Reporting for duty: a maybe-masochist with a medical history of preeclampsia

Words by Amrit Tietz

My road to motherhood had many sticky moments. In fact, my entire journey felt just like… jelly. Sorry guys, I couldn’t resist. 

I met my husband in the fall of 2021, and I knew from the moment we walked the Williamsburg Bridge on our first date that we’d be together forever. Thankfully so, because I had a sneaking suspicion he was the one before we even met in person (yes, we are one of the few Raya success stories, I am still waiting for our billboard). I sent my sincere condolences to my Raya roster out of precaution. Something about him always felt like the final destination and I knew I didn’t want to bring any extra baggage into it. We were living in different cities at the time, but after a week together, without even having the conversation, we were officially dating and traveling back and forth between both places. On our second date, we got matching belly button rings. By the first month, we’d exchanged I love yous and gotten each other’s names tattooed. We were both in our 30s and had been around the block enough times to know how much of a good thing we had. Conventional timing has never been our thing, much to my mothers dismay. Pregnancy and elopement planning (Vegas wedding) within the first 3 months followed by a proposal. Timelines? Order? I definitely don’t know them. I hate to be the person who says, when you know, you know, but when you’ve dated in New York city for over a decade…. you sure damn do. We started trying almost immediately.

I experienced two miscarriages within a year before my third, final, and healthy GERIATRIC pregnancy. Emphasis on the geriatric which I believe has now been rebranded as “Advanced Maternal Age,” a term they loved using at every! single! appointment! I started trying at 33, got pregnant at 34, and was labeled "geriatric" because my due date fell just after I turned 35. That pregnancy came with its own set of bumps. I developed what I believe was mild (or what I believe to be mild, maybe that’s my way of reducing the suffering as a coping mechanism) PTSD and anxiety. I had intermittent bleeding, which triggered more than a few emotional breakdowns in my OB-GYN’s office, only to be reassured, time and again, that the baby was safe and sound. During one particularly fun crying episode in the waiting room, a woman felt compelled to pray over me. I cried through her Hail Marys for a full 30 minutes.

During my second miscarriage, the emergency room doctor had reassured me that my pregnancy was fine only for another doctor to come in eight hours later and apologize that there was a misread of the scans and the baby was no longer. As you can imagine, my trust in the American health care system at this point was zero to none. I was advised by friends to sue the hospital but I didn’t have it in me to continue engaging in this chapter of my life. I wanted so badly to forget it. 

After two back-to-back miscarriages, I hit pause on trying to get pregnant and booked a girls’ trip to Spain and Morocco to take my mind off the whole emotional clusterfuck of events. It was after two days of partying, a boat in Algarve and an all-night mushroom trip in which I was convinced that I was on Survivor that I landed in Barcelona and started profusely throwing up in an airport trash can. That’s how my third pregnancy came about. 

At 18 weeks into my third pregnancy, an OB-GYN (who was simply doing his due diligence, no malice toward him) noticed something unusual on a scan. He pointed out that our daughter’s spine appeared to be missing a disc, and if that was the case, she would likely have some sort of degenerative disease, like spina bifida. We scheduled an amniocentesis for our 20-week scan. What followed were the longest two weeks of my life. During that time, my husband and I underwent genetic counseling to better understand what parenting a child with a disability might look like.

I was convinced this was my fault because during the first two months, I had accidentally kept taking my hair gummies. Ah, vanity, she strikes again. My medical research (WebMD) informed me that excessive biotin consumption could cause metabolic deformities. Surely this was it. I sobbed to my friend Lauren who promised she’d never repeat this to anyone, not even my husband. Jon, if you’re reading this… surprise! And let’s not forget the cocktail of experimental party favors I indulged in during my Girls in Euro Gone Wild extravaganza. This period in time is what I now refer to as the Sliding Doors moment of my life, that epic '90s film starring Gwyneth Paltrow, where the protagonist’s life plays out in two alternate realities depending on a single pivotal moment. Seriously, watch it if you haven’t already.

Thankfully our precautious doctor was wrong. Our amnio came back with a healthy prognosis and we moved forward through the chaos. At this point, I felt equipped for anything but nothing could prepare me for what was on the horizon. If my life was a movie, this right here would damn sure be the climax. 

I started experiencing loss of visibility around my 34th week of pregnancy. What started as light blurring soon unfolded into longer periods of blackouts from my vision. I then started experiencing an expedited amount of swelling. I felt like Frosty the Snowman. I know most women experience some level of inflammation but this went beyond anything I had ever seen. 

I kept flagging these issues to my OBGYN during my final checkups, but they were dismissed as there seemed to be no unusual readings in any of my levels. I still to this day find it very difficult to let go of my anger that the life threatening condition I tried to tell multiple medical professionals I knew I had was ignored, despite my incessant nagging. At my 36th week, my wonderful OBGYN who I adored was traveling to Australia for Pride. Who was I to deny him a shirtless-sexy-sweaty-dancing-on-a-float moment to my hometown hero, THE Kylie Minogue??? He assessed the cervix situation and reassured me that he would be back in time to safely deliver this already rambunctious child of mine. She was my daughter, after all, and it made total sense for her entrance into this world to be a dramatic one. 

Her original due date was March 13th, just one day before my birthday. But true to her Pisces nature, she had plans of her own. On February 22nd, I had lunch plans with my now co-founder, Lauren, and her husband, David. (In hindsight, that afternoon felt like the beginning of kismet and the quiet genesis of STJ but that’s a story for another time.) They seemed to be parenting their son Bo with such ease. I hadn't read any of the parenting books and was hoping to absorb some of their effortless cool mom and dad style through in-person osmosis. That morning, I had a routine weekly check-up and casually told my husband, Jon, that nothing ever really happened at these appointments. Should we just skip it and hit an estate sale instead, one last adventure before baby? Luckily, as the voice of reason, he suggested we do both.  

I met the woman who delivered my baby for the first time at this appointment. She was my current OBGYN’s replacement until his return the following week. I did all the required tests while watching Housewives on my phone (Beverly Hills, obviously; also where the clinic was located) waiting to get the green light of freedom when she summoned us back into her room with the good news. 

You’re going to have to deliver today. Your body has gone into pre-eclamptic shock. Your blood pressure is astronomical. I’m strongly advising you head home to grab your hospital bag and head to Cedars immediately.

I asked if I had time to grab a donut from Sidecar (best in LA, god I miss them) on the way and she was deeply unimpressed. I’m being serious, your organs will go into failure and you and the baby could die.

I made a note that she was not a fan of my lackadaisical humour and headed home to PACK MY BAG. That’s right. That’s what happens when a Pisces and Libra come together in union. A harmonious and serendipitous relationship on paper but not the best with forward planning skills. My nursery wasn’t even set up yet. I was banking on this extra month to wrap everything up but Frankie had other plans. 

I texted Lauren the news while en-route to the airport. Did you start prepping dinner yet? I am soOoo SorrY iF I pUt YoU out but I may need to reschedule in case they make me deliver the baby. An extremely polite text from someone who was just told she had to have an emergency life or death medical procedure.

Despite the external ongoing chaos throughout this pregnancy, my connection to Frankie always remained serene. I’d feel her stir gently when I’d sing Fleetwood Mac in the shower. I was constantly talking to her and she’d always nudge me (literally) that she was there. One time I asked if she felt like pizza for dinner and I swear an entire foot protruded from my upper abdomen in agreement. Yes girl, we always want pizza. What kind of question is that.

I ended up in a 30+ hour labor. After a full day cycle of trying it the au natural way sans pain meds, I was still stuck at a 5CM dilation and the doctors were desperate to get her out. Both of our heart rates were dropping, we broke the amniotic sac in the hopes she would get moving, but nothing did the trick. By the time my doctor had gone home, slept, showered and come back for her shift the following day, she asked if I was sure I wanted to continue this way. 

By this point, I was on an elite concoction of meds. Magnesium for the blood pressure, Pitocin and the Epidural. Another fun side effect that started to concur was that I had started projectile vomiting from the combination. I looked at her and said, Get this baby out the safest way you can, I don’t think I have the energy to continue any longer. I also asked her to give me a tummy tuck while she was in there if the opportunity presented itself, which it did not. (My humor was not well received at the hospital.) 

I ended up having an emergency c-section and stayed in the hospital for almost 10 days. I don’t remember much from that period. Sometimes that makes me very sad. I still to this day cannot bring myself to look at my birth photos. I made a playlist for the birth that was 3 hours long. In hindsight, I should have added an extra zero. Frankie ended up in the NICU so when my insurance kicked us out (again, the wonders of American healthcare)  we ended up checking into a hotel next door so we could be there on standby. 

It all felt like such a blur by the time we got home. I often refer to her birth as the best and worst day of my life, much to my husband's dismay. But look buddy, I almost died!!! 

We are now planning for our second child and the thought of going through this whole rigmarole is feeling very daunting. Childbirth felt like such an extreme risk to me that I actually got an IUD (and botox, ha) three days after I got home from the hospital. I know how lucky I am to have a safe and healthy child but I would be remiss to not acknowledge the severe anxiety, pain and stress that the memory of her birth still holds for me. I’ve done a lot of work to recognize that these two thoughts can be deeply linked yet still exist independently of each other.

When I think about pregnancy, I often have surreal flashbacks of claustrophobia and anxiety that we could both die at any second. I know that sounds dramatic but for a very long time I tucked that away and it did more harm than good. The smell of a hospital would trigger me into a dark place. The idea of being pregnant again was unfathomable. I suddenly started to understand why Kim K (fellow pre-eclampsia girly) opted for surrogacy.

I finally worked up the courage to take out my IUD last week, in hopes of what will (hopefully) be a second, healthy(-ish) pregnancy. I’ve also decided to re-enter EMDR therapy and am currently on the waitlist for the Hoffman institute. I found that a recent stint of almost 8 months alcohol-free and forcing myself to journal first thing in the morning has been extremely helpful. On that note, in the good words of my soul sister, Britney Spears: I hope to be reporting back soon with an update that says, Oops, I have done it again.