In the United States, over 700 women lose their lives each year due to complications during pregnancy, with two-thirds of these tragedies being preventable. I was unaware that the U.S. has a higher maternal mortality rate than any other developed nation until I found myself on the brink of becoming a statistic.
Life is often a series of uncontrollable events. The day I nearly bled to death is one I will never forget, nor one that I quickly came to terms with. In 2016, while expecting my second child, my doctor recommended a repeat C-section, as I had undergone one with my first delivery. We scheduled the procedure for November 9, 2016, and the day unfolded as planned. We arrived at the hospital eagerly awaiting the arrival of our new baby.
At 7:04 AM, we received the joyous news: “It’s a girl!” We were elated to welcome a little sister for our first child, whom we named Sophia. Adalind, our newborn, weighed eight and a half pounds and appeared perfectly healthy. My recovery began shortly after, with my primary recovery nurse checking on my pain levels. I communicated that the discomfort was more intense than I remembered from my previous surgery. Despite my high pain tolerance, I felt increasingly distressed as the pain escalated.
When the nurse returned, I conveyed that my pain was unbearable—perhaps a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. She reassured me that each C-section is different, suggesting that my experience was typical for a second surgery. However, I sensed something was amiss.
When they brought Adalind to me, I felt a moment of bliss as she latched on to breastfeed effortlessly. Despite the pain, those twenty minutes were a cherished memory. Once the feeding was over, and Adalind was taken back to the nursery, I began chatting with my husband. Suddenly, the cramping intensified dramatically, and I hunched over in bed as blood began to soak my sheets. Panic consumed me as I realized the severity of the situation.
My husband quickly sought help, and soon the primary nurse rushed in, looking alarmed and confused. Within moments, my room was filled with a flurry of nurses—a scene reminiscent of a medical drama. I felt detached, as if I were watching from outside my body. The pain continued, and my blood loss escalated.
Then, a calm voice introduced herself as Gabby, the head nurse. She took my hand and informed me she needed to check inside my uterus, warning me it would be painful. As my husband held my hand, Gabby’s examination began. The pain was excruciating—I found myself biting my husband’s arm in agony. Gabby pulled her hand out, soaked in blood, and declared that I was hemorrhaging badly. The urgency in her voice sent me into a panic as she called for a doctor.
Minutes felt like hours as I battled the pain and fear. Thoughts raced through my mind, intertwining my past and present: “I might die today. Is this really happening?” Just as I thought I couldn’t endure any more, my doctor arrived, and relief washed over me. He assured me he would take care of the situation and needed to put me under anesthesia immediately.
After a brief farewell to my husband, I was unconscious. When I awoke, a wave of gratitude enveloped me. I was alive! My husband stood by my side, relieved to see me awake. The pain had vanished, but I was uncertain whether it was due to the anesthesia or something more.
My doctor informed me that the surgery had been successful; the bleeding was controlled, but I had lost a significant amount of blood. He explained that my recovery would be different, and I would need a blood transfusion. For eight hours, I was connected to a machine receiving life-saving blood from strangers—individuals who now unknowingly became part of my journey.
This experience reshaped my relationship with my husband. Facing mortality together deepened our bond. When I passed a concerning blood clot, he donned gloves to retrieve it, demonstrating the lengths to which he would go for me. Our wedding vows took on new meaning during my recovery.
Reuniting with my daughters after the ordeal was a profound moment of relief, mingled with the realization of how close I had come to losing everything. After a few days, I returned home, but my limitations were significant. The emotional aftermath was overwhelming. I struggled to discuss my experience for weeks, cycling through shock, happiness, and despair.
How does experiencing near death change you? It taught me the power of prayer, how to embrace stillness, and to appreciate the positive aspects of life. I learned to advocate for myself, understanding that I know my body better than anyone else.
Later, I discovered my primary nurse was newly graduated, having only been in the field for six months. I owe my life to Gabby, the head nurse who acted decisively to save me, and to my doctor, who assured me through the chaos.
The rising maternal mortality rate in the U.S. is alarming, and this is why advocacy is crucial. Your health matters—speak up if something feels wrong.
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Summary
This personal narrative details a harrowing near-death experience during childbirth, highlighting the importance of maternal health awareness and self-advocacy. After nearly losing her life due to complications from a C-section, the author reflects on the emotional and relational impacts of this life-altering event.
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