Gaia’s story

My pregnancy started like a dream: unexpected and surreal. It came at the right time, while I was living a very fulfilling life, and I was finally ready to be a mother.

However, just like the nicest of dreams can turn into a nightmare, so my pregnancy started to show a dark side from the very beginning, when my ankles swelled up at as early as 8 gestational weeks, and my morning sickness became beyond unbearable. I dismissed both symptoms, as I kept telling myself, ‘it is just pregnancy’.

My blood pressure was always ‘peachy’, at all scans and midwifery appointments, my baby was always found ‘happy’. I was lifting weights, eating well, taking a lot of steps every day, and I was planning to have a water birth.

Everything turned upside down in the third trimester. I started having blood pressure spikes, spots in my visions, and strong nausea—much heavier than regular ‘morning sickness’. One afternoon, I was waiting for my train at the platform, and my vision became so blurry that all objects in my sight field became spirals—I couldn’t focus, they just kept moving. I tried closing my eyes, taking deep breaths, but nothing happened. Finally, my train arrived, I was able to sit down, relax, and do some breathing exercises, so my vision came back normal. As soon as I arrived at home, I checked my blood pressure, and it was within normal range, so, once again, I dismissed a huge red flag. It wasn’t long after that when, at a routine appointment, I had three consecutive high blood pressure readings, and was sent to triage.

There, they found protein in my urine, diagnosed me with preeclampsia, and admitted me straightaway. I was 35+5 weeks pregnant, but I had had symptoms for at least two weeks. The day after, during a growth scan, they gave me the worst news I’d ever received: my baby wasn’t growing. He was 2-3 weeks behind his gestational age. My inner world, my dreams, everything just collapsed within seconds: my only certainty, to have a happy baby, was being destroyed. On top of it, my baby also presented breech at the time, so my dream of a natural birth was also fading away. On the one hand, I was in denial: I was a certified PT and Health Coach, living the most active and healthiest lifestyle ever, I refused to be associated with what I wrongly believed was a lifestyle disease. On the other hand, I was in shock for the severity of the situation, and for the fact that my baby was in danger. All I could think about was keeping him safe. In addition, I was suffering hard the physical stress of being hospitalised, the constant monitoring, the ongoing hope of getting ‘good enough’ blood pressure readings (accompanied by unjustified guilt feelings when readings were ‘bad’), and the never-ending fear of an emergency C-section if the condition started to escalate. Feelings were confused, and my own wellbeing did no longer matter to me: I just wanted to deliver my baby in the safest possible way.

A rollercoaster of emotions followed. A doppler scan the following day reassured us that the baby was getting adequate oxygen, so a doctor could attempt an ECV to turn him head down, and, if successful, I would be induced. Otherwise, I had to prepare for an emergency C-section. The following evening, I was finally discharged and booked in for an outpatient appointment a few days later, to have an additional scan and a blood pressure check. Meanwhile, I was supposed to check my blood pressure at home four times a day. At the appointment, we found out my baby had already turned himself head down, so I got cleared for an induction of labour at 37 weeks. I cried out of joy, and the doctor asked me if I was alright.

The induction was long, painful and mentally stressful. For example, I remember having meconium, and still having to wait for a bed before being administered oxytocin. My nausea was worsening, my blood pressure was going up and down, my baby was doing ok most of the time, but sometimes there were alarming CTG readings, so midwives, nurses, and doctors were constantly in and out the room, checking on us and talking to each other like I was not there—except I was. I felt so powerless! All I could do was hope for the best. Finally, on 19 November 2024, at 6:41am, Jamie, a tiny baby boy of barely 2.334kg was born, while snow was falling all around the hospital. It was such a magical moment for me and my husband!

In the following 2-3 months, we experienced a host of traumatic medical challenges, due to Jamie being born so small and not fully ‘ready’ to be out yet. So, they day after I got discharged, at the 5-day health visitor appointment, we were rushed back into the hospital, as he had developed jaundice, lost weight (he was 2kg at that point), and was severely dehydrated. At five weeks of age, we had to rush him into the hospital again for an emergency inguinal hernia surgery—we got transferred to another hospital with the ambulance and stayed there until Christmas Eve. Weeks later, he developed a mouth thrush, and then a skin rush as a reaction to a vaccine. However, when he turned 3 months old, things began to go better, he started to grow up fast, and hit all of his milestones ahead of time. Now at the time of writing, Jamie is an incredibly smart, active, and big toddler, who runs around the house and speaks two languages. Every time I look at him, I think about all we have been through, and I cannot believe how far we have come. I tell him our story whenever I get the chance, because I want him to be aware of what a brave, little hero he has been.

On my side, I needed a lot of therapy to start making sense of this experience. Physically, I recovered pretty fast, being off medication within 3-4 weeks from delivery. However, being aware of my vulnerability and the increased risk for cardiovascular disease in the future, I had to make some lifestyle changes, such as incorporating weekly long runs, and setting VO2max related goals for myself, next to my usual strength ones. While prepping for my 15k Tough Mudder fundraising for Action on Preeclampsia, I discovered a certain fondness for trail running and OCR, that I would have never discovered otherwise. In a sense, I am grateful to preeclampsia for facing me with health risks that have forced me to take up a new sport. My hope is to be able to inspire other survivors to also pick up a new sport or hobby—one that supports their long-term health while also helping them make sense of the past.