Postpartum Connect us on Instagram and Whatsapp
The Shock: Preeclampsia Came Out of Nowhere
So, I’m 29, a graphic designer who loves a good hike, and I’m 23 weeks pregnant with my second babe. Life’s humming along—my three-year-old, Lila, is my little shadow, and my partner, Jay, is my rock. Then, bam—splitting headache, feet so swollen I couldn’t wiggle my toes. My first pregnancy? Smooth as butter. This? A nightmare. I dragged myself to urgent care (Jay stayed with Lila), and after a whirlwind of tests—blood pressure sky-high, protein in my urine—they hit me with it: severe preeclampsia. Ever heard of it? It’s this sneaky pregnancy complication—no cure, barely understood, and it can turn deadly fast. Postpartum
They sent me to a bigger hospital, and I spent a week on bedrest at home, then three in the ICU, stuck on my left side like a human pretzel, praying my blood pressure wouldn’t spike again. Spoiler: It did. One day, it shot up so bad the room turned into a scene from a medical drama—doctors everywhere, “You’re on the edge of a stroke, Shyana.” Next thing I know, I’m on a gurney, racing to an emergency C-section at 27 weeks. Jay sprinted down the hall to make it, and I’m lying there, magnesium sulfate burning through my veins like fire, thinking, “I survived this once. Will I again?”
Why this matters: Preeclampsia affects about 5-8% of pregnancies, jacking up your blood pressure and stressing your organs. That magnesium? It’s to stop seizures, but it feels like lava. I was terrified—not just for me, but for my baby. And that “edge of a stroke” bit? No exaggeration. It’s life-or-death stakes.
The Tiny Cry: Meeting My Preemie
There I am, on that freezing operating table, fighting to stay alive, when I hear it—the tiniest, sweetest cry. Jay’s voice cracks, “Honey, that’s her. Another girl.” The nurse chimes in, “1 pound, 6.9 ounces. She’s stable.” My eyes wouldn’t open—exhaustion, meds, fear, all of it—but I heard them say she was breathing on her own. Still, they whisked her to the NICU incubator to help her grow. “Do you want to see her?” they asked.
And I… I said no. Can you believe that? I couldn’t face her—not because I didn’t love her, but because I felt like my body had betrayed us both. Her name’s Nova, by the way—my little star. It took three days before I could peek into that incubator. When I did? Oh, girl, she was perfect—tiny hands, fierce spirit. I fell hard and barely left her side for 70 days.
Why this matters: Preemies born at 27 weeks are fighters, but they’re fragile—lungs underdeveloped, immune systems weak. That “breathing on her own” was a miracle; most need ventilators. My “no” wasn’t rejection—it was grief. NICU life is a marathon—alarms, tubes, and guilt that you couldn’t carry them longer.
My Journey From the NICU to Postpartum Depression and Back to Health
Don’ miss this on healthy women
Pregnancy Was a Wild Ride, and I’m Glad I Didn’t Pretend Otherwise
Early Pregnancy Symptoms Before You Miss Your Period
How to Improve Your Chances of Getting Pregnant
19 Ways to Boost Your Fertility
11 Things That Heaviness in Your Pelvic Area Might Mean
The Curveball: Pregnant Again?!
Fast forward—Nova’s home, a three-pound miracle, and I’m juggling her and Lila, still shell-shocked from the NICU. Then, two months later, I stare at a positive pregnancy test. Three kids? My heart sank. I stormed out of the bathroom, waving that stick like a madwoman, yelling at Jay, “How did this happen?!” (Um, Shyana, you know how.) I was ashamed—barely keeping it together with two, and now this? I’d dodged death, Nova had beaten the odds—could my luck hold for a third?
Days blurred into fog. I’d feed Nova, change her nasal tube, plop Lila in front of Paw Patrol, and collapse ‘til Jay got home. No showers, no appetite—just survival mode. Six weeks later, I woke up realizing I’d been a ghost in my own life.
Why this matters: Nearly 50% of U.S. pregnancies are unplanned—yep, half! Add postpartum exhaustion and NICU trauma, and I was a ticking time bomb. Shame’s a beast when you’re stretched thin, and my fear of another preeclampsia nightmare? Totally valid.
The Wake-Up Call: “I Can’t Do This Alone”
Jay and I started snapping at each other—over dishes, over nothing. I was done—with him, with everything. We found a counselor, thinking my marriage was the issue. Plot twist: It wasn’t. After a few sessions, she said, “Shyana, this sounds like postpartum depression.” Lightbulb moment. It wasn’t just me failing—it was my brain, my hormones, my unprocessed trauma from preeclampsia, the NICU, all of it.
No one had warned me about intrusive thoughts—like imagining Nova’s monitors flatlining again. No one said it’s normal to grieve a birth that went sideways or to feel PTSD after almost dying. I’d bought the lie that “strong moms do it alone.” Nope. I was drowning, and I needed help.
Why this matters: Postpartum depression hits 1 in 5 moms—20%! PTSD after a traumatic birth? Up to 9%. My “fog” was classic—disconnection, rage, numbness. Society glorifies the lone supermom, but that’s BS. I had to unlearn it.
The Comeback: Healing and Helping
Counseling and meds pulled me out of the waves. The fog lifted, and I started feeling again—joy with Lila’s giggles, awe at Nova’s growth, hope for baby number three (hello, little Ezra, born healthy at 38 weeks!). Now, my girls are 9, 5, and 4, and I’m a perinatal mental health advocate and doula. I run a wellness space for families, shouting from the rooftops: “You’re not crazy, you’re not broken—motherhood’s hard, and we need to talk about it.”
I’ve been where you might be—scared, lost, ashamed. But sharing my story? It’s freed me—and others. So, tell me, what’s your journey like? I’m here, no judgment, all ears.
Why this matters: Healing’s messy but possible meds stabilize hormones (like serotonin dips post-birth), therapy unpacks trauma. One in five moms worldwide face perinatal mood disorders—knowledge is power. I turned my pain into purpose, because no mom should feel alone.
My Journey from the NICU to Postpartum Depression and Back to Health
Read more on healthy women