I think about my pregnancy with Nick, how close we came to loosing him, the NICU, and our doctors and nurses every single day, to the point that I worry that it's unhealthy. On Wednesday, I sat down to write an article about the major lessons I've learned from having a child in the NICU, but it turned into an analysis of the long term side effects of a high risk pregnancy. Namely, the psychological toll a traumatic pregnancy can have on a mother, and why it is so difficult to get over it. It is set to be published on The Mighty sometime next week, but I wanted to go into more detail on my blog tonight.
As I was writing my article, I was able to put a finger on something that has been bothering me since Nick was born, but it was a feeling I haven't been able to articulate yet. Throughout my pregnancy, I had at least 15 ultrasounds that I can remember, and at least 6 were done vaginally (meaning the wand was inserted in order to give the doctor a better view of the cervix.) Each of the five times I was hospitalized, the doctor on call did a manual examination of my cervix. I received four steroid shots to help speed up the development of Nick's lungs, in addition to IV'S and blood work every time I was admitted. Whenever I started bleeding in the hospital, I had to call for a nurse and show her the pad, so that she could report to the doctor how much I was bleeding. She would then usually change my sheets and help me clean up by helping me wipe the blood off of my legs. Every time I went to go the restroom, I would have to use a pan so that the nurses and doctors could see how much blood I was loosing. The root of all of my problems-vaginal bleeding-was a topic that is normally so personal, was discussed by all eight of the OB/GYNs who practice at my hospital, four of whom are males. My normal OB and my MFM doctor are both men, and even though I adore them and would recommend them to anyone, I think talking about something like vaginal bleeding to someone who hasn’t actually experienced it takes away a little bit more of my privacy.
All of the interventions Nick and I received were absolutely necessary to save his life, and I am so thankful for the care we received, but the invasiveness of my pregnancy made it feel like an out of body experience. Even my c-section, which was necessary because my body had become so dangerous to my child that a doctor had to cut into my abdomen and take my baby out, was another example of how my body wasn’t my own anymore and required the intervention of a doctor.
The 30 weeks of my pregnancy took a great physical and emotional toll on me, and all of this happened before I met the NICU. From November-February, I either saw a doctor or hand an ultrasound every week. Throughout all these appointments and all of my time in the hospital and all my weeks on bedrest, my mental health was never once mentioned. I have started to see more articles about the need for better maternal mental health care, and I think it is absolutely essential in women experiencing a high risk pregnancy. I was told to relax and take it easy, but wasn’t given a concrete way to do so. Equally as important, I think doctors need to understand that a high risk pregnancy-even one that ends with a healthy baby-has the potential to be deeply traumatic. My body physically went through so much, and on top of all the poking and prodding, I was also balancing the logistical difficulties of bed rest; the fear that I would go into labor at any minute, and the fact that I had to leave my job. I think if we understand the psychological problems a high-risk pregnancy can cause, it will go along way to helping women recover from these experiences
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