My name is Angie McCaslin. I’m 31 years old and live in Palm Bay, Florida. In May 2026, I welcomed my first child, Mateo, into the world.

What began as a relatively smooth pregnancy took an unexpected turn at my 37-week appointment. For the first time, my blood pressure was elevated. My OB scheduled me to come back that Monday for another check, and over the weekend I mentally prepared myself for the possibility of being sent to Labor & Delivery.

On Monday, my blood pressure was still high, and I was diagnosed with gestational hypertension. My doctor explained that the safest and simplest treatment was delivery.

So off to Holmes Regional we went.

My husband and I walked into Labor & Delivery filled with excitement, nerves, and anticipation. We were finally going to meet our little miracle.

After nearly three days of labor, including two failed epidurals, we made the difficult decision late Wednesday night to proceed with a C-section.

Mateo was born on May 7th at 2:39 a.m.

He was immediately taken to the NICU. There was no greeting, no first family photo, no chance to hold him. My husband followed our son while I remained on the operating table, enduring what my surgical team later described as a very “brutal” C-section.

In those moments, I realized that the very first time I had to be strong for my son was immediately after he was born.

Over the next two days, I recovered while making trips to the NICU to visit Mateo. Although heartbroken to be far from my baby, we celebrated several small wins: My colostrum came in, family visited, and I finally got to enjoy the Jersey Mike’s subs I’d been waiting nine months to eat. The only thing missing was my baby.

Then came Sunday, Mother’s Day.

That morning, Mateo was finally brought to my room. I had only a few precious hours with him before everything changed.

I was diagnosed with severe preeclampsia. Instead of being discharged, I was told I needed a 24-hour magnesium infusion. I was moved to another room, connected to medications, and watched my plans for my first Mother’s Day with Mateo disappear.

The magnesium left me weak, overheated, exhausted, and struggling to breathe. Respiratory therapy brought me a nebulizer. My oxygen levels dropped, and I was placed on CPAP. Sometime during the night, I was awakened for a chest X-ray.

The next morning brought even more devastating news.

Cardiology walked into my room and explained that my heart was enlarged and there was fluid in and around my lungs. My OB looked at me and said words I’ll never forget:

“You are the sickest patient on this floor.”

My husband was told to “be prepared.”

I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I knew one thing: I had no choice but to keep fighting.

I was wheeled into the Medical ICU to complete my magnesium infusion under continuous cardiac monitoring, saying goodbye to my husband and my newborn son without knowing what would happen next.

Over the following days, I was diagnosed with pulmonary edema and congestive heart failure caused by severe preeclampsia. I spent the next week undergoing aggressive diuretic therapy, daily chest X-rays, constant blood pressure monitoring, and treatment by an incredible team of cardiologists, nurses, and physicians who quite literally saved my life.

On May 15th, I was finally discharged home.

Today, as I write this at 10 weeks postpartum, everything that happened feels almost like a fever dream.

The heart failure is gone. My blood pressure has returned to normal. I’m back in the gym, running, doing Pilates, and soaking up every moment with my son.

Life moves forward, but I still carry the weight of what happened.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about the version of myself that didn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel; The version of myself that didn’t think I’d make it back home. But that version of me was the strongest version of me… and I owe it to her to live the life she fought for to the fullest. 

That’s why I created Mateo’s Mom on a Mission.

Through fitness, endurance races, and sharing my story, I hope to raise awareness about preeclampsia while supporting organizations dedicated to improving outcomes for mothers and babies.

For every race I run, every birthday I celebrate, every Mother’s Day, and every milestone I’m fortunate enough to experience, this fundraiser will remain open as a reminder of just how precious life is.

If my story helps even one family recognize the warning signs of preeclampsia, encourages one mother to advocate for herself, or inspires one person to support this cause, then sharing it has been worth it.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and for supporting this mission. If you find it kind enough in your heart to donate to this amazing organization, to join my team to start your own fundraiser, or simply just to share my story with others to raise awareness, I would be thankful!