In the United States, over 700 women die each year from pregnancy-related complications, with two-thirds of those deaths being preventable. I was completely unaware that the U.S. has a higher maternal mortality rate than any other developed nation until I came perilously close to becoming just another statistic.
Life is often a collection of unpredictable events, and the day I nearly bled to death is etched in my memory. In 2016, I was expecting my second child. After having a C-section for my first, my doctor recommended the same for my second delivery, which we scheduled for November 9. On that fateful morning, everything seemed to be going smoothly as we made our way to the hospital, excited to welcome our new addition.
At 7:04 AM, the doctor announced, “It’s a girl!” The moment we learned we were having a daughter was exhilarating. We named her Lily, and she weighed in at a healthy eight and a half pounds. My recovery began, but it was not as straightforward as I had hoped.
Once settled in my private room, my recovery nurse came to assess my pain level. I expressed that the discomfort was more severe than I recalled from my first surgery. After checking my blood pressure, she assured me that they would bring Lily to me soon. As I waited, I chatted with my husband, but the pain intensified, and I began to voice my concerns.
When the nurse returned, I informed her that my pain had escalated to a ten, perhaps even more. Despite my high tolerance for pain, this was becoming unbearable. The nurse explained that each C-section is different and that more severe pain was typical for a second surgery. She checked my uterus, confirming it was contracting properly, and left, promising to return shortly. However, deep down, I felt something was amiss.
When they finally brought Lily to me, it was a magical moment. She latched on quickly, breastfeeding like a pro. Despite the pain I was in, I cherished those precious twenty minutes. But soon after she was taken back to the nursery, an unimaginable event unfolded. I hunched over in bed, experiencing excruciating cramping that felt like my insides were tearing apart. Blood began to soak my sheets, and panic set in.
My husband immediately sought help, and in moments, I was surrounded by a flurry of nurses. It felt surreal, akin to a scene from a medical drama. In the chaos, a nurse named Jessica introduced herself as the head nurse. She assured me she would take care of me and that her examination would be painful. My husband held my hand as she inserted her arm inside me to check for contractions, a move that sent waves of agony through me. Desperate for relief, I bit my husband’s arm in sheer pain as he offered words of encouragement.
Jessica’s voice then pierced through the fog of pain when she shouted that I was hemorrhaging badly and needed a doctor immediately. Those few minutes felt like an eternity as fear and pain intertwined in my mind: “I might die today. How could this be happening? Do they even know what they’re doing?”
Finally, my doctor arrived. The relief I felt was overwhelming; I trusted him with my life. He held my hand and reassured me that he would put me back under anesthesia to address the situation. After saying goodbye to my husband, I drifted out of consciousness.
When I awoke, the first thing I felt was gratitude for being alive. My husband greeted me with warmth, but I was overwhelmed with relief mixed with worry about what had transpired. My doctor soon informed me that the surgery was successful, but I had lost a significant amount of blood and would need a transfusion.
The transfusion lasted eight hours. I was connected to a machine receiving blood from strangers—individuals who unknowingly contributed to my survival. My perspective on blood donation shifted drastically that day.
This harrowing experience also strengthened my relationship with my husband. As I recovered, he supported me every step of the way, even helping me collect concerning blood clots when no nurse was available. Our wedding vows took on a deeper meaning during this challenging time.
Reuniting with my daughters brought a sobering realization—I had nearly lost precious moments with them. The emotional aftermath of this experience was intense; I felt like an emotional wreck for weeks. Finally, I found comfort in sharing my story with family and friends.
How does a near-death experience transform you? I learned to pray that day. It taught me to appreciate the little things and helped me develop a practice of mindfulness and relaxation. I now focus on the positives in life and recognize the importance of self-advocacy during medical situations.
In retrospect, I discovered that my primary nurse was new to the field, just six months out of nursing school, which explained her oversight during my crisis. I owe my life to Jessica, who took charge of the situation, and to my doctor, who guided me through a terrifying ordeal.
In the face of life and death, I learned that so much is beyond our control. The day of my delivery was a stark reminder of this reality. The maternal mortality rate in the U.S. continues to rise, a trend we must confront. Ladies, always advocate for yourselves—if you feel something is wrong, speak up. You know your body better than anyone else.
This story is a testament to resilience and the unyielding strength of motherhood. For more insights into pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy from the NICHD and learn about at-home insemination kits from Make a Mom.
Summary:
This article recounts a woman’s harrowing experience during childbirth, where she faced life-threatening complications following a C-section. The narrative explores her intense pain, the chaos in the hospital, and the emotional aftermath of her near-death experience. It emphasizes the importance of self-advocacy in medical situations and the transformative power of gratitude and relationships during recovery.