My HELLP Story

August 2nd, 2018. It was hot again, but it was one my work from home days. I had my feet elevated, AC blasting, ready to work!

That was when the pain started again. I told myself that it couldn’t possibly be labor; I wasn’t even 37 weeks yet. The pain was all too familiar. It wasn’t contractions; there was no rhythm to it. Just steady, spreading pain in my upper abdomen.

“I probably won’t be able to drive to my appointment this afternoon”, I thought. I called the doctor to ask if I could come tomorrow instead of today at 4:30pm. The nurse sounded confused and asked what was wrong. I told her about the pain. I was alone at home. She changed the appointment to 11:30am, forty minutes from the current time.

I barely remember driving. The pain was exhausting. I got there, they took a urine sample and took my blood pressure. I usually have pretty low blood pressure. When I had attempted getting paperwork to work from home two weeks ago, it was up to normal. In hindsight, that should have been a pretty big red flag. This time it was pre-hypertensive.

I knew this doctor and she was concerned. I felt a bit detached. The pain was strangely intermittent now. She offered to wheel me across the parking lot to the hospital. I declined. It felt silly to me. Like nothing was wrong. Nothing could be that wrong. That’s what everyone had been telling me, right?

So here we are, driving to the hospital. My feeling of strange detachment was being overcome by the feeling of dread. I called my husband just to let him know what was happening. It was obviously just the doctor being cautious, that was all.

The hospital knew I was coming. They had my lab results and were ordering new ones. I was so confused. They whisked me into a room and hooked me up to monitoring equipment. Drew more blood. I called my husband and finally burst into tears. He thankfully worked close to the hospital and arrived shortly after.

The doctor arrived. She was a different doctor from the one I had just seen, but she was on my team and I knew her. She explained that I had HELLP syndrome. My platelets were extremely low, and my liver was failing. They would be hooking me up to an IV with magnesium sulfate to prevent seizures. The moment they started the “mag”, I could feel my arm burning. It quickly spread and my whole body felt unbearably hot. Mike grabbed some ice water and a washcloth, cooling my head and neck the best that he could.

My mother and sister had arrived. I told them about having HELLP, but I quite honestly did not grasp the seriousness of the situation. Almost a strange kind of denial. Plus, I was feeling very spacey from the magnesium drip. I assumed they would treat me, I would feel better, and I would be released.

Then the doctor was back. I really liked her. This time she was very serious and blunt. I needed to deliver the baby. I had to remove him, or we would both die. The placenta was poisoned, and it was poisoning me. This was also putting a huge strain on my baby. She recommended an emergency c-section.

My face and stomach dropped. Wait – what?! This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was due in a little over 3 weeks! I couldn’t deliver him now! The doctor was adamant. I asked if I could try  delivering him naturally, still in denial and still not understanding how serious this was. Trying to stall. The illness was causing me to not think clearly. The doctor replied that while we could try, it would almost certainly end in a c-section. There was too much of a risk of me bleeding out due to low platelets and causing further damage to my liver. Most importantly, it would
put stress on Jason, my unborn son.

I agreed to the c-section. And I cried, and I cried. I had a history with surgery. I was completely terrified of it and by it. I asked if they could treat my anxiety, and the doctor said sure. The nurse that came to go over options made it a big point to let me know that taking Ativan could hurt the baby and that he thought it was a bad idea. So now I was on the verge of panic attacks due to my situation and possibly hurting my son. The doctor must have given him quite the talking-to, as he came back and was apologetic. I still refused to take the Ativan.

It was time. They were wheeling me into the operating room, and the anesthesiologist very gently told me “You need to try to stop hyper-ventilating. It will stress the baby.”

The operating room was cold. Honestly, a welcome change due to the white-hot magnesium flowing through my veins. Apparently Justin Bieber was playing, because I vaguely remember the anesthesiologist asking me if the music was ok, or if I had something planned. No, this whole thing was not planned, I told him. A nurse sat me up to perform the spinal block. I barely felt it. My mother and husband joined me once I was prepped.

I remember waiting for the pain, but it never came. It felt exactly as they told me it would; I felt some tugging. To this day I remember the anesthesiologist so well because he was present – quite literally. He sat next to my head and held my hand in his large warm hands. I suddenly felt very nauseous, and like I was falling through the floor. Alarmed, I heard myself telling him that I felt strange and he confirmed that my blood pressure had just plummeted; but that he was taking care of it and not to worry. He was right.

Jason, my son, arrived. 6lbs 6oz. A great weight for being almost four weeks early. My husband cut the umbilical cord. They asked if I wanted him on my chest, and I said no. I felt so detached and traumatized. I simply did not know up from down. They cleaned Jason up and let my husband hold him (I only know that because my mother took pictures).