnel, and gaining a good amount of weight within a week, my blood pressure was not addressed by the OB throughout the entire appointment. She did jokingly say I dilated 2cm, so I'll most likely go into labor in the next few days.

Shortly after the appointment, within 3 hours, I noticed a slight blurriness in my vision. I could make out the start of a sentence, but the end was unclear due to patches of spots obstructing my view. Initially assuming it was due to fatigue and staring at a computer screen for too long, I considered taking a nap to alleviate it. Fortunately, I refrained from napping as my intuition strongly suggested the possibility of preeclampsia. Following my instincts, I contacted the nurse helpline for verification.

Admitted and Induced

While speaking to the nurse hotline, I described my symptoms and mentioned that my blood pressure had been slightly high during my previous appointment. Without delay, the nurse contacted Labor and Delivery and advised me to go in and undergo tests to verify whether it could be preeclampsia.

Hearing that, my anxiety skyrocketed. I immediately suspected it might be preeclampsia and that I would be admitted. I decided to bring my hospital bag and car seat, just in case. Despite my urging, my husband was reluctant to start packing as if I were to be admitted. I told him, "It's always best to be prepared rather than risk rushing back home."

Upon arrival at the hospital, I was quickly directed to a room for a urine sample and blood test. In less than two hours, the nurse verified that I displayed signs of preeclampsia and my blood pressure was high and unsafe and needed to be monitored. Since I was considered full-term, I was admitted as a precautionary measure. If the condition was not severe, I might be discharged later, but there was a high chance of induction.

To prevent swelling and treat my blurry vision patches, I was automatically administered magnesium, and calf massagers were applied to both legs to maintain circulation. I felt like a restrained animal on a bed - an unpleasant sensation. Furthermore, blood samples were taken every 6 hours to keep track of levels.

If I remember correctly, around half of the day had passed when I was told that I had become anemic and that the blood responsible for clotting was not clotting properly. As a result, the doctor recommended induction. The induction options presented to me included taking a miso tablet every 12 hours (up to 6 tablets maximum), undergoing a vaginal balloon insertion, using pitocin, or opting for an epidural as a last resort.

Being foolish, I aimed for the most natural childbirth possible, so I experimented with all the options available. I essentially became a test subject. The miso tablet only resulted in a one-centimeter dilation. The balloon probably added another one and a half centimeters. Pitocin, I believe, contributed another centimeter or half a centimeter. I began at 2cm and only progressed to 4.5cm. I am extremely grateful for my nurses at the time, they were so attentive and sympathetic to my situation.

Two days into inducing, there was no improvement in the results. As my contractions intensified, the pain became unbearable. Eventually, I requested an epidural. The nurse quickly located one of the best anesthesiologists, (in my opinion), to administer the epidural, and the procedure was done smoothly and efficiently. I didn't feel a thing.

After five hours, my water broke and labor began. I was advised to "practice pushing" for approximately ninety minutes. Present in the room were my husband, a nurse, and a midwife. We were informed that two other women were also in labor, so we had to wait for a doctor to assist with the delivery. I admit that I had bowel movements while pushing and throughout the process. The midwife and the nurse on duty were thorough in cleaning my bowels.

Midway into the delivery, my current nurse's shift ended, and another took over. I'm unsure if my bowels were properly attended to. What I do recall, is that as the delivery started, a surprising number of people gathered in the room. I pushed for an extra 2 hours until my baby was born. The room was filled with a mix of emotions. Everyone present clapped and offered their congratulations. It was a huge relief to discover that he was a healthy baby weighing 7 pounds and 5 ounces, even though he initially worried us by being silent until my husband cut the cord. Just think, if he had been born at 40 weeks... he would have been an 8-pound baby, and considering I am petite, imagine the effort needed for me to deliver him.

In the special moment of bonding through skin-to-skin contact, I felt the doctor stitching me and I decided to ask about the extent of the tear. She stated it was a second-degree tear and noted a slight tear upwards. I could feel her suturing the area and mentioning a persistent spot that kept bleeding despite her attempts. To manage this, she asked for foam from the operating room to help stop the bleeding. I made a mental note of this situation, as a precaution. This ultimately proved to be a smart choice.

Deadly Encounter

After more than 24 hours following my delivery, I was taken off the magnesium and catheter. I attempted to use the bathroom but couldn't pass anything. My family members were coming to visit me frequently. It was probably the last visitor of the day when I started to feel feverish and chilly. I vividly remember telling my sister I was cold, tired, and feverish. She quickly tried to reduce my temperature by using a damp towel. It helped for an hour, so she decided to leave.

My husband decided to get some shut-eye after my sister left, so I was awake taking care of the baby. Suddenly, I began feeling weak, experiencing chills, and shivering uncontrollably. Realizing something was wrong, I woke my husband to look after the baby while I rested on the hospital bed. Intuitively, I knew I needed help, so we called for the nurse. Even she was puzzled by my symptoms. I was overwhelmed by shaking, with my heart rate spiking to 150 at one point and remaining above 120 for an extended period. Although I remained conscious, I felt like I had lost control over my body, despite it not being a seizure.

As I looked at my husband, who was silently crying while holding the baby, a rush of thoughts flooded my mind - almost like witnessing my life flash before my eyes. I couldn't help but wonder if this was how my story would end. I just gave birth. My baby will never know who I am. I won't see my son grow or experience anything with them. My poor husband witnessed this whole ordeal when labor and delivery were already complicated as it was. It's already sad enough that my husband and I both lost our mom at a young age. I can't have my son lose his mom too. Instantly after that thought, I found the strength to steady my breathing and reassure my husband with the words: "It's ok. I'm okay" repeatedly. Even though I knew those words didn't offer much solace, I needed to say them to comfort him and myself.

The nurse became anxious and called for immediate assistance as she couldn't figure out the situation. She continuously monitored my vital signs and reviewed my medical records. Upon the arrival of the head nurse, they both analyzed the circumstances and attempted to identify the issue. They asked if I had urinated yet, but I hadn't. They tried to assist me in using a bedpan but to no success. Their suspicion turned to a possible infection so they checked my sutures. I then mentioned the foam the doctor had applied to control the bleeding, as stitching wasn't effective. The nurse carefully reviewed the notes on my chart, but couldn't locate any mention of the foam treatment. I could tell from the nurse's expression that she was perplexed and frustrated by the omission of such crucial information. The doctor who performed my sutures was called upon but wasn't available for a couple of hours. The only thing the nurse could do was offer Tylenol and monitor my vitals.

Approximately half an hour later, the Tylenol started to alleviate my symptoms. My heart rate became manageable, and the tremors subsided. Shortly, the doctor who did the sutures arrived with the nurses. It was odd the doctor appeared defensive when asked about the foam treatment. Surprisingly, she even questioned me about it. After I repeated what I had heard, she became upset but admitted to using the foam treatment. She stated she "forgot" to note it down.

At this point, there was nothing the nurses could do. The doctor confirmed the foam treatment was used, but the nurses were still confused. To identify the root cause, additional blood samples were requested and sent to their laboratories in Southern California for more precise testing. I was being drawn every 6 hours again. I mean, wasn't one or two blood draws enough? I was getting it daily.

We were informed that the lab results would be available in 3 days, but that wasn't the case. Each day, a doctor or administrator would assure us that we would be discharged the following day, only to find out the next day that we needed to stay longer for further testing. Around the fifth or sixth day, they were able to diagnose me with a bacterial infection. The doctor who delivered the news arrived fully geared up, resembling a scene from a movie, as if I were infected with COVID or a severe contagious illness. His entire body was covered, with an oxygen tube connected to his headgear. This sight momentarily frightened me and led me to believe I might be contagious. Although they were unsure of the specific type, they were certain it was a bacterial infection and made its way into my bloodstream. I had already been prescribed an antibiotic to treat the infection. However, since the specific type was unknown and its effectiveness uncertain, they needed to conduct further tests.

Even though my blood was drawn daily, three more days went by with no new information on the lab results. By then, we had been in the hospital for over a week, causing me to miss my baby's first check-up. I'm grateful my husband was able to take him, but he had to do it alone while I stayed back.

After a few more days passed, we were finally informed about the discovery of a bacterial infection known as Enterococcus faecalis. It's a type of bacteria found in the gut and expelled through feces. It is often caused by poor hygiene practices, such as failing to wash hands after using the restroom, allowing the bacteria to linger on surfaces and transmitted through direct contact. Healthcare workers can also inadvertently spread the infection. The first thought that crossed my mind was the possibility of fecal contamination during my delivery, especially as the wound from the suture wouldn't stop bleeding. I wondered if my feces had come into contact with the wound, or if I was the source of the infection. Numerous scenarios raced through my mind and that of my husband. When we inquired with the doctor, he wouldn't confirm or deny the source of the infection. We felt a mixture of anger and confusion, unsure of whom to blame when the cause remained unknown.

The range of emotions my husband and I experienced was beyond imagination. We were eager to conclude the underlying cause and how it occurred, but unfortunately, we couldn't do anything about it. The doctor advised us to undergo further tests to determine the appropriate antibiotic treatment for the infection. This was the final straw for us. We were desperate to return home. Coming here, Our situation involved an emergency induction due to severe preeclampsia, followed by a bacterial infection that extended our hospital stay. Adding to the difficulty, our baby was no longer classified as a patient, but the hospital staff kindly allowed him to remain with us as I tried to breastfeed, despite the challenges posed by being on antibiotics. Consequently, we had to request formulas as a backup.

Having thoroughly evaluated the situation, we chose to remain calm and grateful for the hospital staff's dedication in handling the issue. It could've been worse and they could've just let me go home without a solution.

The next day, the doctors identified a suitable antibiotic, Ampicillin. I was promptly started on it but needed to remain hospitalized for 24 hours to monitor its effectiveness. If the antibiotic worked, I would be discharged. But the home aftercare was very strict. For two weeks, I would have to have a PICC line inserted inside my right arm to reach my chest and this was attached to a machine that would administer the antibiotic on a schedule. A home health nurse will come over on a weekly schedule to change my dressing and the pharmacy will provide additional antibiotics until the two weeks are over.

You don't know how ecstatic my husband and I were to hear those words. We couldn't wait to hear the results the next day. Fortunately, the next day it was confirmed that Ampicillin worked. The only thing we needed to do was have the PICC line procedure done and we could go home.

Well, hold your horses... that wasn't the case! As it was close to the end of the week, the machine request couldn't be fulfilled until the following week. Oh my! This caused a delay in everything. Thankfully, the next day, the very generous PICC line nurse extended her shift to do the procedure. We just needed to wait for the machine to come in a few days. It ended up taking THREE days for it to arrive.

After Care

The last thing left to do was to learn how to set up the machine and then be discharged. It was a truly comforting moment! The joy of realizing that we were finally going home after a tough week and a half in the hospital was unmatched. I don't even know how to describe the feeling besides relief and joy.

I still had my home aftercare to complete, which added to the stress and feeling of sadness. I couldn't hold my baby on my right side, sleep on my right side, or bathe him yet. Although my husband offered to help, I insisted on being the first one to bathe him. I felt it was the least I could do in return for all the care and support he had provided for me and the baby over the past week and a half.

As the two-week mark approached, the nurse collected a blood sample for testing to check for any remaining bacterial growth. Despite this, I needed to retain the PICC line until we received confirmation. A few days later, the test results came back negative, indicating that I was no longer at risk. The PICC line was then removed, granting me freedom. I waited a week to make sure the incision healed properly and the first thing I did was bathe my baby.

Every day, I can't help but think about the entire ordeal. It was extremely traumatic and will always be with me. The anxiety it caused has led me to visit the ER numerous times for minor issues to this day. Yet, I wake up each day thankful for having made it. I now have a newfound admiration and respect for women who embrace the challenges of motherhood and for anyone who has faced trauma.

I want you to know that YOU ARE STRONG and YOU CAN OVERCOME ANYTHING. Even if it means taking small steps one day at a time.