It was the 3rd of June.
A regular maternity check up for 38 weeks at the gynaecologist resulted in immediate admission owing to high blood pressure & above average uterine contractions.
Yes, I turned out to be an eclampsia patient who wasn’t apparently diagnosed earlier. My regular doctor wasn’t available and it was about 7 hours since another doctor arrived to decide on my labour. Saviour as she turned out, she wasted no time post her arrival.
An emergency c-section was performed and my daughter was born. The most wonderful moment of my life was to see her flesh and blood.
Sighing a sense of relief, it seemed all done and over now. Destiny however had it different the next morning, my stomach bloated with fluids like a 9 month pregnant woman. I couldn’t carry myself and gained several kgs in few hours. Doctors were clueless. Food and liquids were cut down, with just trips running through me.
I couldn’t get up to grab a look at my new born in the cradle and fed her lying on back, with the help of my sister during the day. At night, it was with the help of my husband and kind nurses.
On the third day, I pushed myself to get up and lift the baby for the first time. It was so precious because I couldn’t repeat the act. I couldn’t even use the bathroom and toilet with out my husband.
After 4 days, I was to be shifted to another hospital with better facilities. Being hurried on to an ambulance, in blurry vision I saw my sister in tears, husband grasping me tight, dad running and rest of family standing before me; my just born daughter left alone in maternity hospital.
The critical care unit in the hospital called the medical condition ‘ascites’, caused by protien leakage due to high BP pregnancy hormones. Needles were injected to remove fluids.
It was a nightmare as I was heavy on drugs and steroids. Using bedpans in critical care was the last thing I wanted in life. It was 9th of June as I clasped my husband and sister tight during the brief visiting time, as I felt it could be my last. I could feel my intestines and other parts by touching on the stomach. There were patients around me in the ward each with its own criticality. It scared me to death.
The only solace among all the happenings was shifting my new born to the safety of my sister’s house. I told myself that I have to come back for her.
On 11th of June, I had shed off 10 litres of fluids. It took another two days in the general ward before I was discharged.
Finally my family welcomed me and the baby home.
Ten days in two hospitals taught the values of life, family and friends in ways that will stay etched.
Today, I’m full of scars that remind me to stay strong, come what may.