Anonymous
Severe preeclampsia.
Four weeks in the hospital.
Trying to make it to 34 weeks.
If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.
*Preeclampsia is a serious pregnancy condition marked by high blood pressure and signs that organs like the liver or kidneys are not working properly. It usually develops after 20 weeks of pregnancy and can worsen quickly. Preeclampsia can affect both the pregnant person and the baby.
My pregnancy had been normal. Really normal. Every appointment was fine. Every scan reassuring. I figured the way I was feeling at the end was just part of it. And then one day I didn’t feel right. I wasn’t in pain exactly. I was just more swollen than before. More out of breath. More tired in a way that didn’t feel like regular pregnancy tired. I kept telling myself it was nothing. I almost didn’t go in. When they checked my blood pressure, everything shifted. Then they checked my urine and found protein. I remember thinking it sounded small. Like it couldn’t possibly mean much. It did. Suddenly I wasn’t being sent home. I was being admitted. Someone said “severe preeclampsia” and I remember thinking they must be talking about someone else. I felt okay. I didn’t feel sick enough for that word. The plan became simple and overwhelming at the same time. Stay pregnant as long as it was safe. Try to make it to 34 weeks.
What I thought would be a quick visit turned into days, then weeks. Four weeks in the hospital. Time stopped being measured in calendars and turned into blood pressure checks, urine cups, lab results, and non-stress tests. Every day started with the same question. Are we stable enough to keep going today? The hardest part wasn’t the medical care. It was the waiting. Knowing that everything could change at any moment. That an emergency delivery was always a possibility. That 34 weeks felt close and impossibly far at the same time. I learned how to count success differently. One more safe reading. One more night still pregnant. One more day closer to 34 weeks. That became enough.
I’m incredibly grateful for the care that kept me and my baby safe. But I also carry fear. And anger. And a lot of unanswered questions. There are parts of that time I still don’t have words for. Severe preeclampsia taught me how fragile “normal” can be. How isolating waiting can feel. And how much it matters to feel seen and supported when you’re trying to hold yourself together long enough to reach a date circled on the calendar and hope it’s enough.