A lot has happened in these past two years—actually, since 2021, when I reconnected with my now-fiancé, Marc. We originally met in middle school, but I was always dating someone else and not interested. After selling my house in Union, NJ, and moving back to my childhood home, I discovered Marc was also living with his parents again. We met up, and what I initially thought would be just a summer fling quickly turned into something more.
Marc had already planned to move to Arizona by the end of the year, and he even warned me not to fall in love with him 😂 But, as fate would have it, I did. In 2022, I visited him in Arizona for a few months before making the decision to move from NJ to AZ to be with him.
I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), and since my diagnosis at 16, every doctor told me it would be nearly impossible to conceive naturally. As I got older—and, bluntly put, fatter—my chances of fertility only decreased. So, we never used preventative measures, assuming pregnancy wouldn’t happen. But in January 2023, I found out I was pregnant. It was a happy accident, and once genetic testing confirmed our baby was healthy, we decided to keep him.
Motherhood was never something I envisioned for myself. I had even told friends earlier in 2021 that I didn’t think I’d ever have a partner again. But Marc became that person for me. We recently started a podcast together called Marc with the Mouth and the Smart Wife—his choice of name, of course!
Throughout my pregnancy, I felt good, with minor symptoms and then in the 3rd trimester, I underwent non-stress tests twice a week due to my weight (340lbs). My health metrics remained strong—no preeclampsia or gestational diabetes—but the doctors cautioned that overweight women often struggle with dilation during labor. They strongly encouraged me to schedule an induction or even a C-section at 39 weeks. I wanted to give birth vaginally and avoid interventions unless necessary, so I declined.
Marc and I took birthing and newborn care classes at the hospital to prepare since neither of us had much experience with babies. At 40 weeks, I still hadn’t experienced contractions, not even Braxton Hicks. My doctors warned that waiting longer could increase risks for both me and the baby, so on October 2nd, a day after our projected due date, I was induced.
Induction was not what I wanted. Friends had bad experiences with it, and I worried about its risks. But I was also exhausted from pregnancy—I had been 340 pounds the entire time, barely gaining or losing weight as Remy grew. The doctors also kept emphasizing that waiting too long could put my baby at risk of stillbirth, which was terrifying. So, I agreed.
After 29 hours of labor, a traumatizing Cook catheter experience (I honestly wished I had asked for a different nurse before that happened, but I can’t live in regrets), and an epidural that only numbed half of my body, I was still only 6cm dilated (the goal being 10cm). The doctors gave me the option to keep waiting, but my blood pressure was rising, and they strongly recommended an emergency C-section. Reluctantly, I agreed.
I had never had surgery before, so I was terrified. They fixed my epidural (it was placed too deep), and I remained awake while Marc stayed beside me. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I felt the pulling and pressure. But then, Remy was born—6lbs 8oz and healthy! Marc went with him while I was sewn up. (I remember the lead surgeon instructing another doctor on how to close me up, which made me nervous.)
I spent four days in the hospital recovering. The doctors mentioned that some of my pubic hair had gotten stuck under my bandage, and it might hurt when removed. My skin is sensitive to adhesives (which I know from my experience getting tattoos and using different ones), so I was worried. Still, they assured me I was healing well, and we were discharged.
At home, Marc and I took turns sleeping in the living room with Remy in his bassinet. I was in significant pain, and my legs and feet were painfully swollen, I couldn’t even fit socks on my feet without cutting them at the ankles! The doctors said this was normal, I’d retain water while healing from the C-section, but something felt off. When we returned to have my bandage removed, the nurse noticed redness and suspected a yeast infection near my incision. They prescribed a cream, but Marc later noticed a bruise forming on my abdomen.
Over the next few days, the bruise grew worse, and more showed up, and my pain became unbearable. An oral antibiotic was prescribed, but it only made things worse. By then, I was struggling to function. It turned out I had developed sepsis from my C-section—specifically, necrotizing fasciitis.
I told Marc I couldn’t take the pain anymore. We went to the OB-GYN again and they admitted me to the ER, where I spent almost an entire day undergoing tests. Marc had to take Remy home for safety reasons because he was only 8 days old! That night, I was told I needed emergency surgery to remove all the necrotic tissue—or else the infection would continue spreading, eventually liquefying my fascia and reaching my organs. If that happened, I would die.
So, I spent the first month of my son’s life in the hospital recovering from multiple surgeries. My wound was left open—it was too large to close, spanning hip to hip and my belly button down to my c-section scar. They removed about 40 pounds of tissue. Doctors initially mentioned the possibility of needing skin grafts to close my belly, but instead, I was placed on a wound vacuum machine, an ingenious machine but it required excruciating dressing changes every two days.
To top it all off, on my last day in the hospital, which happened to be Halloween October 31st, I got a call from my manager—my entire department had been laid off. I thought like in previous weeks he had been calling to check in on my health and to wish me good luck on my day going home. Instead, I was shocked by his news and had to navigate maternity and disability benefits while still in recovery, it was nerve-wracking.
Family stepped in to help—first my parents, then Marc’s mom, and then my mom again. But I did need to have a nurse come to our place twice a week to change my wound vac dressings, which was so painful and annoying. Thankfully by January, earlier than anyone expected (the wound vac was agonizing but incredible and kudos to my body for bouncing back sooner than any of the docs expected!), my wound had finally healed enough, leaving me with a massive scar. But then, I noticed a protruding lump near my incision. It turned out to be a hernia, likely caused by the deep C-section and extensive tissue removal. My doctor said I needed to lose weight before surgery to repair it, or else it’d come right back.
By January 2024, I weighed 300 pounds—meaning I had lost 40 pounds since giving birth and the surgeries. My doctor warned that if my intestines got trapped in the hernia, it could lead to strangulation, obstruction, or infection. He also told us another pregnancy would be incredibly risky. So barely 4 months into motherhood we’re faced with knowing that if we wanted more children, we’d have to adopt, which is something we discussed before pregnancy even, but was alarming to hear more bad news about my recovery. I thought of getting my tubes tied, but Marc is considering a vasectomy to prevent any future complications for me.
So now, my focus is on losing weight for my health and to qualify for hernia surgery. I joined a medical weight-loss program and started Zepbound (a GLP-1 injectable medication) in March 2024. By May, we traveled back to NJ to introduce Remy to our families. It was exhausting, but he handled it like a champ, and in hindsight, although it was a struggle, I’m glad we went.
In early August 2024, Remy woke up from his nap on top of me, and suddenly, I was in a lot of pain (not the persisting 3 out of 10 pain I’ve felt and tried to drown out since the surgeries). At first, I thought it was just my hernia acting up, combined with having to pee after a two-hour nap. I hobbled to the bathroom while Marc, who was on a break from work, checked in on me.
Then, out of nowhere, I felt a sharp, immense pain on my right side. I got dizzy and assumed it had to be my hernia since the pain spread across my entire abdomen. I panicked, thinking it might be strangulated, so I lay down, trying to push my guts back in to prevent any oxygen loss. I could still push the hernia in, but breathing became difficult.
The pain intensified, and I rushed back to the bathroom, feeling like I might throw up. Marc was freaking out, watching me struggle, but for some reason, I kept thinking I could push through it.
Finally, he called 911. I resisted, thinking he could just drive me, but he shut that down quickly: “You’re crazy. We can’t get Remy together this fast—this is what ambulances are for!”
The pain in my right side, radiating down to my hernia, remained unbearable during the ambulance ride. Marc and Remy couldn’t come with me again, since we agreed the ER was too dirty for the baby.
When I arrived, they put me on a bed in the hallway. A doctor came over, asked about my symptoms, and examined my stomach. My hernia was red and purple but still reducible. However, he suspected something unexpected—my gallbladder.
Gallbladder?! I was completely caught off guard. With everything else going wrong, now this?
They sent me for an abdominal ultrasound, and soon after, some doctors who had treated me during my necrotizing fasciitis hospitalization reconsidered the diagnosis to make absolutely sure. They ordered a CT scan, which confirmed an inflamed gallbladder.
Thankfully, the excruciating pain started easing about an hour after I was admitted, but I was still shaken and on the verge of a panic attack. Being back in the hospital, away from Marc and Remy AGAIN, was overwhelming.
Marc immediately called his mom, and thankfully, she was able to come help him with Remy. Since he had already taken so much time off for my previous hospital stay, he couldn’t afford to miss more work without risking his job—and, crucially, our medical benefits.
I had my gallbladder removed, and they found a large gallstone lodged in my bile duct, which had caused the sudden, severe pain. The wildest part? That gallbladder pain had likely been there all along—I’d been blaming my hernia for it since January!
After the surgery, I felt so much better, but now I had to face another recovery period—six more weeks of healing. If I lifted my (at the time) 20-pound baby too soon, I risked developing another hernia, this time between my ribcage.
Talk about feeling like a burden. I had already spent so much of Remy’s life “out of commission,” and now, once again, our families had to rearrange their lives to help us. Living in Tucson made things even more complicated—there are no direct flights from where they’d be coming from in New Jersey or Florida. The time and money they sacrificed just to be here with us was something I could never take for granted.
Phew!
Now, I’m honestly still coming to grips with all the trauma, emotional and physical that I’ve been through in the first year of my son’s life (this blog post being one of my ways to cope) and although being a stay-at-home mom while job searching wasn’t my plan, it’s been rewarding. Despite lingering and fluctuating pain and my ongoing health journey, I’m finally settling into motherhood. I’m healing, I’m adapting, and I’m determined to move forward—one step at a time.
Overall, being a mom is amazing—Remy is growing and learning so much every day. In those beautiful moments, it breaks my heart knowing that if my body hadn’t gone through so much after his birth, I would have wanted to try for another baby with Marc.
Now, I carry a giant, jagged scar from hip to hip, along with several incision marks on my stomach and side from my gallbladder removal. I went from having zero surgeries in my entire life to five surgeries in just the first ten months of my baby’s life. It still feels unreal. And I’ll have more scars when I can finally get this mini basketball-sized hernia fixed! I should be at a good weight for it before summer 2025… but I don’t think I’m ready for another surgery (physically or emotionally) yet so I might stick out with it (pun intended!) for longer.
The Surgeries:
- C-Section (October 2023)
- Not part of my birth plan, but done as an emergency at 1 AM.
- My blood pressure, as well as the baby’s, was higher than they were comfortable with. They gave me a choice, but the safest option was clear.
- Panniculectomy (October 2023)
- Essentially a tummy tuck, but left open to heal, to remove infected necrotic tissue.
- I’ll never forget the moment before surgery—alone, my phone almost dead, and no Marc or Remy by my side. The doctor looked me straight in the eye and said, “If we don’t get this out of you now, you’ll die from it.” That was all the reasoning I needed to put on a brave face.
- First Debridement (October 2023)
- A procedure to clean out any remaining infected tissue.
- They gave me ketamine in the anesthesia mix, and I ended up tripping for hours afterward—dreaming up art projects and admiring how stunning the recovery nurse’s hair was 😂
- Second Debridement (October 2023)
- Another round of cleaning and checking for infection, since my white blood cell count was still high.
- They were concerned I had developed an abscess, so they did another CT scan. Thankfully, nothing was found, but the team was wary because I had already had three CT scans in such a short time. At one point, they even joked about how much contrast dye I had in me, saying they didn’t want to make me radioactive! (not very funny at the time)
- Cholecystectomy (August 2024 – Gallbladder Removal)
- A completely unexpected complication—but apparently, gallbladder issues are super common in moms in their late 30s. Who knew?
- I never even considered this as something to watch out for, but since the surgery, I’ve felt 80% better than I have since pregnancy. My nerve damage and hernia pain are now so much more manageable than I thought they’d be back in early 2024.
It’s been a wild ride—five surgeries, countless hospital stays, and so much recovery time—but I’m still standing. And through it all, I have my little family by my side. ❤️