"We Think She's Having a Heart Attack"

Flash back three and a half years. I just gave birth to the most non alien looking, beautiful baby girl. My life had been a s*** show before I became pregnant with her. Her daddy and I were headed down the wrong path when we found out we were eggo preggo. After crying for weeks, I accepted the fact, and began loving and caring for this tiny little human in me. So no, I was not one of those moms who was over the moon excited to be pregnant at first. I still feel guilt for this, but I never loved my daughter any less.

For a girl in recovery from disordered eating, and still slipping here and there, pregnancy should of been scary. I fully embraced it, and took care of my body for the first time in my life. My body was housing a perfect, little girl named Clementine and I was not going to screw that up. I loved people touching my belly (gross, now!) and commenting on my pregnant body; all things that even make me cringe now!

Clementines birth was one word: calm. I had my wonderful baby daddy next to me and the best nurse ever. There was no screaming or pain, just happiness. I think now, this was a nice little pass considering what was coming.

In the first three weeks of Clem's life, I was incredibly sick. Nobody knew what was going on. One doctor even accused my now husband of being unfaithful and giving me herpes! Like, what?? Fast forward through the drama, and week three I was hospitalized with C-Diff. That's basically the last thing I remember.

I'll skip over the toxic mega colon, sepsis, infusions, Crohn's diagnosis, surgery, etc. What I will tell you, is that I didn't see my newborn baby for over two weeks. My baby, who was probably thinking her mother abandoned her, was without me for almost three weeks of her brand new life. I was a wreck. They gave me meds to help calm my every minute panic, but nothing worked.

On day 17, my dad came up to everyone rushing to my room. He was told that I was having a heart attack and to call my mother and Austin. As they were running me down the hall, he said I was screaming, "This better not screw up me seeing Clem." You see, I was supposed to finally see my daughter that day.

As the doctors were about to put a stint in, they decided to run another EKG. This next part is still so breathtaking and unbelievable to me. I wasn't having a heart attack I literally had Broken Heart Syndrome as they diagnosed it. My heart was breaking to see my baby.

After being admitted to the CICU, Clem was brought to me. I'm told we laid with each other for eight hours that day, Clem never fussing. It pains me not to remember. Five days later, I was released from the hospital. My little girl gave me the fight I needed and saved my life.

Three surgeries and seven hospital stays later, I'm still missing my girl. As I prepare to travel to Florida for 27 days, I'm full out panicking. If I couldn't go 17 days, how am I supposed to go a month? Why does my husband and daughter have to go through this with me? I'm mad, sad, and scared but I know that my girl and my man will always keep me fighting.