In the United States, over 700 women die annually due to pregnancy-related complications, and shockingly, about two-thirds of those deaths are preventable. I had no idea that the maternal mortality rate here was worse than in any other developed nation until I almost became just another statistic.
Life is a whirlwind of unforeseen events, and the day I nearly bled to death is etched in my mind forever. It took time for me to come to terms with that harrowing experience. In 2016, I was pregnant with my second child. After having a C-section with my first daughter, my doctor recommended a repeat procedure for my second child. We set the date for November 9, 2016. Everything seemed to go smoothly as we arrived at the hospital early, eager to welcome our new baby.
At 7:04 a.m., the doctor joyfully declared, “It’s a girl!” We were over the moon, having hoped for a little sister for our first daughter. We named her Lila, and she was a healthy eight and a half pounds. My recovery began shortly after.
Once settled in my private room, my recovery nurse asked me to rate my pain level. I mentioned it felt more intense than my first C-section. After taking my blood pressure, she assured me that they would bring Lila to me soon. While waiting, I chatted with my husband, but as time passed, I told him the pain was escalating and felt far worse than before. My husband was supportive, but there wasn’t much he could do to ease my discomfort.
When the nurse returned, I rated my pain at a ten, possibly higher. I explained that I usually have a high pain tolerance, but this was unbearable. She reassured me that every C-section is different and that increased pain for a second surgery is typical. After checking my uterus and confirming that it was contracting as expected, she left, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
When they brought Lila to me, it was a magical moment. She latched on effortlessly for breastfeeding, and despite my pain, I cherished those twenty minutes. However, once Lila was taken back to the nursery, the unimaginable happened. I hunched over in agony, and suddenly, my bed was drenched in blood. Panic washed over me. My husband sprang into action, searching for help. My primary nurse rushed in, her expression filled with fear, which only heightened my own.
Before I knew it, dozens of nurses were in the room. It felt surreal, like something out of a medical drama. The pain intensified, and I continued to bleed profusely. Amidst the chaos, a calming voice introduced herself as “Sarah, the head nurse.” She held my hand and informed me that she needed to examine me more closely, though it would hurt. My husband held my hand tightly as she inserted her arm inside me to check my uterus. The pain was excruciating; I even bit my husband’s arm in agony. He kept repeating, “You can do this. I’m here. I love you,” but his words barely registered through the pain.
When Sarah pulled her arm out, it was covered in blood. “I need to apply pressure to your stomach to encourage your uterus to contract,” she said. I felt like I might pass out from the sheer intensity of the pain. Then Sarah turned to my nurse and demanded, “How did you not notice her uterus wasn’t contracting? She’s bleeding heavily!” Fear consumed me as Sarah shouted for a doctor.
Minutes felt like hours as I grappled with thoughts that flooded my mind: “I could die today. Is this really happening? Does anyone know what they’re doing?” Images of my family flashed before me. The room grew warmer as I struggled with the pain, memories, and the fear of losing everything I held dear.
Finally, my doctor arrived. Relief flooded my body at the sight of him. It was like unwrapping the most desired gift on Christmas morning. He looked me in the eye, held my hand, and assured me, “Don’t worry; I’m going to take care of you. We need to put you back under anesthesia. When you wake up, everything will be fine.” They told my husband to wait outside. I quickly said, “I love you,” and he echoed my sentiment. After a brief prayer, I was unconscious.
When I awoke, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. “I’m still here!” I thought. My husband greeted me with, “It’s so good to see you awake.” Although the pain was gone, I worried about whether everything was “fixed.” I felt utterly drained.
My doctor soon visited me, explaining that the surgery had gone well, and he managed to stop the bleeding. However, I had lost a significant amount of blood and would require a transfusion. The transfusion took eight long hours. As I received blood from anonymous donors, I felt a deep appreciation for those who helped save my life. My perspective on blood donation shifted dramatically that day.
This experience also transformed my relationship with my husband. Facing death together makes time feel precious. He helped me with everything I couldn’t do on my own, even going so far as to glove up and retrieve a concerning blood clot when no nurse was available. It’s safe to say that our vows took on new meaning during my recovery.
Seeing my daughters after all of this was bittersweet. I was grateful to return to them, but the reality that I nearly lost my chance to be with them was overwhelming. After a few days in the hospital, I returned home, restricted to the couch and bed. I was emotionally fragile, struggling to process the experience. I questioned everything, cycling through shock, anger, happiness, and despair. Eventually, talking about it with friends and family became a source of healing.
So how does almost dying change you? I learned the power of prayer that day. The little things became trivial, and I discovered how to truly relax—not just sitting idly, but breathing deeply and appreciating the moment. I now focus on the positives in life. While I still experience worry and frustration, I quickly assess my emotions and count my blessings.
Later, I found out that my assigned nurse was fresh out of nursing school, and it was her first experience with a non-contracting uterus. I’m grateful to Sarah for her decisive action that saved my life and to my doctor for his care and reassurance throughout the ordeal.
I began this narrative by emphasizing that life is often beyond our control. When faced with life-and-death situations, this lesson hits hard. My husband and I learned the importance of letting go and trusting the process, a lesson we continue to navigate together.
Did you know that the maternal mortality rate in the U.S. is still climbing? It has been on the rise since 1990. This is my story, and I am thankful to be here. Ladies, always advocate for yourselves and speak up when something feels wrong. You know your body better than anyone else; if you don’t advocate for yourself, who will?
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In summary, my near-death experience during childbirth reshaped my perspective on life, love, and the importance of self-advocacy. It taught me to appreciate every moment and to trust in the process, alongside my husband, as we navigate the unpredictability of life together.
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