I am going nuts reading the file in this case because I have seen the same woman’s name spelled ten different ways by different court and police statement transcribers and I have no idea which of them is correct because she isn’t an actual testifying witness and so was never asked to spell her name for the record.  Hnnnnn which one do I use for my memo?  This is.  A Question.

July 27th and 28th, 2018

The 27th was my first full day with my homestay family, after having met and gone home with them the evening prior. My family is smaller than I’d imagined: it’s just my host mother, Yichu (艺楚, yìchǔ), and my host sister Qinghan (清菡, qīnghàn), whom I refer to and address as Meimei (妹妹, mèimei, “little sister”). Qinghan, who was still asleep when I rose for class that morning, shares her surname (刘, liú) with me and her age (10) with my biological sister in America. Yichu had prepared breakfast: a vegetable bun, grapes, eggs, a bowl of milk, and my beloved youtiao. Once we had eaten our fill, we began the walk to my classroom, which takes about twenty to thirty minutes. Apparently, there was a quicker route that connected our neighborhood directly to campus in about five minutes, but that road undergoing some sort of construction meant we were using our detour for the foreseeable future. Some students had already arrived by the time I got to the classroom, so after bidding Yichu farewell I joined my peers in idle chatter about our host families. It was mostly positive; one girl was struggling to explain to her host mother that curly hair couldn’t be blow-dried and she would have to sleep with it wet, which conflicts with the Chinese belief that sleeping with wet hair leads to headaches later in life. Another’s host parents were over-enthusiastic about having a native speaker available to tutor their daughter in English, and she felt as though she wasn’t using her Mandarin enough as a result. My biggest issue had been the lack of readily-available cold water; I was able to address it by dashing to the student store a few minutes before class and purchasing the largest bottle they had in stock.

The three hours of class passed quickly, but they came with a caveat. Today was Yang Laoshi’s last day as our teacher, as she would soon be heading to lead a conference in Shanghai and then, after that, taking a two-year teaching assignment in Thailand. My goodbye present to her was an In n’ Out t-shirt, which I presented with both hands as per local custom. My gift reserves were running low—after Yichu received a UCLA shirt and hat, Qinghan got a UCLA sweater and tank top (both of which were far too large for her), and my partner on our trip to the local community center a few days prior got UCLA and In n’ Out hats, I was resigned to two In n’ Out t-shirts (one of which I had just given to Yang Laoshi) and a UCLA Hawaiian-print shirt, which was intended for my nonexistent host father. I am considering bequeathing the latter upon the teacher who wrote my recommendation for NSLI-Y in the first place.

Lunch passed, along with our lecture period (during which it was announced that I was student of the week!) and our interest groups which, for me, had shifted from folk dance to martial arts. Perhaps by her own design, the Intermediate 2 students finished the homework Yang Laoshi had assigned with about twenty minutes to spare. She then suggested that, as it was our last day together, we all go out to the front of the building and take a group picture. We readily agreed. Several attempts at jumping later, we had gotten a satisfactory shot of us in midair. I returned to the classroom to gather my things, hugged Yang Laoshi, wished her the best, and went out to meet my host mother.

I’m fairly certain Yichu actually works in the same building that my classroom is in, as she was just exiting an office when I greeted her. Together, the two of us exited the campus and made our way to a nearby restaurant. Yichu explained that Qinghan was currently finishing up her weekly flute lesson; we would begin eating dinner and she would make her way over independently. The food was excellent. I had some sort of beef-based broth and noodles. Following dinner, the three of us made our way to Cat Street (猫行, māo xíng) which is directly adjacent to the neighborhood our house is in and exactly what it sounds like: a street with cat-themed stores, cat murals, and live street cats. Qinghan and I visited a cat museum, which was essentially a dozen cats in a cage with a gift shop and café attached. It was there that I found a stuffed cat bearing my name (桃花, táohuā), which I promptly purchased. I’ve yet to find a definitive answer, but through various interactions with native speakers I’ve come to believe that “taohua”, in addition to literally meaning peach blossom, is used to refer to one’s luck in matters of romance and love. Between my taohua cat and my visit to Guandi Temple, I ought to be married by the end of August.

Afterwards, we ate dessert at a roadside stand selling “Four Fruit Soup” (四果汤, sì guǒ tāng), a mishmash of fruits and jelly-looking foods topped with shaved ice. I can’t say I cared much for it, but I’m glad I tried.

The rest of the evening was fairly low-key; I shared some of my art with my host family and let Qinghan use my tablet. Yichu informed me that I should get lots of rest; the 28th was to be the first of our two homestay family activity days, one of the rare instances in the program at Xiamen where we wouldn’t attend Chinese class, and one of the even rarer instances where I could get up later than seven-thirty.

I did, indeed, end up sleeping later than seven-thirty: I woke up around nine, and was greeted again by a Yichu-prepared breakfast. In addition to another helping of youtiao, she gave me an overview of the day’s schedule; I would first accompany her and Qinghan to the hospital so they could receive a type of traditional Chinese medicine that Yichu struggled to explain. She said it was made from ginger, and that they put it on during the hottest day of summer so it could make them healthier in the winter. After that, we would meet a friend of hers and his children, play golf, and finally head to Gulangyu (鼓浪屿, gǔlàngyǔ), Xiamen’s “Piano Island” and tourist hotspot.

Chinese hospitals are a fair bit quicker than American ones. After waiting for just under five minutes, we were shown into a room where Yichu briefly exchanged words with a doctor, who then invited Qinghan to bend over a hospital bed and expose a portion of her back and pressed six or seven patches onto it. Yichu received similar patches on her stomach. The whole affair concluded in about twenty minutes. On our walk to the mall (which was designated as the meeting place for us and Yichu’s friend), Qinghan inquired as to whether we utilized such patches in the States. I told her no, and she unleashed a long string of Chinese, which Yichu interpreted for me as her being jealous that Americans didn’t use them. I asked if they hurt, and Yichu said no, but they were very warm. In a climate like Xiamen’s, I could see how added heat could inspire jealousy in the heart of any 10-year-old.

The mall had at least four floors. I was exuberant. Yichu settled herself on a bench near a Starbuck’s and told Qinghan and I we could wander about until her friend arrived. Once I understood that she meant separately (my mom telling me that I didn’t have to take my little sister with me was a novel idea indeed), I visited every clothing or makeup store on the first floor, in the end buying only a wine-colored and berry-tasting lip paint and a canvas tote bag that read (in English) “Made in China”, which I found incredibly hilarious for reasons I struggle to articulate. The two were exactly the same price.

When I returned from my shopping trip, Yichu was sitting where I had left her (Qinghan in tow) and the rest of our party had yet to arrive. We waited about ten minutes more, and Yichu finally received word that they were stuck in traffic and we could go ahead and get seated for lunch without them. On our way to the 3rd floor restaurant, however, Qinghan began having some sort of issue. My Chinese wasn’t at a level where I could make out the specifics, but it seemed as though she had tired and was now electing to just drop and sit down in the middle of the mall. She and Yichu had a very heated conversation, which culminated in the latter simply walking away without Qinghan and beckoning me to follow. Writing off the ethics of leaving a child unattended in a busy shopping mall as a cultural difference, I obliged. Yichu and I put our names in and, with minimal wait, were seated at a table. She did some preliminary ordering and then left me in charge of the table while she went to retrieve Qinghan. All was well for a bit, but when a waitress approached me and began asking questions (assumedly) regarding the order in rapid-fire Mandarin with non-standard pronunciation, I began to panic. Luckily, Yichu and Qinghan arrived and the former was able to give instructions regarding…whatever was being discussed, without any input from me necessary.

Yichu’s friend (whom she knew from high school) and his children (who weren’t actually his children, but rather his nephew and two nieces) arrived shortly thereafter. The man appeared to have an excellent sense of humor, but his thick accent (I believe it to be the Xiamen local accent; among other things, h sounds are completely ignored, turning Zhongwen (the Chinese language) into Zongwen and shide (“yes” or “indeed”) into side) gave me a lot of trouble. One of the nieces (a university student) spoke a fair bit of English, and acted as a translator at times. For the most part, I focused on my kebab.

After the meal, we headed to Furong Lake (芙蓉湖, fúróng hú), a part of the XMU campus that I had previously visited but had no qualms with seeing again. We took a route through the area that was unfamiliar to me, and it eventually led us to a golf course, where I tried my hand at the richest, whitest sport I can think of, second only to polo. I excelled, but likely only because, instead of trying to hit the ball into a hole, the goal was to hit the ball as far as you could. And I could hit real, real hard.

Seven trays of golf balls later, we backtracked away from the course and navigated the rest of Furong Lake, eventually reaching XMU’s main gate, where we rode the public bus to the ferry terminal for Gulangyu.

Upon arriving, we learned that it would be about an hour and a half’s wait before we could board the ferry. I alternated between reading (I’m currently on number three of the four poetry books I brought on the trip with me, and the last chapter of my nonfiction work), letting Qinghan play games on my phone, eating spring rolls Yichu had prepared, and visiting the public toilet. I’m fortunate to say that squatty potties no longer faze me.

The actual time spent crossing the strait is about five minutes, but the time spent going through security and shuffling on and off the vessel doubles that number. It was dusk when we set foot on the island; after an extensive photoshoot for me by the main sign we made our way to a shopping street. I entered a generalized candy store; I was offered a free sample of a drink that tasted exactly like American cherry-flavored liquid medicine, and was ready to leave the store when I tried “milk pinecone”. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s definitely not actually pinecone. I believe it was some sort of white chocolate. In any case, it was delicious, and I bought a box, which I then ate for lunch the day after. I also purchased (from different stores) a necklace, as well as a bracelet to replace an identical one I had bought at Kaiyuan Temple and then proceeded to break a few days after. I visited the Chinese version of America’s Lush, which sold bath bombs and facial soaps aplenty, and saw a genuine, live pig just sitting in a cage on the street and, in a different area, a very large rat.

For whatever reason, people I interacted with made more frequent references to my being hunxue’er (mixed race, as you may remember from a previous post) than I had previously encountered. The highlight was an older woman who stopped me on the street, presumably ready to offer me a free sample of the food at her restaurant or a flyer advertising a sale at her clothing store, looked at me, threw her plans out the window, and asked if I was hunxue’er. When I said I was, she pumped her fist, said, “很棒!” (Hěn bàng; “so awesome!”) and walked away.

A little past nine in the evening, my enthusiasm was beginning to wane a bit as I thought of the full day of school awaiting me on the 29th. Our party’s meander home, however, was interrupted when we passed a seafood restaurant and everyone (author excluded) decided they were ready for round two of dinner. It was more of a snack than a meal, but it was enough—by the time we boarded the ferry back to Xiamen, it was ten o’clock. On the mainland (figuratively speaking, of course: Xiamen is actually an island. Gulangyu is just a smaller island. Like Pluto, if it had a moon.) we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Yichu took Qinghan and me to the curb, where she was among a herd of people attempting to hail taxis. No luck. We jaywalked across the street to a bus stop, and Yichu examined the timetables. Everything would take us further away. Already heightened by the time delay of the impromptu meal, my stress levels were through the roof. We went through an underground tunnel and reached another bus stop. At this one, we waited for a bus and rode it for four stops or so. We got off, walked about two blocks, and were greeted with the familiar sight of neon-lit ears, tails, and whiskers.

I’ve never been so glad to see a street full of cat paraphernalia in my life.

The adventures of Calvarine and Hayley’s “GIRLS TRIPPPPP!!!!!"

Johannesburg: affectionately known as the “City of Gold”, a place where risk-takers and money-makers come to witness their dreams grow into fruition. I love this city: the rush, the adrenaline, the swiftness and feisty attitudes of people. There’s just so much hustle in the air, or maybe in the water? Regardless, living in this place requires thick skin, a thicker bank account, a full tank of petrol - cos’ traffic…

My extremely close friend, Hayley, momentarily come up with an idea to visit Johannesburg for a quick weekend Girls Trip. After watching Girls Trip together, it kinda accelerated the thought of us having a super chilled weekend plus we have never travelled together, anywhere!!

History: Hayley and I have been friends since grade 8. 12 years down; we are still the closest of friends and surprisingly still have the same goofy conversations that we did at 13. This friend of mine is a High flyer, sports science Honours graduate, has traveled overseas, has her own medical practice, rocks a 6 pack of abs and still maintains relationships with friends, family and her boyfriend. She’s one of those girls who can do anything. I look like a complete blob next to her #Lol.

Hayley, being the Type-A smarty pants, arranged our travel itinerary for the weekend including Flights and Accommodation. I was so excited and grateful for her effort in the entire process. We set flight on 3rd November 2017, a parching hot summers day, from Durban to Johannesburg. Throughout the entire buildup, I would constantly quote phrases for Girls Trip especially the lines from Tiffany Haddish (my new favorite actress) especially because I found it hilarious.

We arrived at OR Tambo Airport around 9h30. Hayley’s cousin, who also happened to graciously be our chauffeur for the weekend, was punctually awaiting our arrival at the pick up zone. Our intentions from the outset was to have fun and create spontaneous memories. Nothing pedantically over planned, no deadlines, just fun. I personally have never done something so daring. Being 25 and having experienced so little in life, I grabbed upon the opportunity to just live, even if it just meant for one weekend.

We drove straight to the Mall of Africa, a place I’ve been wanting to see. After scoffing down a brunchy meal, we proceeded to look around. I was totally in my element looking at all the designer stores with fashion I’ll probably never afford. Besides, I’m not a girl who is obsessed with a label. I also happened to have my first “Starbucks Experience”, a chocochinni frappachino covered in whipped cream. However, I was unimpressed with the waiter who asked me to SPELL MY NAME?! Do they realize they work for Starbucks. Have they noticed that people come there for the fun of guessing if their names get spelt properly?! Side note: urgent HR intervention and staff training is needed at this branch.

We also visited my 2nd favourite shop, TYPO, which is a cute, artsy vibey shop. Time flew and soon, messages from family members started to trickle in asking about our whereabouts. We headed straight to The Barron which looked like a relaxed, white-collared, Friday afternoon location where people sat with their loosened ties and drank Castle Lager. It was cool. Sundowners after a hectic week sounds tempting. We decided to drive to our accommodation only to realize it is peak traffic at 13:00. I’m assuming a lot of people leave work at this time. Traffic was ridiculous. We were entangled with taxis, school transport and working class people, all rushing to the excitement of the weekend.

We arrived at our accommodation (47 on Preston) precisely at 14:00 and checked into our neatly prepared, air conditioned, wifi-zoned room with a stunning pool and views to match. The area was called Highlands North and the houses were impressive. Security was priority for us hence, the 24hr access controlled body guard, secure features and boom gates gave us peace of mind.

Our sweet ‘chaperone’ (Hayley’s Cousin) ensured we had snacks and liquor at our disposal. Skyy Vodka, Savannah and Amstel were on the menu. After chilling and catching up, we had to plan the night. I am unfamiliar with the night life of Johannesburg. We started getting ready and in the midst of it all, another cousin decided to visit us and show us around after all It’s an Indian thing to stick together. This particular cousin was weird. He was soft spoken, very proud, a straight A student, forensic scientist and quite an opinionated person. I am certainly not accustomed to this type of behavior. We didn’t get off to a great start. I’m all for successful people but not the proud ones. I’d like to think that I’m a cool, chilled and open-minded person. I’m always telling people “Don’t Judge” and this was an appropriate time to take my own advice!!

He brought through a bottle of caramel vodka and sipped. Funny thing is, this guy continued to drop hints the entire night of how intelligent, successful and opulent he is. The car he drives, the area he stays, the alumni he belongs to and his career, which is prospering at an exponential rate. Luckily Hayley informed me about this dude. Nothing serious, she just told me don’t worry, he is different from the average guy.

This dude was slightly tipsy at the arrival of our uber cab. I was controlling the Aux cord playing my “fresher than” music. They were not impressed. Seems like these freaking people don’t like Nas and Vic Mensa! Are you even my friends? Ha ha. We arrive at monte casino, a nightlife spot in Johannesburg, suggested by this cousin. I was actually warming up to him and started to laugh at his jokes. Please don’t any ideas. He has a spouse and over-saturated metrosexual tendencies. Definitely not my type.

The night got funnier. We ate and thereafter entered a place called “3sixty liquid lounge” which has a brilliant live band and serves cocktails, cute baby pink and blue candy floss shooters, bubblegum flavored liqueurs served in test tubes and other unconventional drinks. I loved it. Vibe was cool, we were probably the youngest group of people there, nevertheless, I am a huge fan of Earth Wind Fire and Bruno Mars. We took a quick walk around the casino to my disappointing bewilderment, people were gambling and it was almost 1 am. I hate gambling so I wasn’t pleased to witness people losing their entire salaries on a table. The ride home was hilarious. We got to bond with the weirdo. It was banter the entire night. I wasn’t holding back, neither was he. Safely reached home, thankfully to uber (that driver was relived to drop us). Liquor usually fuels deep thinking so the conversation of religion came up. Uh-oh!

We sat for over 2 hours conversing about religion and there is no decent, happy way to end this conversation without someone getting offended. Throughout the discussion, I was quite level minded and reminded that my Faith is for me, it works for me and I don’t have to justify it. I was also reminded that the essence of a religion is to have faith in God, that’s the basis of Christianity. So when someone wants hardcore facts, times, places and dates - especially when they have a debilitating hatred for Christianity, I will not be intimidated and cross questioned by someone who is out to make a point rather than seeking to understand. Here we are in a very familiar scenario: Christians vs Hindus. The answers were flying back and forth. Eventually we all agreed to disagree and by this time, the dried sweat started to irritate my skin. They gang was getting ready for bed and the proud cousin who earlier asked why we are staying in this place eventually ended up sleeping in one of the beds.

Funny story: earlier that day, we found banana flavored condoms in the room and wanted to prank Hayley’s 'cool’ cousin. We even dispensed some droplets of handwash in order to make it seem like it was used. Yuck! We slipped it under the covers and pretended like nothing happened.

Fast forward to later that evening, well it was early hours of the morning, proud cousin decided to sleep in the bed which had the condom. I was only just informed that he is a germaphobe. He felt the slippery substance and sprang out of bed like a cat in water! It was hilarious. Shortly after that, everyone passed out from pure exhaustion.

Saturday morning started off great. We were treated to an in-house breakfast prepared by the Muslim hostess and then proceeded to the Rosebank Mall. En route, I was speechless at the upper echelon of Johannesburg. The buildings, the infrastructure, the complex designs and luxurious apartments. For a split second you even ask yourself, is this South Africa? Are we even in a recession? Rosebank mall was super cool. From Hamleys to Krispy Kremes, we waltzed our way to almost all the stores and I was majorly impressed.

Our next stop was Melose Arch. I was levitating. I had never been to this place and always heard about it on TV/Radio. We approached the entrance of Melrose arch with Lambourguinis, Porshe, Ferrari, limousines and various other exotic cars parked inside. Funny thing, it wasn’t even a car expo. These were normal patrons who happened to be in this place. Once again, I’m thinking “is this really Johannesburg?! This feels like a foreign place.”. Melrose Arch has various luxury shops, amazing restaurants and beautiful cobble stoned pave ways decorated with Vespas to create an Italian feel.

Jamie’s Italian, founded by the talented chef Jamie Oliver, is an awesome 4/5 star restaurant. I’m a sucker for comfort food so I ordered a gigantic burger layered with different cheeses, sautéd onions, crisp lettuce and holonaise sauce with Parmesan drizzled fries and a refreshing signature Jamie Mojito. We strolled for a bit and went back to 47 on Preston to catch a breather and of course, prepare for our last night in Joburg.

We utilized the convenient services of Uber that weekend and through that, got to see the growth and splendor of our country’s golden city. There are construction sites everywhere possible. Infrastructure and renovations are booming. At the same time, we saw beggars at robots, extremely poor laborers, mostly from other African countries working for minimal wages. It was such a skewed representation. On one hand, we have bugattis and rolls royces lining the street and on the other, we have people digging in bins and hanging out of trains because of their poverty. Mind you, this was one road away of each other. I couldn’t fathom it. It was confusing. Once agin, you’re challenged to think, what are we doing wrong? Are the rich getting richer and poor getting poorer. How do we stabilize this situation. For some of us, growing up in disadvantaged communities affects in many ways. When you do well in life, you almost carry a sense of guilt for doing well and feeling sorry for people who have not achieved anything. Must you apologize for your success? Must you feel unworthy of getting a golden ticket just because your peers lacked drive to hustle?

Saturday night was about to go down. We were scheduled to meet some of their cousins on 4th Avenue in Parkhurst, cited as Joburgs version of Florida Road. We did a small pub crawl before settling into a local sports bar. We befriended 2 sisters sitting besides us. They were so sweet and shared their hookah with us. The drinks kept rolling, including my signature drink; 1 Smirnoff storm and 1 tot of Aftershock. It’s light, pink and tasty. Jäger bombs are always compulsory. Me and my greedy self got way ahead of the party and started twisping, experimenting with everyone’s flavors. Marshmallow, honey and red bull flavors mixed with alcohol and a hookah ended off in me wanting to puke. I felt bad for tainting the evening. We hopped into an uber cab and came home. With toothbrush in hand, I was determined to get sober asap, which I did! Straight to bed after a hot bath, we were ready to conquer the morning in high spirits seeing that it was also our last day of “Girls Trip”.

Sunday morning started off with a lovely breakfast. We packed up and proceeded to Rosebank mall which was my request. I needed to get my hands on some Krispy Kremes to bring back home. To kill time, we also attended this rooftop art and crafts market in the parking lot. I was so impressed with the variety and organization of this fete. It was beautiful and eccentric. Foods from every culture was sold, ethnic clothing and creative decor, eclectic jewelry and fashion - it was….. Different.

After obtaining my two dozen of Krispy Kremes, we headed out of Rosebank and straight to the Airport. We checked it with full luggage and a huge, embarrassingly box of 24 Krispy Kremes doughnuts. We thanked Hayley’s amazingly courteous and sweet cousin who gave us such a memorable time and boarded the flight.

In all, this was the best trip I’ve ever taken. No drama, no bickering, no anxiety, just pure fun. I’m was so appreciative of those 3 days and how my eyes got opened to a new way of life. It is vitally important to experience something different from your normal standard of living. Johannesburg is such a beast but contrives such beauty within its streets.

I had to share this memorable experience on my blog and even if it didn’t seem thrilling to you as you read, it meant the world to me. Here’s to more exciting experiences, spontaneous trips, everlasting friendships and ticking off the bucket list!!

Every Moment Counts

Tuesday, October 24, 2017 would mark the beginning of our delivery story. Some may call it a nightmare and it in the midst of it, it was. It definitely was not in our plan, but now it’s our story. I wanted to take the time to share what happened, not for sympathy, but to help raise awareness of what could happen, to anyone. I wish I would’ve heard of HELLP syndrome prior to it happening to us.

I was 33 weeks pregnant, I woke up with pain in my right should and I simply just thought it was a pinched nerve. As the day progressed the pain intensified and I left work around 2:30pm. I immediately called my OB office because I knew in my heart something was wrong. My primary doctor was on vacation so I spoke with my regular nurse. She made a couple of suggestions, which I tried but they didn’t seem to work. I paced at home in tears because the URQ (upper right quadrant) pain was so intense. I was in the ER by 5p. My doctors’ colleague was on call. He ran lab work and ordered an ultrasound. My lab work came back fine, the ultrasound didn’t show anything out of the ordinary, but my BP was high. He diagnosed me with preeclampsia and ordered steroid shots to help progress baby’s lung development. There are two shots that are administered 24 hours apart so I had to spend the night. Luckily my regular doctor was returning from vacation the next day. He came in to see me as soon as he returned, at that point he put me on modified bed rest, changed my due date, and told me that he wanted to see me every 72 hours until then. We made my first appointment for that Friday. I received the second steroid shot on Wednesday and was released to go home. The URQ pain had subsided by this time. I went to my OB appointment, my BP was still a little high and lab work was completed. My doctor called me later that night to tell me that my platelet levels had dropped to 131,000 which is below the normal range. He proceeded to tell me that anything under 100,000 would be cause for emergency delivery.

Saturday morning I woke up in the early hours with URQ pain, it was back with a vengeance. I somehow managed to get myself back to sleep until about 7am. I mustered up the strength to call my OB, who wasn’t on call this particular weekend, to tell him something was very wrong and I was going back to the ER. Upon my arrival they assumed I had severe heartburn and proceeded to make me drink a cement like concoction. It didn’t help. Shortly thereafter my doctor showed up. More labs (it seemed as though they were doing labs every hour) he also ordered every test and scan under the sun trying to determine what was causing the pain. It was a pain so intense that the best way I can describe it is that it felt like someone had put a sword all the way through my chest and kept turning it. The pain radiated from my front all the way through my back. As the hours went on and every test, scan, and lab came back “normal” emotions intensified. Finally, and by the grace of God my platelets dropped to 89,000 and my liver enzymes spiked. I was diagnosed with HELLP syndrome. I had no idea what it was and no time to ask questions because I was being transported to a higher skilled hospital since I was not 34 weeks gestation.

That was the worst ride of my life, I was in the worst pain that I have ever felt in my life, I had no idea what was really going on, I had no idea if I would be okay or if my baby would be okay and I had no idea where my fiancé was. He had left the hospital once we found out I was being transported to drop our dogs off with some friends because we knew we wouldn’t be home that night.

Upon my arrival (2am on 10/29/17), it was so surreal, I thought things like this only existed on TV. They rushed me in through the ER, into some secret elevator, and down a long purple hall and at the end of the hall there were a group of doctors and nurses waiting for me. They were drawing blood before I even got into a room. I remember asking multiple times for them to find my fiancé. I couldn’t do this without him. He was my calm. I needed him to be there. As he was walking in the room, my labs came back and my platelets had fallen to 62,000. Another doctor came in and told us that we are out of time and that I was going to have an emergency C-section, they were prepping the OR as we spoke. There wasn’t time for an epidural so I was going under general anesthesia. I didn’t even have enough time to process what she just said by the time I was in the OR. It was a scary place, I had never experienced that before. The next thing I remember is waking up in recovery in complete fear, I opened one eye, scanned the room for my fiancé and asked my dreaded question. Was our son alive? It was the hardest question I have ever had to ask. I feared the answer with every fiber of my being. He nodded, and said he’s okay and doing well! At that moment, I knew I could focus on me and try to fight through whatever it was that was happening to me. The nurses were having a hard time getting my bleeding under control and my platelets dropped to 41,000. I needed a platelet transfusion, but wouldn’t you know it, with my luck, they didn’t have any with my blood type in the hospital and they had to send someone to the Red Cross to get some.

Once I was “stable”, they moved me to an actual room and started a magnesium drip to prevent seizures. Magnesium is pretty intense and I felt like I had fire flowing through my veins. I was on that for the following two days to prevent seizures. A couple hours later the doctor came in, and that’s when it all got real. She explained to us that when she went in to get the baby my placenta was completely detached and that I had a blood clot the size of baseball. I was bleeding internally but it never showed up on any of the scans or ultrasounds that were done. She then told us that if we didn’t believe in God before, we should now. Because it’s a miracle we both survived. Especially the baby, had we been any later, his lack of oxygen could have caused severe brain damage or worse… At that very moment, I just wanted to see my baby, I wanted to hold my baby. I wasn’t allowed to because I was still so sick. He was in a different wing of the hospital. By 7pm that night (shift change) the new nurse came in and asked if I had gotten to see my baby yet. I cried and said no. She then told me to hang tight so she could do her rounds and she would take me down there. I don’t know that I have ever been so happy! It had been 18 hours and I didn’t even know what he looked like. Dad took pictures every time he went to check on him and showed them to me, but that wasn’t the same. I remained in the hospital for 5 additional days. On day four we finally named our son (we just couldn’t agree), Elliott. It was perfect! He spent only 14 days in the NICU.

We went home happy and healthy, or so we thought. A few days after being home, I started hemorrhaging and we had to go back to the ER. It wasn’t anything major, some medication and home we went. But mentally, that took a toll. I thought I was finished with HELLP syndrome but I wasn’t. I am happy to report that we have not had any physical medical issue since the post-partum hemorrhaging.

I would like to add that post-partum depression, anxiety, and survivor’s guilt are a very real thing. I struggled with all three in some fashion. The anxiety and survivor’s guilt took hold of me and completely consumed me for months. But as time passed I managed to ease them both. I still continue to struggle with survivor’s guilt to some degree because there are many families that endue this, that are not as fortunate as we were. Some don’t get to take their babies home and/or some of the mommas don’t survive. We are very bless to say the least.

To all the pregnant mommas out there, please listen to your body and be your own advocate. Please do some research on preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome so that you know what to watch for since it’s not usually discussed until it shows it’s ugly face. Had I not gone in when I did, our outcome would’ve been very different.