After a completely normal pre-op and receiving my spinal, my doctor, assisted by another OB, began the section. Once they had cut through the skin, they realized that there was a problem. There was clear fluid in the peritoneal space where there should not have been fluid. They quickly saw why: my uterus had ruptured (they believe it happened while I was on the OR table) and Eliza was outside in the area of my bladder. I heard my doctor say, "Get the NICU" in a tone of voice a parent never wants to hear when delivering a baby. Thankfully, Eliza was delivered quickly by the skilled hands of my doctor and her silence was replaced by a weak cry that grew stronger and stronger. Once it was determined that Eliza was out of danger my doctor looked around the sheet to tell me that my uterus had ruptured, that I should not do this again, and to please reconsider tying my tubes right then. Marc and I looked at each other and knew that this was the course we needed to take. The sewing me back together then began. It took much longer than any other of my previous two sections as the doctors worked to repair my uterus, tie my tubes, and sew the rest of me back together. Finally, I was in the recovery room with Marc and Eliza. My nurse was vigilantly watching over me while I was able to cuddle with our sweet little girl.
My nurse turned out to be a guardian angel. She began to notice that something was not quite right with my coloring and there seemed to be more bleeding than is considered normal. When she knew that something was not "quite right" with me she called my doctor back to come and look at me. When he came in and saw the amount of bleeding that I was having his face turned a funny shade of white and he informed Marc and I that I would need a hysterectomy right then. There was a flurry of paperwork, Eliza was whisked away to the nursery and I made a weak attempt to call my friends who were taking care of our children to let them know that there was a change in plans for the evening. (I had planned almost every moment of the day and had thought that our older three children would be able to come visit Eliza and me that evening. It's almost amusing the way we make plans in life and then life happens and changes our plans!) I also called my parents to tell them what was going to happen, but by the time I began talking to them I was in a strange sort of delirium and things begin to get sketchy from there. I do remember being wheeled downstairs to another OR and then asking if I would have to have a tube placed down my throat. The last thing I remember was the black mask coming to cover my face. During my emergent hysterectomy my doctor knew something was wrong. He said that everything he would touch inside of my body would either bleed or bruise. I had to receive blood transfusions during my surgery and during recovery (a total of 14 units) as well as plasma, and platelets because of the severity of what was occurring in my body. To the best of my doctors' knowledge, when my uterus ruptured, fluid from my uterus entered my bloodstream which caused my blood to start to attack the foreign "invader." This sent my body into a condition known as DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation). (To read more about amniotic fluid embolism, AFE, visit http://afefund.com/background.htm and to read about DIC, visit http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000573.htm). The hysterectomy took several hours during which time Dr. Hennessey called Marc from the OR to tell him that things were not going well. When Dr. Hennessey realized he could do nothing more for me, he decided to insert two separate drain lines into my abdomen, close me up and pray for the best even though he did not believe that I would survive. About an hour after my surgery the doctors informed Marc that I had about fifteen more minutes before I would die. I cannot imagine what he felt in that moment. Dr. Hennessey spent the night in the hospital in order to monitor my condition. Marc and his boss gave me another blessing following the surgery and many prayers were offered on my behalf. After my hemoglobin levels dropped dangerously low and the doctors waited for my body to begin bleeding out, a miracle happened. I don't know how it happened, but that seems to be the nature of God's miracles. I remember waking up in the ICU intermittently hearing Marc talking to me, then my mom and dad. My brother came, followed by my in-laws and some of my dearest friends. I would wake up to doctors and nurses performing various tests and taking different readings on my condition. I would also wake up to vivid thoughts of family, my future and God. Those two days in the ICU were spiritual as I prayed and was prayed over. It was a surreal experience to simply lie there unable to move and barely able to communicate.
When the time finally came to leave the ICU, I was scared to have to learn how to move on my own again. The ride from the first floor to the second floor postpartum section was rough, but at long last I was able to hold my darling baby and be with our other children as well.
It has been a long road to recovery, but I am beating the doctors' predictions. I know it is due to the faith and prayers of my family and friends. Miracles are real. They are wrought by faith in Jesus Christ. I feel that everyone who was involved in my care, or who prayed or fasted for me has a stake in this miracle. I don't know that I fully understand why I was blessed with this miracle, but I do know that my heart overflows with gratitude for it every time I look at my husband and children. I know that heaven must be a wonderful place, and I would love to be with my Father in Heaven, but I could not bear to leave my family here. I have a feeling that I pleaded with Father to allow me to stay here and I am so thankful he answered that prayer.
