I can’t see a bright light, but I know my end is near.
It’s a Friday night. I’m in the intensive care unit after welcoming my twins into the world at 35 weeks and 3 days. My blood pressure reads an alarming 240 over 120, and my body trembles uncontrollably. I can’t speak when the doctor inquires if I can hear him. Suddenly, three other doctors rush in, inserting a second IV into my other arm. I’m being flooded with medication in a frantic effort to stabilize my dangerously high blood pressure. Though I can’t see a light, I sense my life is slipping away.
Related: Understanding High Blood Pressure and Preeclampsia During Pregnancy
Flashback eight months. My partner and I were eager to expand our family, hoping for a sibling for our beautiful 1.5-year-old daughter. When I took a pregnancy test and saw two lines, I repeated the test ten times—just to be sure. At our first ultrasound, the technician’s words of congratulations took a surprising turn: “How many congratulations would you like?”
We both exclaimed, “One!”
“It’s two, as far as I can tell,” he replied.
I erupted into laughter while my husband stood in shocked silence. He finally broke the pause with a calm statement, “I need to find a second job.”
Rather than bore you with every detail of my pregnancy, let’s just say carrying twins was a challenge. By week 12, I was enormous, plagued by morning (and afternoon and evening) sickness until week 26, and I struggled to agree on two names I loved!
The real shock came during a routine checkup at 28 weeks. I rushed in late and wasn’t surprised when my blood pressure reading was high. The nurse, concerned, asked me to wait while she retook the measurement. When it came back even higher, her worry was palpable. “Is your vision blurry?” she asked. It was at that moment I knew something was seriously wrong. A phone call was made, and I provided a urine sample. That’s when I first heard the term “preeclampsia.”
For those unfamiliar, preeclampsia is a severe pregnancy complication characterized by dangerously high blood pressure and potential organ failure. It poses life-threatening risks to both mother and baby.
I was admitted to the hospital that day and remained there for the next two months. Daily, specialists would visit, predicting I might deliver within 24 hours. At 28 weeks, that was the last thing I wanted to hear. I understood that such an early delivery would mean my tiny twins would require extensive care in the NICU.
Believing firmly in positive thinking, I focused my energies on uplifting thoughts. I engaged with supportive communities on social media, requesting only the best stories. I educated myself about my condition, keen to understand what was happening in my body and what options lay ahead. I drank copious amounts of water, convinced it was cleansing me—a theory I fabricated in my mind. I visualized my babies thriving inside me, setting a goal to carry them until week 35, which I believed would ensure their safety.
During this time, my eldest daughter, Lily, who had recently turned two, was home without me. That was the hardest part. I could endure the hospital food, the incessant noise, and the daily blood tests, but being separated from Lily weighed heavily on my heart. In my weakest moments, I wished for the twins to arrive so I could return to her.
Against all odds, I held on for nearly two months. Throughout this experience, I encountered many resilient women, and it was inspiring to witness such strength. Seeing new moms working tirelessly to produce milk for their premature babies was a humbling experience. Despite the hardships, I grew profoundly through this journey.
Finally, at 35 weeks, I declared to the doctors, “It’s time to deliver.” The C-section was scheduled, and anticipation bubbled within me as I prepared to meet my little ones!
When I first laid eyes on the twins, tears streamed down my face. They were so tiny. After all my efforts to carry them, I hadn’t expected them to be this small. Dani weighed just 4 lbs. 6 oz., and Arielle was even lighter at 4 lbs. 3 oz.—the ugliest baby I had ever seen, yet I loved her instantly. I was relieved that the ordeal was over.
That night in the ICU, I sensed something was wrong. I summoned the nurse to check my blood pressure. The readings were alarmingly high and climbing rapidly. My husband, exhausted and asleep on a chair, stirred in surprise at the commotion.
Within moments, the room was filled with medical personnel, and I knew I was entering the realm of eclampsia—characterized by convulsions and potentially fatal outcomes. Panic set in as my body began to shake uncontrollably. I thought, “This is it.”
Noticing my husband’s confusion, my fear escalated. How could he care for our three girls if I didn’t make it? Refusing to accept that fate, I closed my eyes and envisioned myself on a beach, sipping a piña colada, then a margarita. I drifted into a pleasant dream of indulging in the cheeses I had missed during pregnancy. As my body shook and more medication coursed through my veins, I found solace in picturing my daughters. Their faces, their laughter, their warmth helped me believe everything would be alright.
Suddenly, my blood pressure began to decrease. My body calmed, and when I opened my eyes, I was still alive.
I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the dedicated people around me, including my husband, who had just realized how close he was to losing me and facing the daunting task of raising three children alone.
Though the worst seemed to be over, I understood that the true challenge lay ahead. A few days later, I was finally able to go home with my babies, and the whirlwind of parenting three began. From that moment forward, I resolved to use humor as my weapon and positive thinking as my shield.
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Summary
In this heartfelt account, Mia Roberts shares her harrowing experience with eclampsia following the birth of her twins. After a challenging pregnancy marked by preeclampsia, she faced life-threatening complications in the ICU. Through determination and positive thinking, she navigated her way to recovery, embracing the joys and challenges of being a mother to three.