Survivor Speech – Suzanna Parpos

The Boston Promise Walk for Preeclampsia

Sunday, June 24, 2018

“97% of preeclampsia-related deaths occur after delivery…97%. Every, single, day, I am grateful to not be part of that statistic. Every, single, day, I am grateful for what my son did not lose that October day, but for what he gained.

It took some time – that is, in the aftermath of surviving postpartum preeclampsia, it took some time to truly understand and come to peace with my childbirth experience. I give much of this credit to The Preeclampsia Foundation and this community comprised of extraordinarily beautiful and strong women, who, like me, had their worlds rocked at the time when their life-long dream of motherhood finally came to fruition.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way – but, it’s what happened: three days after delivering my son via emergency c-section, I was wheeled out of my hospital room and rushed to begin treatment for what I was later on told was postpartum preeclampsia.

Prior to that, I had never heard that word. And it was like someone was speaking a foreign language when the word, ‘seizure,’ circulated above me as doctors and nurses raced to stop the onset of eclampsia.

It’s crazy how quickly things can unravel…

One second. The aforementioned may seem like an insignificant unit of time, but the decisions made and actions taken by physicians and nurses in that fleeting measurement of time – one second, two seconds, three seconds – what occurs in brevity alters lives permanently. And the results are polar opposites:  a mother and child returning home together and promising to keep fighting on behalf of those who did not get the chance to walk, yet, instead were given their wings in the aftermath of those mere seconds…the angels that touched lives and were lost in the time that is supposed to be the most beautiful in a woman’s life…

It's crazy how quickly things can unravel…and something must be done. And, what we are doing here today, THIS IS doing something about it.

Educating and raising awareness on a crucial condition that not every pregnant woman knows about but absolutely MUST know about. “97% of preeclampsia-related deaths occur AFTER delivery…when new moms and dads least expect their childbirth experience to turn tragic.” With nearly 100% of the deaths related to preeclampsia coming after delivery, the common practice for treating preeclampsia, which is early delivery of the child, becomes null.

I was one of the lucky ones. I didn’t know anything about preeclampsia, but I knew I needed to listen to my body and because I did, I was still in the hospital when the battle with preeclampsia waged on.

About one week before my due date, I was feeling “off.” Call it mother’s intuition, but I just knew I wasn’t making it to my due date. And then, conveniently, on my way to my regular doctor’s appointment, my water broke.

More than six hours passed and there was little progress. At that point, the doctor came in to see me and ordered a sonogram. As the machine was being wheeled in and set up, in sweet, yet anxious ignorance, I reminded the doctor that I did not want to know the gender of my child until his or her birth. In his response, he stopped in his tracks and panic washed over his face. It was one of those looks, marked by fear, that a patient never wants to see in her physician’s eyes.

And just like that, my overall healthy pregnancy began to unravel.

“There is nothing more I can do,” he said, “The only way to safely delivery your baby is through a C-section.” It was imperative they moved quickly, and so, in the midst of a situation that I was ill-prepared for, I was rushed to the operating room.

Through God’s grace, nearly a half hour later, my miracle was placed in my arms and I welcomed my son, Mark, to this world.

I had planned for a natural birth and candidly, I was unaware as to the specifics of a C-section and that it, in fact, is major surgery. In recovery, I was told the quicker I get up and walk, the easier it would be in the long run. And so, in that first day of recovery at the hospital, I got up, and I walked. Yet, as the second and third day of recovery passed, something, once again, felt “off” and a severe headache remained persistent.

It was the night before I was to be discharged when the hospital photographer came in my room to take a photograph of my son. I sang to my son, in Greek, his favorite song, “If You’re Happy and You Know It”, and he seemed to soak up each moment in the spotlight. As we were settling down for the night, a team of nurses and medical staff stormed into my room. They informed me that my blood work numbers were poor and warned me that if they did not start treatment immediately, I was at risk for seizures.

And so, once again, I found myself in a situation ill-prepared for and my life, as my son’s life merely days before when he faced his childbirth complication, lay in the hands of my medical team. In the urgency of the situation, I was instantly wheeled out of my room. I kept looking back to find my son. I felt helpless, scared and worried.

My mind raced:  Seizures? What are they talking about? What does that mean? What happens if I seizure? Please stop that from happening to me…I don’t want that to happen! 

Where is my son?

The nurse warned me I was about to endure the worst feeling of my life. And then, the 24-hour magnesium treatment began. My body felt as though it was on fire and burning from the inside out; yet, even worse than that was the feeling of helplessness and the unknown – when I looked at the miracle beside me who was far too young to comprehend his mother’s battle, who was a survivor himself, and I wondered if I would make it out of the hospital to raise him and see all the wonderful things he would accomplish in his life. Then, I distinctly remember thinking, “This can’t be it. He needs his mother.” And pulling strength from the deepest place within me and from the gift my mother brought to my bedside and lovingly placed in my son’s bassinet, I grew stronger and became determined to survive.

My son did not lose his mother that day; he gained a mother who is a fighter, in every good sense of that word. Preeclampsia didn’t know it, but it was preparing me for what lied ahead in my immediate future and my unexpected state of single motherhood.

Preeclampsia has defined me. And in immense humility I share that being a survivor of it is my daily silent strength – that is, it reminds me of who I am – a survivor – and it pushes me to live and love with a heart full of compassion. And it gives me hope and makes me believe in my ability to climb every mountain that I face.

With knowing he may not physically be present here today for the Walk, I asked my very wise 8-year-old son if he thought I should deliver the Survivor Speech. He took a moment to think and then thoughtfully responded, “Yes.”

“Can you tell me why?” I asked.

“Because it will make you feel brave and strong.”

It runs too deep – that which I felt when my son spoke those words…and no words I say or write could do justice to how my heart felt as I sat there with him at our kitchen table…he was and is absolutely right…

Being here today with you to share my story and to walk beside you, makes me feel brave and strong. That’s what I gained from preeclampsia.

Today, and every day, I walk for the mothers who lost their lives to give life; I walk for the children whose angels are up in heaven. I walk for the mothers who cannot physically cradle their children in their arms; yet, their love endures forever and their existence remains alive in their mother’s heart.

I walk for my son to remind him to always maintain his hope, to never lose his faith and to always keep on fighting.

All mothers and their newborn children deserve to write the first chapter of their shared story in peace; they should have the chance to fill the pages of their book with countless milestones and moments. Every tiny hand deserves to have their mother’s hand to hold.

Thank you.