May 31, 2008
One year ago today, my life changed.
Blythe was two weeks old, and we had left the house alone together for the first time, to go to the pediatrician’s office for a check up. I remember feeling like I was finally starting to recover from her birth and the hemorrhage that had immediately followed. I was tired, sure, but wasn’t that normal? We had a good time, and it was the first day since her birth that I didn’t take a nap. I was so proud of myself for that.
I had just fallen asleep that night when a funny sensation roused me. I went to the bathroom and passed a softball-sized clot (sorry if you’re squeamish). I know this sounds like the absolute wrong thing to do, but I didn’t see anymore blood so I went back to bed. I mean, I had given birth not all that long ago. A few minutes later, I heard Blythe cry so I got her out of her crib. As I was picking her up, I felt a gush that felt just like my water breaking. Only, obviously I wasn’t about to go into labor. I woke Jeremy, gave Blythe over to him, and went back into the bathroom. This time, there was no denying it: I was losing blood, and fast. I called the midwife while Jeremy called my parents to stay with the kids. Ever the multitasker, I nursed Blythe as I sat there on the toilet, bleeding and waiting for my parents to come so Jeremy could take me to the emergency room.
My dad helped me walk to the front of the house while Jeremy pulled the car around. We didn’t get far before I started feeling woozy. Jeremy caught me as I collapsed onto the kitchen floor. I’m not sure if you want to, but try putting yourself inside his mind at that moment: he had watched his wife lose what looked like gallons of blood, had been present as she hemorrhaged after two births and knew how urgent the situation had been both times, with medical professionals in the room. To top it all off, his wife had just looked him in the eyes, said she didn’t think she was going to make it, and lost consciousness. What I meant was I didn’t think I could make it to the car, but he had no way of knowing that. Fortunately, he brought me around in mere seconds. He may have even slapped me a few times, but the details are kind of fuzzy. I had passed out just long enough to be annoyed that he interrupted what had promised to be the best sleep I’d had in months. Don’t go toward the light, my butt, the light feels like the best Sunday afternoon nap you ever had.
Needless to say, my dad called 911 while Jeremy kept me awake. The EMT who rode in the back of the ambulance with me had mad skills – he was able to put in an IV line on the first try as we went over the crazy bumps on our long, gravel driveway. The emergency room was something straight out of a movie. An old lady was moaning and screaming; a legless lady was lying on a gurney in the hallway, her prosthetics a few feet away; a guy was gushing blood out of a huge gash in his leg. They parked me in the hallway, as well, and we waited our turn.
Eventually, it was determined that my uterus had retained some of the placenta. My labs came back, also, and I was strongly encouraged to accept two pints of blood while I waited for the ambulance to take me to a hospital in The City. I did take the donor blood – and it’s a good thing. If I hadn’t, I would have lost my life the following day…
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