Isabel’s due date was June 3rd, so I decided to begin my maternity leave on May 20th. I wanted a few quiet days to prepare for her arrival: to nest, breathe, and settle into the anticipation of becoming a mother. Little did I know, life had a very different plan in store.

On May 21st, I went in for a routine appointment with my OBGYN. She was one of those doctors who immediately make you feel safe and seen. But that day, the look on her face said everything before her words did. She told me we needed to head to the hospital right away to induce labor. I asked if I could stop by home first since I had a pet to care for and wanted a few minutes to organize things. After some convincing, she agreed.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was nervous but also oddly calm, not fully grasping what was ahead. They began the induction and administered the epidural. Moments later, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. For a terrifying second, it felt like the air had left my body. Everything around me turned purple, a color my grandmother, who had passed just a month earlier, and I both loved. It was the only time I saw my husband truly scared.

The Dr. returned and gently said, “I’m so sorry. I know you like to have things planned, but we need to change course. We’re going to do a C-section.” I remember begging for water but the nurse told me it wasn’t possible. The surgery began; I could feel the pressure, the tugging, and then suddenly, Isabel was here. Dizzy, on the edge of nausea, I looked at her and everything inside me went still. I felt at peace.

But I didn’t realize then how much the aftermath would linger. Isabel was healthy, and for that I am endlessly grateful. My body, however, had its own story to tell—one of trauma, magnesium drips, and the fragile recovery from preeclampsia.

If there’s one lesson I’ve learned through it all, it’s that control is an illusion. Motherhood began for me in surrender to the unexpected, to the uncontrollable, and to the profound truth that I am, in many ways, the face of preeclampsia.