That evening, I took my blood pressure at home: 200/120. My husband drove me to the emergency room and dropped me off – this was February 2021, so COVID protocols prevented him from staying. I was terrified. I was brought back to the treatment area in the ER quickly and had my vitals taken (BP was even higher at this point), but then sat for hours waiting for a treatment plan.
The attending ER doc spoke to my OB, who recommended that I be given a beta blocker and sent home for close monitoring. While waiting for the beta blocker, the ER doc came back to talk to me and during the course of that conversation, realized how dangerously ill I was. I am so grateful to her for picking up on the clues that I was at risk, and taking action. She ordered me to be transferred to a hospital that had a maternal-fetal medicine ward and a NICU, immediately gave me IV beta blockers, and, just as importantly, held my hand and sat with me while we waited for the ambulance.
The ambulance ride and admission to the new hospital were the scariest moments of my life. I understood that something was very wrong, but my husband wasn’t with me, and given how sick I felt, I was not in any position to advocate for myself. I had a worsening headache that clouded my decision making and severe nausea. At the second hospital, I finally started getting appropriate care, but I also went downhill quickly. Eventually, my husband was allowed to stay with me, and about 48 hours after admission and extremely close monitoring by a team of specialists, the maternal-fetal medicine physician sat us down. My blood pressure was not responding well to medication, my liver was beginning to fail, and my platelet count was dangerously low. The doctor explained that I had preeclampsia that had progressed to HELLP syndrome. If I continued the pregnancy, I was in danger of having a stroke, permanent liver damage, and very likely, death. The news was shocking, but we had to act. Twelve hours after that meeting, we terminated the pregnancy. Ironically, I was not yet out of the woods; I remained in the ICU for almost a week recovering from the ordeal – it took that long to clear my lungs of fluid and stabilize my blood pressure, platelet count, and liver function.
It’s hard to explain the emotional toll of that experience and the trauma of terminating a very much wanted pregnancy to save my own life. I was devastated and grieving, and on top of it all, it took several months to physically recover. I also knew that given my history, I was likely to develop preeclampsia or HELLP again, and thus another pregnancy was out of the question.
I also felt guilty – was there anything I could have done that would have changed the outcome? What if I had pushed my OB harder and gone to the hospital earlier? As it turns out, we just don’t know enough about preeclampsia and HELLP to effectively treat or prevent it. After the initial fog of grief dimmed, I realized that sharing my story was helpful to me, and hopefully also to others. I wanted other women to know the signs of preeclampsia, and to trust their instincts when something feels off. Advocate for yourself!
Eventually, I was fortuitously connected with Comanche and my thinking brain took over. Not only could I share my story, but I could use my professional FDA and regulatory expertise to support advances in preeclampsia diagnosis and treatment. I still think of my lost baby every day and the ordeal I suffered—that may never go away. But it helps to know that I can be a resource for other woman, and maybe, one day soon, I will have contributed to advances that will help them avoid the same circumstances.
