She had just delivered her baby girl and held her on her chest. She delivered the placenta. The doctor asked if they wanted to see it. They said yes. It looked strange but amazing. They laughed. Then they went back to the baby, trying to help her latch. Suddenly the doctor said she was bleeding. The words came fast. Acronyms, commands. She didn’t understand most of it. The baby was taken off her chest. The room was filled with doctors and nurses. Four people and the doctor moved quickly. Some held her open with metal tools. Some handed instruments. Some pressed blood-soaked gauze over her.
A man came to her side. He said he was the anesthesiologist and put in an IV quickly. A nurse tried another IV but had trouble. People ran in and out, shouting numbers and instructions. The baby nurses told her husband to go spend time with the baby. He left her side. She watched the doctor stitch and stitch.
He said he couldn’t find the source of the bleeding. He asked for tools. Another person joined to hold her open. She stayed calm. She knew freaking out would make her lose blood faster. She looked at her husband and gave a forced smile. Tears were in both their eyes. He held the baby. She saw fear in his eyes but he stayed strong. She thought she might die. She thought her husband might have to raise their baby alone. She didn’t want that. She didn’t know he was thinking the same thing.
They kept saying they couldn’t stop the bleeding. The doctors kept stitching. Blood-soaked gauze kept getting tossed. She stayed as calm as she could. After almost two hours, they finally got it under control. She ended up with over 100 internal stitches and had lost 1.5 liters of blood. She thought if she had been at home, she might not have made it. Recovery was slow and painful. She couldn’t take care of the baby. Her husband did everything. He changed diapers. He held the baby. He fed her. He helped with breastfeeding. He carried her to the bathroom. He carried the baby to her. He did everything. Just walking to the bathroom made her heart race. The doctor said her blood would take about three months to recover. The stitches might take even longer. No one knew why it had happened. She hadn’t torn on the outside.
She had moments of fear. Moments where she wondered if she would ever hold her baby without help. Moments where she wanted to cry but couldn’t. Moments where she looked at her husband and felt relief that he was there. Moments where she watched the baby and felt a wave of love she couldn’t put into words. Even with all that, they were okay. She was healing slowly. She was struggling to take it easy. The baby was healthy. Latching had its problems, but that was something they could figure out later. She thought her husband was incredible. She felt lucky. She felt full. She felt blessed. She was alive. She was with her husband and her daughter.
She loved life more than ever. Although She was tired and was in pain but she was grateful. She remembered the fear in the delivery room,the blood. She remembered thinking she might die. She remembered hearing the doctors say they couldn’t stop the bleeding, the IVs, the shouting, that chaotic senerio. She remembered everything. The forced smiles, the tears, her baby being taken away, her husband holding their child. Everything. Her staying calm because she had to.
What she thought about next was healing, getting stronger, and learning how to care for her baby. She thought about feeding her, holding her, and just being there. She knew how close she had come to losing everything, and that made her see life differently. She felt thankful for her husband’s strength and for the chance to hold her baby safely again. After all that had happened, they were okay. She was alive. Her baby was alive. Her husband was with her. They were healing together. She was learning to slow down, to accept help, and to be a mother in a hard situation. More than anything, she was learning to be thankful and to love in a new, deeper way.
