Maybe it was irrational, but I was afraid I would die.

During the anatomy scan for my youngest, the ultrasound tech discovered my placenta was too close to my cervix. So our plan was to closely monitor the growth of the placenta to ensure that in the months ahead, it would move away. The worst-case scenario would be to undergo a Cesarian at birth, according to the tech, "to avoid hemorrhaging."

Hemorrhaging?

The word hemorrhaging struck me in that moment like a bolt of lightning. "Oh, you mean when all the blood comes pouring out of your body?" Suddenly I was reminded that at one time it was common for mothers to die in childbirth and that the danger, (though smaller with modern medicine,) still existed. It was then my fear was born. I said to myself, "I'm going to die."

Not death, but the passing of life

As a Christian, I did not fear what came after death because I believe my salvation is secure in what Jesus did on the cross, but it was something else that froze the blood in my veins. Time wasted.

Please, Sir, I want some more

When I looked at my life, at my parenting, I just felt like this was not enough. I wanted more. I wanted to do better and I needed more time to do it. It was not the transition of death that shook me, but rather losing life and the opportunity to grow and do good.

An admittedly ridiculous fear

However, dying at birth was still an illogical fear because as Milo grew, all my insides moved to their designated zones and the problem resolved itself. Still, the dread clutched onto my shoulders like that beetle thing on "Doctor Donna's" back. I recognized it was irrational. Despite being cleared of any danger, I still struggled with this feeling throughout my entire last trimester. It was a totally unfounded phobia. Well, until one routine checkup four weeks before my due date.

Big feet, little cup

I never really understood the purpose of peeing in those little cups at every appointment. I mean, I figured it was purposeful, but I had never learned what they were ruling out. It's possible I thought it was just to make sure pregnant mommies were not doped up. Apparently, they are intended to measure how much protein is in your urine, as to indicate a sign of preeclampsia. I did not know that then. I do now.

That's new

A few days before my appointment I looked down at my feet and noticed they were puffy. Sure, you say, pregnant women get puffy feet, but I had squeezed out three other children and for none of those pregnancies did I ever have any sort of puffiness. So it was super alarming to me when my foot tripled in size, when I had to purchase bigger shoes for my choir concert, and when I failed that pee test at my next appointment.

I watched my doctor ( the Chuck Norris of obstetrics) wrinkle her brow in disapproval as she double checked my protein count. That is when Fear showed up right there in the hallway, sat next to me, shook my hand, and said " hey."

Not a small cup

Next, we would double-check the count with a twenty-four-hour catch. This terminology is a pleasant attempt at communicating " you are going to pee all day in this bottle that closely resembles a jug of Tide, and store it in your fridge." Chuck Norris O.B told me to take it easy, not to do a lot and let my husband do my stressful stuff. So most the day I lied on the couch, occasionally urinated in the Tide jug and fought worrying. However, very little helped to sway my immense concern. Somewhere in my heart the fear was biding its time and slowing corroding my hope. I knew deep in my soul something was wrong.

What-ifs

If the big Tide jug came back with results declaring I had failed, I was having Milo the next day. So after I dropped the jug off at the hospital that cold and dark December night, I kept thinking what any expectant mother thinks before they have a baby, " I need to go to Wal-Mart".

A fully equipped hospital bag would be essential and I had yet to assemble one. I just knew I was having him in the morning. So after convincing my husband, I drove to Wal-Mart alone, cried in the car, and prayed a lot. I pregnant-wobbled around the store, grabbed snacks for mike, cozy socks (hospitals are often cold), granny panties, the Godzilla of pads and a loofah with a long handle so I could scrub my feet.

Baths, man

Then I came home and decided to take an Epsom salt bath to help with the swelling. I soaked in the water and fell asleep. Mike came in to check on me. His presence woke me up and jump-started my heart like I had died and my heart was jolted by a defibrillator. Turns out that may not have been very far from the truth. It was about nine o'clock when Chuck Norris called and told me I needed to have Milo as soon as possible, for my safety. The induction was scheduled for six in the morning.

Ask for life

Knowing my doctor was concerned about HELLP syndrome, I became immersed in a full-on battle against my Goliath phobia. My irrational fear had become warranted. In desperate need of truth, I messaged a friend who had a very risky birth a few years ago. She encouraged me to pray and ask God to let me live. "It's ok to ask to live", she said.

A Plea

There on my bed around midnight, I beseeched the God of everything to allow me to live. I admitted that maybe my fear was a little exaggerated, and maybe this was all just going to be fine, but if I was in actual danger, to please not snuff out my life.

The elephant in the room...I mean, on my chest

Suddenly, I could no longer breathe. Laying down did not ease the pain of the elephant's weight on my chest. Standing up created no new airways and sitting only added a snoozing baby to the pressure. I was certain now. This was a crisis.

I called Dr. Norris and she told me to go to the ER. They checked my blood pressure to ensure I was not beginning to show signs of HELLP. For someone who has textbook blood pressure, it was alarming that it was a little high. I was given magnesium and huge foam blocks to rest against my head, you know, in case I seized. I was happy to be under supervision, but still very frightened.

HELLP Me Rhonda

As I waited to be induced, my status worsened. My platelet count dropped. I had full-on HELLP syndrome. If you, like many others I know, are not acquainted with what HELLP is, the preeclampsia foundation defines it as:

"a life-threatening pregnancy complication usually considered to be a variant of preeclampsia. Both conditions usually occur during the later stages of pregnancy, or sometimes after childbirth. HELLP syndrome was named by Dr. Louis Weinstein in 1982 after its characteristics: H (hemolysis, which is the breaking down of red blood cells) EL (elevated liver enzymes) LP (low platelet count) The global mortality rate of HELLP syndrome has been reported to be as high as 25%. That's why it's critical for expecting mothers to be aware of the condition and its symptoms so they can receive early diagnosis and treatment."

I was very sick. The staff explained to me that their concern for me was the priority over the baby (since he was old enough to be born and he was healthy.) My condition was so complicated and dire that I could at one point hear them whispering about me in the hall. Later I would come to find that they were discussing transferring me to a bigger more experienced hospital but I had progressed so far in the birth that I could have the baby on the way. Eleven doctors were following my case. The University of Vermont was being consulted but the staff decided to keep me there.

"ItsBobwehadababyitsaboy"

Finally, we got Milo out, I held him briefly only to realize I could not hold him safely. My hands were inflatable toys restricted by too many wires, and I had the strength of an asthmatics' puff of air during an asthma attack. so I let them take him to the nursery. After that it was survival. My blood count was so low my urine was red. So the next morning the nurse came in and said, like a waitress giving me another beverage " so, we're going to get you some platelets, and yeah, we'll be giving you some blood too." To which my husband and I responded" like a transfusion? Isn't that for like dyer issues?"

Yep.

I was on the brink. At one point the nurse was checking my consciousness because, despite me laughing at her in my head, I was not responding. Two bags of blood and a bag of platelets later, I began to recover and finally got to hold Milo.

Holding my new baby, I knew that God had spared me. Had I gone to sleep that night, I may never have woken. God's answer to my prayer was my ability feel the urgency of my condition and get to the hospital. I firmly believe that is the reason I, at that very moment, could no longer comfortably receive oxygen to my lungs.

After I was out of the woods the staff began to confirm how rare it was for me, a four-time mother younger than 30, to have all signs of HELLP. How taking an Epsom salt bath could have lowered my blood pressure and may have saved my life. Truly, God was exercising his merciful nature. Milo is a reminder, a sign, to myself and the world that God is loving and merciful.

During my last trimester, I decided to name this babe "Milo Jonas." Which means, "merciful sign of God". And he is.