Submitted by Eryn in Mechanicsville, VA
When I was about 27 weeks pregnant, my OB noticed that my blood pressure was slowly but steadily increasing each time she took it. Although it wasn’t high enough yet to warrant bed rest, she did restrict me to going to work, then coming straight home and lying on the couch–nothing else. That continued for about 5 weeks, and my blood pressure seemed to stabilize for a while; unfortunately at 32 weeks it started to increase again, so I was put on bed rest. I was monitored closely and stayed on bed rest for 3.5 weeks, then I got permission from my OB to attend a baby shower that my co-workers had planned.
The morning of the shower, I took my blood pressure; it was 140/95. That is over the “high” mark, and my doctor had asked me to call if it got that high. So, I called and they told me that I would have to come into the hospital to be monitored. I would have to miss my own baby shower, and it was too late to cancel. I went to the hospital and was monitored for a couple of hours; my blood pressure went down and they sent me home.
The following Tuesday I went into my OB for my weekly checkup. I was also scheduled to go to the perinatologist that day for an ultrasound and some growth tests for my unborn son. My husband, mother-in-law, and I arrived at my OB and she immediately informed me that if the tests on my son were not looking good then they would have to induce me. “How’s tomorrow?”
At this point my husband and I started laughing–there were two other children in the family (on my husband’s side) at that time and they had both been born on November 22: one in 2004 and one in 2005. The date of my fateful OB appointment was November 21, 2006.
Sure enough, the tests on my son did not look good and I was induced the next morning, November 22, 2006. My son was born at 3:30 pm; he weighed 4 lbs. 11 oz and was 18 inches long. They whisked him up to the NICU where he stayed for 3 days until he was healthy enough to bring home.
The worst part of the whole thing was the intense guilt I felt throughout the ordeal. Although no one knows what causes preeclampsia, I could not shake the feeling that it was my fault, and that I could have/should have done something different. If only I had been able to resist that iced tea with caffeine. If only I hadn’t eaten so many fatty grilled cheeses. If only I had stopped working sooner.
The fact is that it was all meant to happen; it was all part of the grander Plan. It took me a long time to realize that, but as I watch my healthy, wonderful 2-year-old son play, it is all so clear now.
