June 13 - 31 weeks 4 days

I am trapped in a room. It's 8:30 pm. The walls are painted pink, the furniture blue, yet the room feels far from cheery. The paint seems old and greying. There are no windows, the only source of light a dim fluorescent in the corner. It seems like it should flicker but it doesn't. The air is recycled, stale and too warm. I feel greasy and uncomfortable. A monitor encircles my stomach, around my back. A heartbeat echos through the room, not mine, but my baby's. The monitor registers it strong and unwavering. My clothes have been exchanged for a hospital gown, making me look like I should be sicker than I feel. A scratchy over-bleached hospital blanket covers my legs. A swollen ankle and foot protrude at the end of the slightly too short bed. I look down and wonder if that foot can really be mine. I flex my ankle and my toes but they hardly move. The swelling is getting worse. My skin seems stretched to the breaking point and I've started to lose feeling in my feet, my nerves collapsing  under the pressure of the fluid building up in my body. My parents are there. We wait for David. He's crawling through Vancouver traffic, truck loaded with everything he could pack in 15 minutes. The dog and the cat included. He's hoping to make it here before his baby is born.

Four hours ago I was in a helicopter, being airlifted from Nanaimo General Hospital to Royal Columbian. As we soared across Georgia Straight towards the mainland, the helicopter flying what seemed to be mere meters above the ocean's surface, the pilots searching for orcas. 

This all happened fast. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling pretty rough. Hard to explain exactly, just an overwhelming feeling of something wrong. I rolled out of bed and into the bathroom two steps away. I caught a glance of myself in the mirror as I passed by on the way to the shower, thought 'oh shit', did an about face and carefully lowered myself back into bed. I layed there quietly for a few minutes then pulled myself back up and headed for the shower. Hoping, hoping, hoping that showers make everything better.

My feet pounded as the blood rushed down into them as I stood. I shifted my weight from one to the other and back again wondering how my feet could still be so swollen after a full nights sleep. I cut my shower short, wrapped a big towel around myself and returned to the bedroom where I sat perched on the edge of the bed. I began to sob. The tears flowing freely down my face, bent forward, my head near my knees, shuddering and heaving with each sob. Even though pregnant, this outburst was unusual. David rolled slowly out of a deep sleep. "What's going on?" "My face" I reply. My tongue seemed to big for my mouth, the words came out in a muffle. "I think some thing's wrong". David looks at my face in shock, "Whoa, emergency?" "I'm not sure" I reply.

I layed down in bed for while. Told David I was feeling better, decided to go to work. I felt horrible, but figured it would get better as the day progressed. I hadn't been feeling well in the morning throughout most of my pregnancy anyway, so figured it just must be getting worse as I approached my due date - still a painfully long two months away.

By the time I got to work I didn't feel any better. I dragged my swollen legs down the hall and tried to put on a smile. As people commented on my face and asked me if I was okay an eerie feeling came over me. I shuddered at the thought - I wasn't going to be able to make it two more months if I felt like this everyday. Everyone seemed nonchalant about it though, I got a bunch of similar comments along the lines of "Swelling is normal in pregnancy", "It happens to all of us"... I kept smiling but inside I couldn't shake the feeling that this was more that typical pregnancy swelling.

I called the medical clinic to see if I could see a doctor. The receptionist kindly advised me that there were no more same-day appointments available. That's ok I thought, I'll be fine till tomorrow. And as I left work that afternoon I couldn't help but notice the smell of burning toast in the air, wondering if it was in my head, or if someone really had burnt toast in the lunchroom nearby. Suddenly I couldn't get the word pre-eclasmpsia out of my head and I promised myself that tomorrow at work I would finish cleaning off my desk, just in case the doctor decided to put me on bedrest.

I knew there was an afternoon emergency medical clinic but I opted to skip it telling myself that if I started to complain now, the last two months would last forever. I'd feel better when I got home. And I did. I layed on the couch and David told me to stay there. He made dinner. The evening was uneventful.

I went to bed. Fell asleep immediately. I woke up at 4 am, not with the usual urge to pee. Instead it felt like my dinner was sitting somewhere near my heart. I gasped for a few breaths, drank a glass of water and went back to bed. At 6 I woke up again. This time I was really awake. An intense pain in my upper abdomen stabbing me with every breath. Thinking I just slept weird I got up and headed toward the kitchen. The pain got worse. I was now clutching at my ribs. Holding them in to try and stop the pain. I paced back and forth. Living room-kitchen-hallway waiting for the pain to subside. I lasted about 4 minutes before waking up David. "I think we have to go to the hospital." "What, why? What's going on?" I have this pain. David sits up in bed. "Your face is swollen again too". "And my feet" I say, "I think they are going to explode". I take my blood pressure on the monitor we borrowed only a day before. It's high. Too high. David starts asking me questions as I pace back to the kitchen... "Do you have this ____, what about this ____". I turn and return to the bedroom, he's on his iPhone googling symptoms. I answer yes to all of his inquiries.  I repeat, "I think we have to go to the hospital" as I lie back down in bed. David says "Now?". "I'm not sure" I say, "I have this meeting. Maybe I could go to the doctor in a few hours". I know that David has meetings too. I look at the clock. It shines 6:11. I'm not going to make it to 8:30 when the clinic opens. "Let me think" I say. I call the nurse line - 811. I answer yes to all their questions as well, except for the one that asks "Can you feel a head or a foot protruding from your vagina?" I laughed and for a second forgot about the pain. "Oh," she says, "I have to ask that one, I didn't mean to alarm you". "Well," I reply, "I'm pretty sure if I felt a foot that would have been my first complaint". She stifled a giggle.

And this was the nurse's recommendation. Very professionally delivered. "Please proceed to the nearest emergency room in the next 30 to 45 minutes." "Hmmm, that's what I thought I replied."

I got off the phone and kiddingly told David that we should have listened to everyone that told us to have our hospital bag waiting by the door. "Let's go to the hospital" I said. "Now?" "Yep. Now." "Except," I said, "you can have a shower first, I'm not going to die in the next 10 minutes". So David showered, then we dropped a bag in the middle of the floor of the bedroom and proceeded to take turns throwing things into it. Toothbrush, flip flops, a book. "We don't need much" I say. "You can come home and get stuff for me if you have to but I'm pretty sure they'll just put me on bedrest or something, we'll probably only be there for an hour. You'll probably still make you meetings."

Or not. Fast forward to the hospital. I was seen immediately, bloodwork was ordered, baby heartbeat monitor was strapped across my stomach. I fought fought fought the urge to vomit and lost the battle. As we waited for the bloodwork results the nurse gave David the ok to escape across the street to get the last of his post-transplant vaccines. And of course, as soon as David left, a doctor appeared. He was the prenatal specialist in Nanaimo. And I didn't even have time to think about what that meant before he approached my bed, looked me straight in the eye, sat down beside me and grabbed my hand. My instinct was to pull back, the thought of a stranger holding my hand seemed far from comforting. I didn't have a choice though, he had a good grip. I felt the blood rush out of my face. 'Shit,' I thought, 'this is going to be bad news'.

And so he started. "There are three things that can happen when you have high blood pressure and are pregnant."

1) Pregnancy induced hypertension (PIH) - since your blood pressure was normal for the initial part of your pregnancy and is high now, I am confident that you have that.
2) Pre-eclampsia - looking at the swelling in your feet, legs and face, combined with a blood pressure reading that is elevated above a 'safe' level, I am confident you have that.
3) HELLP - Your blood results indicate your liver enzymes are elevated and your platelets are low. So, unfortunately you have that too."

And then he asked again the due date. "August 12, yes, I am sure". He was quick with his response. "So that means we have to get you to a higher trauma level facility. If you were 32 weeks I would deliver you now, but you are 31 weeks 4 days, and we can't take the risk here."

Today, what you crazy? I though to myself. He must have picked up on my disbelief. He explained that the placenta was triggering an immune response in my body. My body was filling up with toxins and my kidneys and liver couldn't keep up anymore. My pregnancy was killing me. I took a deep breath, I fought back the tears, and asked. "What if I say no?" "Then you and your baby will die." One more deep breath. And the question I was most scared to ask, "If I deliver today, you will save me, but will the baby die?" His answer, reassuring. He quoted a 95% survival rate. I couldn't help but think for  a second that with our luck we would be that 5%. I swallowed that fear. "Ok then. Where am I going?"

And so the next hour was whirlwind. A shot of steroids to help the baby's lungs develop. David home to pack. A phone call to my parents. A second IV. A drug called magnesium sulphate. A helicopter ride. A pink and blue hospital room.



Holy moley - I had no idea my face was that big!