Our birth story should have stopped here. We had so much to be thankful for! God blessed us with two beautiful and healthy children despite their early arrival! However, it did not end here. Today, after recovering from a mini panic attack seven and half months postpartum, I think it’s time I move into action. I am coming back to something I love that is ALL ME. It has been ME since before marriage, before kids, before a career in education. I am writing. I am writing because it soothes my soul and because I need to get everything out. I need to address my trauma in the face, call it what it is, a big ugly, scary thing that happened to me. I call this second half of the story, “Part Two: My Postpartum Story.”
A couple days before Christmas I was alone with Skye. K.C. was napping and Kenny was out running Christmas errands. I was nursing her in the chair in her room, when I stood up and felt something wasn’t right. I set her down in the crib and went to the bathroom. I had passed two large blood clots. I immediately felt queasy and weak at seeing that. I cleaned myself up and called the advice nurse. She advised for us to go to the emergency room. We called my mom to come over and watch the kids and Kenny took me in. An ultrasound showed what they called “remnants of conception” or “retained placenta.” My examination showed my cervix was closed and I was told that the body may just get rid of it on its own or it may just be scar tissue from my “stubborn placenta.” There was no immediate concern, although there was some talk of a D&C. They advised a follow-up appointment with an OB if I continued to bleed and sent me home.
My bleeding slowed and I felt myself improve, so I did not schedule a follow-up. We celebrated Christmas and I thought nothing of it. I tried to take it easy, rest, drink plenty of fluids, and not strain myself so my body could heal. We invited my parents over for New Years Eve dinner. Steak and lobster. As we were sitting down for dinner, Skye was hungry, so I went into the other room to nurse her as everyone ate. I returned to the table, feeling a crampy pain in my lower back. Almost as soon as I sat down, I felt the cramp release, and felt fluid. I handed Skye over to my husband, thinking I should go to the restroom, but as soon as that thought came, blood was spilling. I was hemorrhaging. I felt sick and dizzy. My vision blurred and I thought I might faint. Kenny ran to get paper towels and I remember telling him we needed actual towels. I do not remember everything. I did not know what everyone was doing. I did not know who was holding Skye or if K.C. was still at the table, seeing his mommy bleed. Towels were laid on the ground and I was helped down to the floor. My dad called 911. It seemed like forever, but probably only minutes. Paramedics arrived. I could still feel myself actively bleeding. I was praying fiercely that I would be OK. That everyone would be OK. That my kids would be OK. That I would be OK. I was scared that I was bleeding out. I kept my knees up as if to stop the bleeding. The paramedics kept poking me, trying to find a viable vein. I knew only one easy vein in the elbow of my right arm. I mustered up strength to tell them to put the IV port there. I was tired of them poking me! I just wanted to get to the hospital!
Finally we were on the way. I was loaded up on the stretcher. I could barely turn my head to look around me, I was so weak. As we were wheeling out the door, I looked to see my mom standing in the hall, holding K.C. This image seemed to burn its self in my mind. I was scared. I didn’t want K.C. to be scared. I was wondering about Skye. Was she ok? The ambulance ride was a blur. They were checking my vitals every couple minutes. I continued to pray. I was in a fog. My legs were shaking with shock and weakness. When we finally reached the ER, I was wheeled outside. I could feel the cold winter night.
While in the ER I was examined twice by different doctors, an ER doctor and an OB doctor. I had an ultrasound. “Retained placenta” was the diagnosis. Blood tests were done. My blood count was still within normal range. The doctor talked to me about a D&C and also told me I could “stand to bleed more” and suggested a medication that can also help my body rid itself of the tissue. After awhile the bleeding slowed. Fluids helped me regain some strength and color in my cheeks. They felt fine letting us go home, with a follow-up appointments scheduled the next week. I prayed some more, thanking God that I was safe, and praying that this would resolve itself. The D&C scared me. I was happy to be home by the time the Ball dropped at midnight. I was exhausted and anxious. It was four weeks postpartum by this point.
My follow-up appointment that Tuesday, I met with a doctor. We thought the natural progression would be to try the medication first. I was prescribed 48 hours of medication and scheduled a follow-up afterward. I was so nervous taking that medication. I was scared it would cause another hemorrhage. I didn’t know what to expect. Over the next 48 hours I had light cramping and some bleeding, but no big event like I thought I would have. At my follow-up appointment the new ultrasound showed an increased amount of bleeding in my uterus and a sure sign that tissue remained. My only option at this point was to get a D&C. I was so anxious about this option and scared, because I didn’t know what to expect. I knew women who had the procedure done. I knew it was routine. Yet it still scared me. I scheduled to have it done in clinic the next day, Friday, January 5th. I was so anxious and couldn’t wait to have this all behind me.
The next morning, the day of my procedure, as I was cooking breakfast, I received a call from Dr. Ann Staneck. An OB I had not met before, but worked in the same clinic as the other OBs I had been seeing. She was intervening, and after speaking to the OB who was going to do the procedure, felt it would be best if I came into surgery. Four weeks postpartum was a long time to have retained placenta and she felt the D&C should be done in surgery. It would be safer and they could have an ultrasound available while the procedure was being done to make sure everything was removed. I had not ate breakfast yet and it was agreed I should come in right away.
I was so nervous. I had only been put under anesthesia once, when I got my wisdom teeth out. I didn’t know what to expect. I was told it was a 15-30 minute procedure and I would be able to go home that day, then all of this would be behind me. We all prayed before we left. My mom and dad stepped in to help with the kids and Kenny and I headed to the hospital.
The 15-30 minute procedure turned into a two-hour procedure, where I lost two units of blood. It turned out that the retained placenta was really sticking to my uterus and each time some was removed I would bleed. It took two hours for all of it to be removed and for my bleeding to be under control. When I finally woke up in recovery I was told that I would have to stay overnight. I cried, upset that the surgery had complications, worried that not all of it had been removed, and sad that I would have to spend the night in the hospital away from my kids.
The next few hours I did not feel well. I felt weak. I felt tired. I felt anxious. I felt depressed. I wanted to go home. I did not want to be in the hospital. I was not planning on being in the hospital. I didn’t have anything with me. My breasts were engorged and painful, because they still hadn’t delivered a pump to my room. We ordered some soup, but I was too weak to lift the spoon. Kenny helped me take a couple sips, but I immediately felt ill, like I was going to pass out. My blood pressure dropped to dangerous levels and Kenny ran out of the room to find a nurse. A nurse rushed in, calling my nurse and Dr. Staneck. They lowered the bed and elevated my feet so the blood could rush back to my head. The nurse placed a cool washcloth on my eyes as they tried to steady my blood pressure. I did not see Dr. Staneck when she came in, the washcloth still over my eyes. She told me that I was going to need a blood transfusion and that it was a good thing I was staying overnight. Overnight I had a couple bags of blood and a couple bags of fluid. I steadily regained my strength, although I still felt very weak. We eventually got a breast pump and Kenny tirelessly helped me every three hours. I sadly watched when Kenny dumped the milk down the drain after each session. It was a long night.
I spoke with Dr. Staneck before we were discharged. She assured me she got everything, although I was left with anxiety and doubt. I was still bleeding and she told me that I may still bleed for another couple of weeks as I heal. I was only a week or so out from my six weeks postpartum appointment, where I would follow-up with my OB, Dr. Murphy. I just wanted all of this behind me. I spoke with another OB before we left and he prescribed me three months of iron supplements, because I was now anemic. When we were finally discharged, I was wheeled out in a wheelchair. I was still so weak and tired, but happy to be going home to my babies.
The next day I celebrated my 32ndbirthday in bed. My mom and K.C. baked me a birthday cake. Kenny ran out and got me sushi (which I hadn’t had since we found out we were pregnant) and popped a bottle of bubbly. I watched “The Crown” in bed, napped, and nursed my daughter. Anemia really takes a toll on your milk supply and I diligently nursed her to bring my supply back up.
The days following were spent mostly in bed or on the couch. I continued to struggle with anxiety every day. I knew I was now in full-fledged postpartum anxiety and depression. I was so hoping to avoid this this time around. Our whole house felt it. My mom organized dinners and prayers through the church as I continued to heal. Kenny was back at work and my mom tirelessly took off time to help me with the kids. When she went back to work, she helped get K.C. off to daycare, leaving me alone with Skye.
At my six weeks postpartum appointment, Dr. Murphy gave my condition a name: placenta accreta. I asked why it was never detected on an ultrasound before birth and he told me it is a condition that can be difficult to detect. There are varying degrees of placenta accreta, depending on how far the placenta grows into the uterus. Although it is still somewhat rare, 1 in 2500 pregnancies, I’m surprised that with our advanced technologies in ultrasound, doctors still struggle to diagnosis this. I am still left with questions, such as why was I not given a more thorough exam or given an ultrasound after delivering a “stubborn” placenta? Why only a certain amount of blood post-delivery would cause further examinations? I lost quite a bit of blood at delivery, but not enough for the doctor to be concerned enough to do something? Shouldn’t any significant blood loss be enough to conduct an ultrasound or exam to see if any placenta remained? Although I may not have answers to these questions and if I could go back in time, or if we have another baby, I may advocate for this. I did not know at the time that I would go through these events following the birth of Skye. How could I know? I trusted my doctor. I saw myself healing normally, until I wasn’t and hemorrhaged. With placenta accreta my body was doing what it was supposed to. It was bleeding to get rid of the retained tissue. It wasn’t supposed to be there. God intervened and I was called into surgery instead of having the D&C done in clinic, where I could have the procedure done safely. It was good that I stayed over night so I could receive a transfusion, even if I didn’t want to be there. God was looking after me. It was not my time. He was keeping me safe. I know if I had lived 100 years ago this story would have ended differently. I would have become a statistic of female mortality. Thank goodness for modern medicine and my team of doctors!
This postpartum trauma has had a toll on me. I am left still dealing with postpartum anxiety and depression. I am left with PTSD and navigating this new life post-postpartum trauma. I am doing what I can to get well, seeing a counselor, eating well, using essential oils, breathing techniques, prayer—a lot of prayer—and loving on my babies and counting our blessings. I still have a long road ahead, but when I look at the faces of my sweet babies, I know I would do this all over, just to have them. I strongly believe everything in life has a reason. God’s plan is better than my plan. Although I don’t know His plan yet, I hope one day I will. And if I could be an advocate for women who have dealt with trauma around childbirth and pregnancy, I hope I can be there as a sympathetic and compassionate ear.
Skye Lynn’s birth was beautiful and I look back at how strong I felt in delivering her without an epidural. When I look back at this time, I hope that will be the most vivid memory, and not of the traumatic events that followed. Only time heals. I pray that one day the rest will fade and the pictures of her birth will still be the brightest light.
Along the Strand 