My story starts August of 2019. I had been feeling off for weeks nauseous, tired, my sciatica was flaring up a lot, dizzy, and just feeling overall worn. I thought that I was having a bout of depression and that it would pass in a few days. Then one morning I was laying on my side and I flipped my upper half to my back to do a spinal twist stretch. The burn that went through my hips was startling. I began to wonder if maybe the symptoms weren’t depression and maybe I was in fact pregnant. I am 36 years old overweight with a fatty liver, my son is 12, and even though for years I wanted another baby my husband and I thought we were done having children. We weren’t exactly in the best financial position either. I kept putting off the test. I was scared. Scared to get my hopes up and it, once again, comes out to be a negative test. Scared that if I was pregnant that I would be ridiculed for having a baby while being in a bad financial position for it.
Early morning of August 27th I finally got up the courage to take the test. I am sitting there on my toilet watching the test turn immediately positive. I felt a mix of so many emotions the first being anxiety. Is this real? Am I really getting what I wanted for the last several years? This has to be too good to be true. I want this so much. What is my husband going to think? He already has so much on his shoulders. My son, he has been the only child for so long, he is the person I love most in this world how will it be possible to love someone else that much? What if I bond more with the baby and it hurts my son? The rest of my family is going to think we were reckless and stupid, because who has a baby when you aren’t in a good place financially to have one. There are several family members that always told me I should never get pregnant if I can’t readily afford it. Am I going to be able to keep this baby or will I have to have a clinical abortion, because it may cause too much of a danger to my health having a fatty liver? That would have been the hardest to deal with if that had been the case. I don’t know that I could have done that even with the dangers. The only thing in that moment I was 100% sure of was I loved this baby already and if it wasn’t too good to be true, I was finally getting my wish for another child.
I woke my husband up (it was around 3:30 in the morning) and collapsed in his arms in tears. He asked what was wrong and I told him I was pregnant. He held me until my tears subsided and told me Everything would be okay and first thing we needed to do was get me in to see the doctor and see what she has to say about it. He stayed up and talked to me to keep me calm. I also called my mom to tell her and she stayed on the phone with me for over an hour. Our son woke up to go to the bathroom and heard us in the living room. Wanting to know what is going on he came in and asked. We have always been open and honest with him and that wasn’t going to change in this situation (some people thought we should have kept it from him until after I saw the doctor) we told him he might be a big brother. The look on his face was priceless. It went from sleep fogged confusion to pure joy in seconds. “Finally!! Finally I get to be a big brother!!!” Neither one of us were surprised by his reaction. He had been asking for a little sister or brother for years.
I see the doctor and she confirms that I am pregnant and judging from when my last period was it seems I am 3-4 months pregnant and due in February. Um that’s not long to prepare at all. We need baby things and a bigger place! Panic once again set in which was once again waylaid by my husband. After that everything seemed to happen so fast. I got in with an OBGYN and an ultrasound was ordered to find out how far along I really was, because my periods weren’t regular so that wasn’t a very good indicator. I had my ultrasound September 13, 2019. I was 11 weeks and due in April. so I was only around 8 weeks when I found out. Phew. That was a relief. It gave us a couple more months than we thought we had to get our ducks in a row.
We live in a small town so there is only one OBGYN in my town and to be honest they are not the greatest. The bathrooms were always dirty, The wait always long, and there was a situation that they wanted me to sign a form that was only partially filled out and they had the audacity to get mad at me when I refused to sign an incomplete form. I told them I have a right to know what I am signing and to not have to worry they will add something later after they had my signature. After that I insisted on a copy of every form they had me sign. I didn’t trust them. The nearest city is about an hour away. The freeway to get there is not a great one to travel and there is at least one accident a day on it. I am nervous in the car anyway and that trip makes me a wreck so I had to choose between an office that made me uncomfortable or traveling on a freeway that scares me and stressing the baby. I chose to stick with the one in town. I figured since they knew that I was watching closely for anything underhanded they would behave. I didn’t mind my doctor too much. There were times I wish he spent a little longer so I could ask questions and get my concerns addressed. He had the tendency to come in, check the heartbeat, and leave. I felt like he always kept one foot out the door.
Because of my age they had to take more precautions and sent me to have a level two ultrasound at 20 weeks. Here it was!! I was finally getting to find out my baby’s gender! I felt the whole time I was carrying a little girl. It was a strong feeling too. On the day of my ultrasound I woke up so excited!! I am not one of those people who wants to wait and be surprised. I want to know as soon as possible. The OBGYN specialist who did the ultrasound was wonderful and probably the best experience I had through the whole pregnancy. I laid down on the cot (I don’t know what else to call it) and he said he could tell me what I’m having just by looking at me. I got so excited and asked what I’m having. His answer? A baby. We all started laughing. He definitely had a sense of humor. My husband, son, and best friend were in there with me. Before he started he asked each of us what they thought the gender would be. My husband was the only one who said boy. The doctor put the doppler on my stomach and immediately was able to see the gender. He asked us to look and tell us what we thought. My husband said he didn’t see a penis. I looked and started to tear up. I asked him if I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. Is my baby a girl? He said yep, that’s a slit. Did he just say that? Oh wow. It made me laugh still. I started to sob and laugh at the same time. My belly was shaking so hard I kept bouncing the doppler off. The doctor sat down and said he had time and to get it all out. He really was awesome. We got good news that our baby is healthy and that I should have a relatively uneventful pregnancy so long as things keep going the way they are. It was uneventful until January rolled around.
We got into a three bedroom apartment in the same complex that we already lived in and had to be moved by the 19th. I had my son going through his things and even though I told him to keep it neat he spread his stuff all over the living room. I had just finished telling him to straighten everything up when I tripped over a pile and landed stomach-first into a couple of boxes. I had huge purple, almost black, bruises on almost the entirety of my belly. My heart dropped. Is my baby ok? She was still moving and there was no fluids leaking that I could tell. So I was cautiously optimistic. I get checked out and we were both okay. Another sigh of relief.
As I get further into my pregnancy I get this feeling that I wont make it to April. That she is going to be born early. I can’t shake it. By February I start getting really tired, getting chest pains, and my feet and ankles are swelling to a concerning degree. My doctor says I have high blood pressure, but it’s not too bad at that point and puts me on labetalol. He says he wants to keep a close eye on me and that he wants me to go down to one of the hospitals in the next city over for observations and to make an appointment. I made the appointment, but it wasn’t for a couple of weeks. March rolls around and I go to one of my appointments. It is March 12th. He says there are a lot of proteins in my urine and that he is concerned that I have preeclampsia and sends me to the hospital that night. He didn’t want me to wait until my appointment that he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to have to induce that night.
My husband and I take our son to my mother’s and we get our bags ready in case and head to the hospital. We were there for hours. I was on the fetal heart monitor and a heart monitor and blood pressure monitor. They did several blood tests and multiple resident OBGYNs came in to talk to me. I also had a med student come in to ask me questions. The questions were easy to answer until I had to recall my miscarriage from 2018. After a series of tests and monitoring they decided to send me home for the weekend and have me come back on the 16th to be induced. They told me to call at 7AM to check in and wait for a phone call to come down when they had a room. Well at least that gave me time to get the nursery ready. I had the weekend. I usually have the place unpacked in less than a week, but because of my injury I had to take it slow so it took a while to get the new apartment unpacked. We spent the weekend together as a family of three for what we thought was going to be the last time.
Monday the 16th rolls around and I get up and make the call. I waited all day, a bundle of nerves, for the call. By 6:30 PM I get a little impatient waiting so I called again. Apparently they forgot to call me. They had had a bed for me for hours. We pack up, take our son to my mother, and head to the hospital. The check in was relatively painless, but that is where that stopped. They took me to the back pretty quickly. First they tried to separate me from my husband. I was already anxious (plus I have a severe anxiety disorder anyway) so I refused to go in the back without him. They conceded after a minute. They took my weight and vitals and took me to my room. There were two nurses. I thought it was a little strange, but not enough to really question it. That was a mistake. She was a trainee which I wasn’t informed about until much later when I refused to let her touch me anymore. I’ll touch more on why in a moment. They had me get in a gown and get in the bed. As soon as I am settled the nurse has the trainee put in the IV. I could have been spared a lot of pain at this point, because if I had known beforehand that she was a trainee I would have refused to let her touch me in the first place. I am already scared and don’t really want to be someone’s guinea pig. Let them train on people who aren’t afraid and have given express permission. I am not a hard stick. I never have been. I also have had several IVs and not one hurt until that day. The trainee tries to put the IV in a vain in my thumb. It hurt so bad and my arm started to spasm. She started to yell at me to hold still as she is wiggling the needle back and forth trying to jimmy it in. It told her through my tears that I was trying and couldn’t control it. Finally my husband told her to stop. They blew the vain and tried to blame me for it. I told them I never felt pain like that getting a simple IV before. That was when they finally told me that the nurse putting the IV in was a trainee. I told them that if I had known I would have refused her doing it and that they should have told me to begin with, because I have a right to know who is doing a procedure on my body and that I never gave permission for a trainee to practice on me and that they aren’t supposed to allow trainees to work on patients without disclosure and permission. They told me they forgot. I said she was not to touch me again. The experienced nurse put in my IV after that with no issues and just a small pinch.
After about an hour one of the resident OBGYNs comes in and gives me a pill to hopefully start labor. I have been feeling contractions for days, but they were Braxton hicks, but this pill would make them active contractions. They checked on me a couple hours later and I’m not dilating. They tell me they need to put a balloon in my cervix to stretch it. They need to do what?! This was never discussed with me when I asked what inducing labor entailed. I was told that I should have been told about the possibility of this and that I had no choice, but that it shouldn’t hurt and I should only feel pressure. It was very apparent that this doctor never had this done. This was not pressure. I’m pretty sure they were trying to split me in two from the inside out. I am sobbing in pain, my poor husband is holding my hand with his other arm around my head and he is whispering in my ear that it will be okay, that I am strong, and it will be over soon. I have a high pain tolerance and this was excruciating. They said it had to stay there for 12 hours, but I could have something to eat and drink in the meantime. Oh thank goodness I was starving. Even bland hospital food sounded amazing. There were a couple of hours that were relatively uneventful just nurses coming in and checking my vitals and the baby’s heart rate.
At one point my acid reflux really started to bother me and I asked if I could have something for it. I had stomach acid coming out my nose. They gave me medicine for it, but wouldn’t let me sit up even though laying down was making it worse and at that point my throat was bleeding. I kept sitting up anyway, but every time a nurse came in the room she would push me back down. It didn’t matter when I told them I needed to sit up until the reflux passes. The last time they pushed me down I asked my husband immediately to sit me back up just on time for me to throw up everywhere. After that they stopped pushing me back down and let me sit up.
12 hours passed and the doctor came back in to remove the balloon. It felt good coming out. Such a relief from the constant burning pressure. I am dilated, but still not quite enough. Time for the petocin. The contractions immediately start to come more frequently and more strongly. I ask when I can get my epidural. They okayed me for it early, because of the strength of the contractions. The anesthesiologist comes in and does the procedure. I remember it kicked in much faster the first time I had a baby. After 10 minutes I am still feeling everything. The nurse says it just hasn’t kicked in yet. She said she is sorry but she has to give me the catheter whether or not I am numb. Why not everything else they have done to me was excruciating why not this too? She was trying so hard to be gentle and I could see on her face how badly she felt, but it burned like fire anyway.
They come in every now and again to check my dilation progress. One of the OBs got concerned that I was still feeling everything and brought in another anesthesiologist. He turned out to be a jack of all trades. He was a certified anesthesiologist, phlebotomist, and nurse practitioner. He checks my epidural and informs us that the reason it’s not working is because it was placed incorrectly. He said he is going to have to remove it and redo it. Of course that’s the way things are going at this point. I told him to do what he had to do. This time the epidural took and for the first time since being admitted I felt blissfully pain-free. It was amazing! I even slept for a while.
Alas, nothing lasts forever. My OB came in to check on me himself and said I was ready to have my water broken. That felt like it took forever, but in reality it was only a couple of minutes. He also had me on a magnesium drip by that point. That’s a trip all it’s own. About 10 to 15 minutes later I got the strong urge to push so I called my nurse. She refused to come in saying they like to wait at least a half an hour before checking to see progress of dilation after the water is broken artificially. I told her regardless of what they like they need to come now or my husband is going to have to catch my baby. I could hear in her voice that she was irritated, because she sighed and said “fine, I’ll be right there.” She came in and checked me. To her surprise I was fully dilated and my baby was already heading out. She rushed the birthing team into the room and after 4 pushes and some help from the vacuum extractor my daughter was in the world. She was perfect! Chubby cheeked and so beautiful. Finally, after all that torment my beautiful little girl was here and in that moment every ounce of pain I went through in those 2 and a half days suddenly became so worth it.
You would think that would be the point for celebration right? Not in this case. From the moment she was born she made little cooing sounds. We were told that could be a sign she was struggling to breathe and that they wanted to take her to the NICU for a couple hours to check her thoroughly. Putting concern for her over our desire to hold on we allowed them to take her. My instincts were screaming against it, but maybe it was the trauma my body went through making me more sensitive. I cried when I watched them take her out of the room. I wanted to scream “wait! Give her back!!” It took all my willpower not to. My OB finished up with me getting the placenta out and stitching my tear, which was relatively small, and I fell asleep. I couldn’t seem to stay awake. I was told it was because of the magnesium.
I was woken up later by nurses from the NICU. They told me that while her vitals are really good and that she is perfectly healthy they wanted to keep her until 9 that night for observations, because she was a little lethargic from the magnesium I was given. I left the decision to my husband, because the magnesium had had me in such a mental fog I could barely comprehend what they were telling me. It was also several hours before my legs worked properly. My husband, knowing I wont use a bedpan, practically carried me to the bathroom every time I had to go.
Later, now that everything else was over, they realized they had filled me with too much saline and I was swelling to a large degree. I looked like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. My skin was cracking at my joints from the pressure. I was peeing a lot so it was hopeful that it would go down quickly. I was filled with so much saline that my blood was so diluted that I needed 2 units of blood. Okay, why not? So did you know that you have to have a separate IV for blood? I didn’t, but I found out that day. The swelling was presenting a problem in finding my veins and the nurse tried 4 times in one hand and when she couldn’t get it she called someone else in. They brought in someone who used an ultrasound machine to find a vein and to guide them into it. It took two people. One person to work the ultrasound machine and one to put the IV in. You know, I always thought the idea of receiving blood would gross me out, but when it came a time I needed it all I felt was grateful to the person who shared their blood with someone else that needed it.
Finally!! Vitals normal, magnesium mostly worn off, blood transfusion done I am moved to the next stage of my journey! I am being moved to a post-partum room! I am going to be able to see my little girl! She is going to be brought to us at 9PM (that’s what they told me,) we will get released in a day or so, and our amazing new adventure as a family of four will finally begin!! The problem with fantasy is reality rarely ever reflects it. The NICU nurses made another visit. The magnesium isn’t wearing off as quickly as they would like and she has a touch of jaundice (which it never made it out of normal numbers for a newborn) so they are going to keep her longer. Okay, my room was disgusting and I would rather her not be in a room that smells of mildew anyway. She was supposed to be released when I was anyway so at that moment it felt ok. I was told before I could go see her that I had to settle in my room first, have my vitals taken, and change my gown. That was reasonable. I took a look around my room and wanted to run, but I had nowhere to run to. The toilet handle leaked and sometimes didn’t flush, the faucet leaked, and under the sink the pipes were exposed and were wrapped in fiberglass. It looked like a mummy arm emerging from the wall. The chair that unfolded into a bed had this weird looking white stuff all along the sides and the room smelled of mildew. This room was disgusting and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to make the best of it and got settled in and cleaned up and vitals done. Time to hold my baby!!
By this point I am chomping at the bit and want to go see my daughter. The nurse with a wheelchair comes in to get me. I practically jump in and yell “Let’s go!!”
Her, my husband, and I make the short walk to the NICU. I am bouncing in my seat full of excitement. Finally! I finally get to have my precious little girl in my arms. We find out when we get to the NICU door that only I can go in due to new Coronavirus policies. Only one parent at a time. I was looking forward to that emotionally intimate moment shared between two parents holding their new baby. We didn’t get to have that moment. Anyway, I get wheeled in and there she is! She is connected to an IV and monitors. I wasn’t braced for that. It felt like a punch to the chest and gut. Looking down and seeing my sweet baby girl connected to machines. The nurse asked if I wanted to hold her and of course, I did! She brings me a chair and hands her to me. What a bittersweet moment that was! Here I was holding my little girl and I couldn’t even share the moment with my husband. I stayed in there with her for about an hour before I went back to my room to rest.
The next day was pretty quiet. I visited my daughter in between vital checks, blood draws, and meals. There was one incident that upset me. I went in at one point and my daughter was face-down in her bassinet with a blanket over her head and her nurse nowhere in sight. I pulled the blanket off and turned her over. Apparently I needed permission to touch my own child, because a couple nurses came over wanting to know what I was doing. I needed permission to hold her, to feed her, or to change her. This was ridiculous and I told them so and I told them I don’t appreciate finding my daughter face-down with a blanket over her head and they should know better as medical professionals that they should know the dangers of suffocation. They apologized profusely. Her nurse finally showed up. She was on break. So she left my daughter like that and went on break. I demanded a new nurse for her. They at least did oblige.
I started developing a cough. I chalked it up to my throat being damaged a little from the reflux, but then it started getting more pronounced and my ribs were feeling a little tight. Friday morning they wheeled me to X-ray and had the x-rays sent to a lung specialist who worked there. He came up and talked to me. He was a little amused. He told me that I have a small spot on my left lung about the size of a half dollar. He said it was caused by, without a doubt, pneumonia and that it was likely brought on by being filled with too much saline during my labor and not being able to get up and walk around from the magnesium effects so that it ended up settling in my lung. The reason for his amusement was the OBs had themselves and the nurses in an uproar with a rumor that I was a covid patient. He told me it was most certainly pneumonia and that a course of antibiotics and a couple doses of Lasix would have me back to normal in a few days. He also made it plain to them and my husband and I that I was in no way contagious. They still wouldn’t let me see my daughter after that, though.
That night I got another scare. The site of my first and failed epidural was leaking fluid. My first thought was I am leaking spinal fluid? Don’t people die or go paralyzed from that? Or something just as bad? I am panicking. My husband is holding my hand telling me not to panic that everything will be okay and they will find out what it is and fix it. They send in the anesthesiologist and he explained to me that because of the vast amounts of saline they pumped me with my body is trying to get rid of it and the hole in my back is one of the paths of least resistance. So basically my body was leaking the saline I was pumped with. Well that’s disgusting, but bright side is I’m not in any present danger. I still can’t figure out why it never dawned on them to slow down how much they were giving me. Every other medical professional I ever talked to about it said they gave me way too much even people who worked at the same hospital. The OB’s even partially admitted they accidentally gave me too much.
I got put on antibiotics, given Lasix, and cough syrup on top of the labetalol doses. I was so grateful for the cough syrup, because my cough was getting pretty bad. I was supposed to get it every four hours, but that didn’t happen. I called the nurses desk when they were late with my dose and they said they were waiting for the pharmacy to send it up. An hour goes by and I call again. Still waiting. This goes on for 5 hours. At this point I am coughing up blood and every time I blow my nose I get a bunch of blood. One of the resident OB’s came in early that morning to check on me. I asked her if she knew why I wasn’t getting my cough syrup. She looked at my chart and was horrified. She said I was over 5 hours late for my dose and that she would look into it herself and be right back. She wasn’t gone for long. When she got back she told me that they had been waiting on pharmacy to send it. There was medicine on the counter. She asked them if that was it. Yep and it had been delivered 4 and a half hours earlier and they didn’t notice it. Needless to say I was not happy. The doctor gave me the dose herself. She had a Lasix for me to take and told me she might release me that day. I told her that I live an hour away and if she was going to release me to please wait until the afternoon so that the Lasix would have a chance to wear off, because every time I coughed or sneezed I peed a little and with the Lasix I pee a lot and that it would be a very uncomfortable ride home. She said she would wait to release me then. I felt so relieved, because that would burn my tear so much. She left the room and came back a few minutes later. Even though the lung specialist cleared me from anything but pneumonia she wanted me to take an influenza B and a covid test. I refused. I had had enough with being poked and prodded and tormented and I told her that. I also told her it was the hospital’s fault I had the pneumonia in the first place, because they weren’t paying attention to how much fluids they were giving me. She said they apologized for that and that I had every right to refuse the test.
Not 20 minutes later a nurse comes in with release papers for me to sign. My husband is visiting our baby so I have to call him to come back, because one of the papers they wanted me to sign was a paper saying I was a danger to my baby and to society, because I refused the Covid test. He told me to wait until he got there to sign anything. He read over the papers and looked at the nurse, I swear he had fire in his eyes at that point, and told her there was no way I was signing that. That I had been in the hospital for a week and if I had caught it from anywhere I had caught it from there and there was no way I was a danger to the baby, because if that’s what I had she had already been exposed to it. We also asked why I was being released so suddenly when the doctor had said she would wait, because of the Lasix and my long ride home and the nurse said the doctor wanted me out. Well that’s nice. She doesn’t get her way so she punishes me by releasing me right before the Lasix kicked in. Plus we had to get two prescriptions filled at the pharmacy. They refused to do it while I waited in the room by the bathroom. We sat in there and waited for 45 minutes. I couldn’t make a bathroom trip before we got on the road, because they had closed all bathrooms to the public at that point. I ended up with a painful ride home.
Leaving was the hardest part of the entire ordeal. I looked up at the building as we left the parking lot knowing my newborn daughter was in one of the rooms somewhere in that building. I was leaving her there with the people who didn’t pay the attention to my care that they should have. I was leaving her in the hands of people I already deemed incompetent. Was my daughter going to survive this ordeal? The only thing that got me through that part was
I called every day several times a day to check on her and ask when she can come home. They kept telling me she needed to reach the requirements. They read me the requirements and I noticed something. The requirements changed a couple of times. They went up. I asked why that was and they had no answer for me. The nurse said that it was the pediatrician doing it and she didn’t understand why he changed the requirements to come home. They also added a feeding tube to stretch her stomach without permission from either me or my husband and ignored our requests for lactose free formula when we told them we have a history of lactose intolerance in our family. The result was she was pooping more than she should and had really bad diaper rash. They still ignored our request for a different formula. I thought we were the parents, not them. I went through this for days calling several times a day, asking about a release date, and finding out the doctor raised the requirements for release again. Finally on the 26th of March (she was born on the 18th) I had enough with them changing the requirements on us and told them I wanted her files sent to our family doctor and for them get it together and stop changing the requirements for my child to come home and get her released before my husband and I hire a lawyer and they find themselves in the middle of a lawsuit. I also told them I wanted to know who this doctor was and that I wanted to talk to him myself. It, of course, never happened.
Finally on the 29th of March my husband got the call (they avoided me after I threatened them) for us to come and get our little girl. I was so overjoyed. I don’t think I ever got dressed so fast in my life. My husband, son, and I took the hourlong trip to the hospital to get our baby. When we got there my husband and son had to wait in the car while I went up to sign release papers and take their baby CPR course and after-care course. 2 hours later I am bounding out of the hospital to send my husband up with the car seat to bring her out. Our son and I are standing at the rear of the car staring at the doors in anticipation. I have my phone ready to record the moment our son sees his baby sister for the first time. After what felt like forever here comes my husband and the nurse out of the building. My son is jumping up and down in excitement and I am recording him while crying. He looks in her car seat and the love on his face was beautiful. We pile into the car and I look back to ask him what he thinks, and I see him staring at her holding her hand with tears running down his cheeks, of course that makes me cry as well. We once again make an hourlong trip to get home. For the first time that I can remember I actually wasn’t afraid the whole trip on the freeway. I was on such a natural high.
When we got home our son finally got the moment he had been waiting for. He got to hold his baby sister for the first time. It was a beautiful moment and the bond between them was immediate and very apparent. He is amazing with her and I have never seen a brother love a little sister as much as he loves his. He helps with everything. We celebrated her first birthday a couple of weeks ago and today marks one year of her being home with us. We were one of the lucky ones, but not a day goes by that I don’t hurt from those first 11 days of her life. I feel robbed and sometimes I still feel angry that they kept her even when she was thriving. There are times I think that they kept her longer and changed the requirements for her to come home, because I refused the covid test and they were waiting to release her to make sure I didn’t have it (which I didn’t.) When I told my doctor everything that happened at the hospital she was horrified and couldn’t wrap her head around what happened any more than we could. I keep waiting for the day that I can think of that ordeal and not feel anger, confusion, and pain. When does the pain from that end? When do the nightmares stop? When will I be able to be away from her for a small amount of time without feeling anxiety so bad that it physically hurts? The last time my husband took her to the doctor I had a severe panic attack. When will the feeling of emptiness go away? When will I believe that everything really is okay now? I still don’t know how to process it. Will I ever?
March of Dimes fights for the health of all moms and babies. We're advocating for policies to protect them. We're working to radically improve the health care they receive. We're pioneering research to find solutions. We're empowering families with the knowledge and tools to have healthier pregnancies. By uniting communities, we're building a brighter future for us all.
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