I almost died from preeclampsia. I wasn’t tested because I’m black.
Originally I was going to publish this story with the Huffington Post. They wouldn’t run it because it wasn’t inspiration porn, it didn’t have a happy ending, just recommendations for other black women on how to stay alive. It was too scary for a white woman editor to take that on. I feel the alternative is scarier, so I’m publishing here so others can learn from my experience and feelings.
Looking down at my daughter in the hospital crib, I knew looking at Autumn’s face for the second time was supposed to be one of the happiest moments in my life. But I wasn’t happy. I was silently sobbing as to not wake the baby. Finishing pregnancy and labor was harrowing for me. I narrowly survived the whole process because I had carried Autumn almost to term while enduring preeclampsia that was only diagnosed after I had gone into labor. In some ways I felt vindicated. I had been complaining of symptoms for months. At the same time, I was saddened because I had spoken up repeatedly, but hadn’t been heard. Again.
Looking back with a mind that isn’t clouded by pregnancy brain, it is clear I had all of the classic symptoms of pre-eclampsia starting in my second trimester. At almost every appointment I complained of vomiting in my sleep (I used to wake up choking and terrified), relentless headaches, stomach aches…
