Aline M.'s Testimonial

Since I finally received my diagnosis of endometriosis in 2018, I had been afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant. Everyone—including my gynecologist—told me it would be extremely difficult.

In 2021, my partner and I decided to try, and I actually became pregnant in the very first month. We were overjoyed, and I lovingly prepared the nursery. I felt wonderful: no morning sickness, I was physically active, and I felt comfortable in my body. I worked at 80% and pursued my second training program at the same time.

My due date was in November, and I was well prepared—with hypnobirthing, music, and oils. I was truly looking forward to the birth. On October 19 at 6 a.m., I experienced a premature rupture of membranes (I had been on sick leave for two weeks beforehand to rest, but there had been no signs of preterm labor). We spent the entire day at Hospital No. 1 and later at Hospital No. 2, where an emergency cesarean section was performed at 34+5 weeks. Our daughter was born healthy—and in that first moment, I felt only happiness, love, and gratitude.

Then came the shock: our baby had to be transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit due to hypoglycemia, my partner was sent home at 4 a.m. because of COVID restrictions, and I was left completely alone in the room. I was shaking all over—I had just become a mother five weeks early, and now I was entirely on my own. A nurse came in and told me I needed to start expressing breast milk, which I did dutifully. Two hours later, I was already with my daughter, crying constantly because everything hurt and I could barely hold her. That was how it all began.

I felt alone, overwhelmed, sad, and poorly supported. I cried a lot and needed my husband desperately—but he was not allowed to be with me at Hospital No. 2 because of the restrictions (which, incidentally, did not apply at Hospital No. 1). I could no longer sleep, and my mind was filled with confusing, negative thoughts. I developed aggressive, obsessive thoughts directed at myself. I wanted to go home; I just wanted that “perfect” beginning. I was completely exhausted—from the NICU, from expressing milk, and from the constant worry about my daughter.