In the United States, more than 700 women die each year due to pregnancy-related complications, with two-thirds of these fatalities being preventable. I was unaware until I almost became one of those statistics myself.
Life can throw unexpected challenges your way. The day I faced near-fatal complications during childbirth is one I will never forget, and it took me a long time to come to terms with what happened. In 2016, I was expecting my second child. After a C-section for my first, my doctor recommended another for my second delivery. We set the date for November 9, 2016, and everything seemed to go smoothly as we arrived at the hospital, eager to welcome our new addition.
At 7:04 a.m., the doctor announced, “It’s a girl!” We didn’t know the gender beforehand, and we were overjoyed to have a sister for our first daughter. We named her Clara, and she weighed in at a healthy eight and a half pounds. My recovery began in a private room with my primary nurse checking my pain levels. I mentioned that the discomfort was more intense than I remembered from my first experience. After some time, I expressed to my husband that the pain was escalating, far worse than before.
When the nurse returned, I rated my pain as a 10, or maybe even higher. Despite my usual high pain tolerance, this was unbearable. She reassured me that every C-section is different, and since this was my second, increased pain was common. She checked my uterus and confirmed it was contracting properly before leaving again. I wanted to trust her, but something felt off.
When Clara was brought to me, it was a magical moment. She latched on seamlessly, and breastfeeding was a much easier experience than the first time. I cherished those twenty minutes, despite the ongoing pain. However, once Clara was taken back to the nursery, the unthinkable happened. I hunched over in bed as intense cramping hit, and suddenly my bed was soaked with blood. Panic surged through me; I felt disoriented and terrified. My husband immediately sought help, and soon a flurry of nurses rushed into the room.
In the chaos, a head nurse named Sarah introduced herself. “I’m here to help you,” she said. “I need to check you internally, and it’s going to hurt.” With my husband holding my hand, Sarah began her examination. The pain was excruciating, to the point where I found myself biting down on my husband’s arm in desperation. He kept encouraging me, but his words felt distant as I was overwhelmed by agony. When Sarah pulled her hand away, it was covered in blood. “We need to apply pressure to your abdomen; your uterus is not contracting and you’re hemorrhaging,” she informed the team urgently.
Time felt suspended in those agonizing moments. It was a whirlwind of fear and pain, with thoughts racing through my mind: “I might die today. Is this really happening? Do they know what they’re doing?” Then, to my immense relief, my doctor entered the room. Seeing him felt like spotting a long-awaited gift on Christmas morning. He took my hand and assured me, “Don’t worry; I’m going to take care of you. We need to put you under anesthesia and act quickly.”
They ushered my husband out, and I quickly said, “I love you.” I remember praying before fading into unconsciousness.
When I woke up, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. “I’m still here!” I thought, relieved to find my husband by my side. The pain was gone, but I wasn’t sure if it was due to the anesthesia or something else. My doctor explained that the surgery had gone well; they’d managed to stop the bleeding, but I had lost a significant amount of blood and would need a transfusion.
The transfusion took eight long hours, where I received blood from strangers—people I would never meet but who had saved my life. It changed my perspective on blood donation forever.
This ordeal also altered my relationship with my husband. When faced with the possibility of losing one another, everything became more meaningful. He stepped up in ways I never expected, even helping with tasks that left me feeling vulnerable. Seeing my daughters after everything was both a relief and a sobering reminder of how close I had come to losing precious time with them.
Returning home was bittersweet. I was limited in what I could do, and emotionally, I was a wreck for weeks. I didn’t want to talk about the experience initially, cycling through shock, happiness, anger, and despair. However, as I opened up to friends and family, it became a form of therapy.
I learned to pray that day and to appreciate the little things. I discovered the importance of taking a moment to breathe and reflect. “Count your blessings” became more than just a saying—it was a lesson deeply ingrained in me.
Later, I found out that my primary nurse had only recently graduated from nursing school. It was her first encounter with a non-contracting uterus. I owe my life to Sarah, who took charge when it mattered most, and to my doctor, who made me feel safe and cared for.
This experience taught me that life is often beyond our control, especially in life-and-death situations. My husband and I are still learning to trust the process together.
Did you know that maternal mortality rates in the U.S. have been rising since 1990? This is my story, and I am grateful to be here. Ladies, always advocate for yourselves; you know your body best. If you feel something isn’t right, speak up!
For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, visit this excellent resource from the CDC. If you’re curious about enhancing fertility, check out this post on fertility boosters for men.
Summary
In this personal account, a mother shares her harrowing experience of nearly dying during childbirth due to complications. The story highlights the importance of advocating for oneself in medical situations, the value of supportive relationships, and the lessons learned from facing life-threatening challenges. It serves as a reminder of the rising maternal mortality rates in the U.S. and encourages women to speak up about their health concerns.