I Was Told at 28 That I Could Die. Here is My Birth Story

Art Direction and Photograph by: Catie Menke. Model: Ashley Marie.

Copy by: Samantha Stinocher
Model: Ashley Marie
Creative Direction by: Catie Menke

I was 28 and told that I could die. I was 28 and told that I should not have any more children. At 28 my whole world changed and from the outside it all seemed like the worst-case scenario; but to me it felt hopeful.

My twin boys were born five weeks early because I developed a sudden and very severe case of preeclampsia. I was so sick and the medications they gave me in the hospital made me even groggier than I was before, and I remember very little about delivering my babies. Following their birth, I made little progress and over time got even more sick. I was moved from the maternity ward to the ICU and was subjected to several different tests including ultrasounds and echocardiograms while doctors tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Ultimately no diagnosis was given, and I was sent home with “pneumonia” after 10 days.

But as time went on, I began to believe there was something more wrong than just pneumonia. I couldn’t understand how to do simple things, like create grocery lists or sort the mail, and it was difficult for me to keep track of my babies feeding schedule throughout the day. Additionally, I would black out when I’d walk short distances and I was frequently worried that I might drop them.

I began to research different conditions that I may have, but would consistently tell myself I was being hypochondriacal and that the way I felt was probably typical for pneumonia.

One day I laid down on my bed and recognized a familiar feeling – I couldn’t breathe. I knew my oxygen had dropped again and I needed to go back to the hospital. I was terrified because I remembered feeling completely trapped before.

It only took one day after I was admitted to the hospital for the second time to receive my diagnosis – Postpartum Cardiomyopathy (PPCM). Pregnancy induced heart failure. At 28 years old, after I had just delivered my first children, at what should have been the most joyous time of my life, a doctor stood at the edge of my hospital bed and told me I could die and that it would be too dangerous for me to have children in the future. He told me that when I was able to go home I would have to wear a defibrillator vest and have someone with me at all times who could call 911 if I went into cardiac arrest.

While news like that should have devastated me, I was just so grateful that I had a diagnosis and a plan and doctors who could guide me.

Gratitude is often rooted in perspective. Once we can shift perspective to see what we’ve been given instead of what’s being taken away we can often accept our problems and even learn to appreciate what they’ve brought into our lives.

My birth story often makes others feel sorry for me. And there are parts of it that were truly scarring and that do make me pity myself as well. But overall, I am so grateful for my experience because it’s mine. I saw so much love from people around me during that time, even people I barely knew. And I have gained patience for my children that I may not have had otherwise because I’m just happy to be here. Happy to experience their temper tantrums and their struggles.