I was pregnant with my first baby in 2023, and my pregnancy was “picture perfect,” or so I was told. I went to all of my appointments, and every time I was reassured that everything looked great. My weight gain was “normal,” my baby was measuring appropriately, and his heartbeat was strong. My blood pressure was always a little elevated, but no one seemed concerned.
Everything was fine…until it wasn’t.
Looking back, I knew deep down something wasn’t right when I gained 10 pounds between my May and June appointments. I brushed it off, blaming a recent trip to Texas and eating “bad.” From that point on, my appointments were quick, 15 to 20 minutes at most. Even as I entered the third trimester, extremely swollen, exhausted, dizzy, and lightheaded, everything I experienced was written off as “normal.”
At 36 weeks, my world changed forever.
I went into my 36-week appointment expecting it to be routine. Instead, I was told they wanted to schedule a 37-week ultrasound. No explanation was given as to why. I assumed it was standard practice, not knowing that it wasn’t. My baby shower was the weekend after that appointment, and I excitedly told everyone how I’d get to see how my baby was progressing, completely unaware that this ultrasound was ordered because my doctor had concerns.
The morning of my 37-week appointment, I realized the scheduling office had mistakenly booked my ultrasound two weeks out instead of one. Something in my gut told me this couldn’t wait. I panicked and called the office, and thankfully, they were able to get me in that same day. I had the ultrasound that morning and an appointment with my doctor later that afternoon.
My husband came with me to the ultrasound. Because of the baby’s position, we couldn’t see much. We assumed it was routine, so my husband went home afterward, and I ran errands to prepare for the baby’s arrival. Before my afternoon appointment, the ultrasound results were uploaded to my medical chart. I saw the words: “Problem: Intrauterine Growth Restriction.”
I immediately turned to Google and called my husband. All I remember thinking was this isn’t good. Fear of the unknown set in instantly.
That afternoon’s appointment is mostly a blur. I remember my husband being on the phone and the doctor telling me I needed to go to the hospital for monitoring. I had officially been diagnosed with preeclampsia. There was no explanation of what IUGR meant for my baby, only concern about my blood pressure.
That evening at the hospital, my blood pressure remained high. I also learned my baby had low amniotic fluid, meaning he wasn’t getting the nutrients he needed. I was already four centimeters dilated, and the hospital doctor wanted to induce me that night.
My husband and I were completely unprepared. Our house was a mess. The nursery was piled high with baby shower gifts. We hadn’t had time to process any of this. The doctor agreed to let me go home as long as my blood pressure was monitored, and we scheduled an induction for Monday morning.
That weekend was a whirlwind. I barely slept the night before my induction. Early Monday morning, I took the last photo of my pregnant belly, a picture of the nursery as it would never look the same again, and we headed to the hospital.
Because I was already so dilated, the induction moved quickly. I started pushing around 5:00 p.m. and delivered my son around 5:30 p.m. He became stuck in the birth canal, and forceps were used. When he was born, he wasn’t breathing. He was blue.
I remember holding him for only a few seconds. I never heard him cry before he was rushed away to be resuscitated. When he finally did cry, I felt overwhelming relief, but everything happened so fast that I had no time to process the trauma.
Doctors and nurses told me he looked great. I was finally able to hold him, but I was still in shock. It didn’t feel like the beautiful moment everyone describes, and I felt deeply guilty for that.
Breastfeeding never felt right. I struggled from the beginning, even though lactation consultants assured me everything looked fine. One comment stood out to me: a nurse mentioned my baby had been cold and needed an extra blanket. At the time, I didn’t know this was a red flag.
We were discharged after two nights. At home, breastfeeding continued to be painful and difficult. I began to dread feedings and felt like I was failing my baby. At his newborn appointment, the pediatrician said everything looked great.
The very next day, my son became lethargic and unresponsive. His temperature was 96.1, dangerously low. We were told to rush him to the emergency room.
I was four days postpartum, exhausted, in pain, and terrified as we rushed our newborn to the hospital. He was immediately taken back, placed under a warmer, and surrounded by medical staff. His blood sugar was critically low. An IV was started. When he finally opened his eyes, I felt indescribable relief.
Later, I learned that the number of medical personnel in that room meant my baby had been on the verge of death.
He was admitted to the PICU for monitoring because he couldn’t maintain his temperature. Doctors rotated in and out with no clear explanation. I pumped around the clock, completely exhausted. When we were discharged, the doctor told us to bundle him and make sure he wore a hat so he wouldn’t get cold. It was documented as “environmental factors.” I felt blamed. I felt broken.
The next day at his pediatrician follow-up, his temperature was low again. We returned to the emergency room. He was admitted to the PICU once more because he couldn’t maintain his temperature. Again, no answers. One nurse even asked me what I thought was causing it.
After two more nights, we were discharged. At his next appointment, his temperature was finally normal. I was finally able to bond with my baby at home.
I would later learn that much of this could have been prevented.
IUGR and preeclampsia are high-risk conditions. Babies with IUGR, especially those born at 37 weeks, can struggle with feeding, temperature regulation, low blood sugar, and oxygen deprivation. Many behave more like premature infants. None of this was explained to us.
I was never referred to maternal-fetal medicine. My son was born at a hospital without a NICU. I later reviewed my records and saw clear early signs of preeclampsia: consistently elevated blood pressure, rapid weight gain, protein in my urine, none of it addressed.
I was failed repeatedly.
I can’t change what happened, but I can tell my story. I hope that by sharing it, I can help another mother feel less alone or help her ask the questions I didn’t know to ask.
To the mothers who have been failed by the medical system: you are not alone. Your anger is valid. Your trauma is real. It’s okay to grieve the experience you should have had. It’s okay to feel jealous when others receive the care you didn’t. It’s okay to question future pregnancies.
People will tell you it could have been worse. They will tell you to be grateful your baby survived. But your experience matters.
I am learning to cope through therapy, though this trauma still haunts me. Today, my son is a happy, healthy 2-year-old. He required physical therapy and still receives speech services. He met milestones later, but I understand why now.
If you’re reading this and see yourself in my story, I am holding space for you. Our medical system may fail us, but by speaking out, we give meaning to our pain and help protect the next mother who walks this path.
by Kamrie Smith 
by Pam Frasco 
by Brianna Forsman 
