Think happy thoughts...

Wave after wave of contractions washed over me. In between faded cold moments on the stretcher, the blinding pain radiating from my pregnant belly pulled me back into the present in a violent scream. As my whole body arched against the restrains tying me down onto the stretcher, I remember vaguely being impressed at my body's strength and mobility despite being so swollen with pregnancy. I was going into labor; a part of me was very excited about the thought. Today is going to be my son's birthday. But...is he still alive? Oh God, please let him still be alive!--Another wave of pain.--I think the EMT next to me was stroking my arm and holding my hand. "Have you felt the baby kick since this all started?" she asked me, practically reading my mind. I desperately tried to focus in on my stomach. C'mon, Hayden. Give mommy a sign. Kick me now, please! Nothing. I looked at the EMT through watery eyes. "I don't know." I admitted. "I thought I felt him move earlier, but right now...."--Another wave of pain.--"...it's hard for me to tell with all these contractions!" The EMT gave me a grave nod. I remember secretly being angry at her for not giving me a more comforting response. But considering my past experience with bad news in regards to pregnancy and loss, I'm not sure I would've appreciated false hope either.

No matter how hard I try, I honestly don't remember much more of the ambulance ride. With all my blood loss, it is very possible I was fading in and out of consciousness. My doctor later said there was a good chance I was awake for it all but that I was suffering from slight memory loss as a result of the anesthesia they gave me before surgery and the trauma I went through. From what I can remember, the ride felt like it was maybe five minutes long at best. One second we were leaving my neighborhood, and the next, after several seemingly endless questions and contractions along the way, we were pulling into the hospital.

"We are here." they announced as they pulled me, stretcher and all, out of the ambulance.
"Already?" I chuckled.--I felt vaguely embarrassed for laughing. Clearly it was neither the time nor the place. But I couldn't help it. I needed something to smile about, if even for a brief and ridiculous moment.--Maybe they were walking quickly, or maybe they were jogging. It felt like we came flying through the hallways to the OR. As we burst through the front doors I remember seeing another pregnant couple standing nearby as we entered. In a flash, I could see the look of terror on the poor woman's face. Here she was, probably there to deliver her baby, and in comes me: a pregnant woman, covered in blood, screaming and arching in pain, as a group of EMTs rush me off. The woman protectively held her belly as if to thwart off whatever evil came with my presence. I wanted to shout out words of reassurance to her, to let her know my situation was unique and wouldn't befall on her and her baby. (It's almost impossible to think that, I was inches away from dying and here I was feeling guilty for scaring the other moms in the lobby.) But before I could even muster a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, I was already back in the OR.

I couldn't tell you what the room looked like. All I could see was an endless hive of faceless doctors and nurses swarming around me. Heating blankets were draped over me, bright lights flooded my vision, and there were questions. So many questions. Do you have any allergies? How far along are you? You had a cerclage removed today? Why did you have a cerclage put in place? How far along was the pregnancy when you had the cerclage put in? Who is your normal doctor? How old are you?.... My head was swimming. Seven, eight...ten different masked faces asking me questions all at once. I struggled to answer them, struggled to hear them, struggled not to give in to the desperate need for sleep and the overwhelming pain that surged through me. So many questions! How am I supposed to answer them when they are all talking to me at once? I looked down at all the needles and wires being plugged into my skin. They apologized for the pain it caused me, but I had felt nothing. Should I have felt something? "We are able to get a strong heartbeat from your baby, so he is doing fine." someone informed me. "But he will have to come out as soon as possible." I nodded in agreement. Thank God Hayden is okay! He is alive! He's going to be okay! I was overcome with relief.

"Okay Ma'am, we need to see how dilated you are," a faceless figure hovered around my legs as several of her masked helpers pulled my pants off. I winced in embarrassment as they stripped me of my underwear. I could feel the weighted resistance of the blood soaked material as they slid it down my legs. I looked away, feeling vulnerable and ashamed. Don't be embarrassed. They are doctors. This is their job. You've had lots of doctors look down there during pregnancy. They have to do this. It's for the baby. As they spread my legs, there was no hesitation as the doctor thrust her hand inside me. It was the worst pain I had felt yet. Rejecting the presence of her hand pushing deeper and deeper into my loins, my entire body arched off of the bed as I let out a shrill scream, tears pouring down the sides of my face, pooling into my ears. Her expression was one of determination and frustration. "I can't feel how dilated you are. There is too much clotting getting in the way." As I lay there trembling all over, I asked her in a feeble voice, "will I be able to deliver my baby vaginally? I really wanted to try for a VBAC." Her gaze never left my genitals. "There is no way to tell how dilated you are. I can try and check once more, but with the amount of blood loss going on here, I don't think it will be possible." Before I could consent to it, she was already thrusting her hand back inside me, deeper than before as she pressed down on my pelvic bone, causing more pain that even before. Again I screamed aloud, pleading for her to stop as several doctors tried to hold my body still. As I was being violated and restrained, the masked woman sat there shaking her head. "This will have to be done via cesarean." My breath came in as sharp gasps as I tried to calm down the searing pain that was left radiating through my body. My dreams of having a vaginal delivery, all the hard work and research I had put in to ensuring a VBAC went out the window. But in that moment, I didn't care. I was going to do whatever was necessary to save my baby. "Okay," I choked out. I realized then that a nurse was holding my hand. I looked at her through all the chaos around me. "It'll be okay, sweetie." She assured me. "You and your baby are going to be just fine." All I could do was nod but I was so grateful for at least one human among all of the faceless masks. But the moment of connection was briefly swept away as another masked man came hovering into view. "Okay." he said, "We will be doing this by cesarean section and we have to do it now."

I didn't panic when I had blood pouring down my legs. I was calm when I said goodbye to my husband and my son. I never once feared for my life on the way to the hospital and even when I arrived at the OR. But with this one word: "now," panic set in.

"Now? As in right now?" I asked him.
"Yes."
"But my husband was following the ambulance. He should be here any second. Can't we wait for him to be here?"
The masked man looked impatient. "No." he warned. "And because you have lost so much blood, we have to put you to sleep for the procedure."
I was consumed with fear now. "Knock me out? You mean, I won't be awake for it?"
He nodded gravely.
"No! No, I have to be awake for the birth of my son! Please don't put me to sleep! Please!" Tears silently fell without me blinking. My eyes frantically darted around in desperation, searching for some answers.
The masked man's expression softened in sympathy. "You've lost too much blood. At this point, we can't give you anything for the pain because you simply don't have enough blood in you for it to work. The only way we can spare you from feeling it all is by putting you to sleep for the surgery. And it has to happen right now." His last words were stern.
"But my husband! I need him to be here!"
He shook his head again. "Is your other child with him?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Than he cannot come back here until someone else can come watch your child."
In that moment I was mad that Andy was with Joe. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to go into labor and Andy was supposed to be with his grandparents when it happened. I felt bad for being mad about Andy's presence because I wanted so desperately to be with him. But I needed my husband there with me. I needed him to hold my hand as I drifted to sleep so I would know everything would be okay.
The doctor walked away to prep for the surgery leaving me to cry out my protests into the nothingness between us. "Please! Don't do this! Can't we give my husband at least another minute? I don't want to be alone!..." I looked from face to face for an answer as I whispered to myself, "I don't want to be alone." But I was left with the cold reality: I was about to be put under for surgery and I had no loved ones there to support me. I still had no idea why I was bleeding out. And I was about to miss the birth of my son.

The masked man returned with an oxygen mask and placed it over my face. "This is going to help you go to sleep. I want you to take deep breaths and think happy thoughts." he instructed. Okay...think happy thoughts...Joe. I'm in Joe's arms. He is holding me and dancing with me.... I started to feel my body relax. Everything will be okay. I will wake up and see my new baby and Andy and Joe...Joe...you are my happy thought. I love you Joebear!.... My body felt fuzzy and heavy. Okay it's happening now. I'm going to go to sleep.

But I didn't go to sleep.

A sudden weight was crushing down on my chest and panic set in. I couldn't breath. My eyes darted up to the doctor as I began to claw at the mask. "I can't..." I tried to take a breath but failed. "I..." Pointing at the mask, I struggled to tell the doctor that I couldn't breath, but he just smiled and nodded. "It's okay." he assured me as several doctors pinned me down. I thrashed as hard as I could against them, trying to pull off the mask, their fingers digging into my skin as they held me against the bed. Oh God! I can't breath! Why can't I breath? Am I having a reaction to the sedation? I can't breath! Why won't they help me? Why don't they understand? Oh God, I have to breath!....I can't...I need to....oh God!...What if I die?...Am I dying?....Is this what dying feels like?....I need to breath!....

And suddenly the whole world went dark.

Seven Years Later...

October 15, 2013

Thirty seven weeks. I had made it! After yet another long and scary pregnancy, I had finally made it to the day of my cerclage removal. From this point on, I could safely deliver my baby without the worry of miscarriage. The threat of my incompetent cervix was gone. From this day on I would be like every other pregnant mother out there, waiting with baited breath for the early signs of labor.

This wasn't the first time I had had a cerclage removal. In the previous pregnancy I went to the doctor's not really knowing what to expect. I remember it being more painful than I had anticipated. Since the removal of a cerclage is typically a quick and easy procedure, it is done at the doctor's office without the need for any pain medication. But since my cerclage had been placed as a "preventative" cerclage, it had more time for the skin of my cervix to grow partially around it. So upon removing the cerclage, there was some cramping, lots of pain, and a little spotting in the day to follow. I am still surprised I made it through the removal without any sort of pain intervention. After gripping for dear life onto the edge of the medical bed and screaming out a few choice words, I had made it through the entire removal in less than ten minutes. With that being my first cerclage, I thought for sure the baby was going to come out in a matter of days. But as I reached 40+ weeks, I came to realize that removing the cerclage wasn't exactly like opening the floodgates as I had expected.

This time, I was prepared. I knew it was going to be painful having the cerclage removed. I knew that I had to get through it if I wanted to have the best chance for a VBAC.--My Obgyn had tried to convince me to schedule a repeat c-section and have the cerclage removed in the process. But I was determined to have that VBAC. I knew what my body was capable of, and all the signs in my body had so far pointed to my chances being really good.--As I walked into the doctor's office I was coming in as a veteran of the procedure and I was bracing for impact.

This time my husband couldn't come back with me. Since we knew the cerclage removal was going to be painful, we chose to have my husband stay with our son in the waiting room so our little guy wouldn't have to see me in so much pain. It was weird to go without him, but I wasn't scared. I knew what I was there for. The doctor had me undress from the waist down and sit back on the bed, my feet spread wide up in stirrups. It was an awkward position I had grown accustom to with all the extra monitoring my pregnancies required. As the procedure began, I once again felt the pain of the cerclage breaking loose from my cervix. I tried my best to gain a grip on my pain, breathing deeply and trying desperately to focus on the relaxing little twinkling star-lights they had in the ceiling. But as the doctor continued to pull and tug on the cerclage, the pain radiating from my loins deep into my stomach and I felt my control slipping away. The pain consumed me. With gritted teeth, I wiped away a few frustrated tears. I wanted to go without drugs, do the "healthy mommy" thing, but the pain was too much. Why couldn't I get through the pain this time? I must have become soft over the years. (It's odd but I have always been a bit proud of my high pain tolerance.) The doctor gave me a shot of local numbing so I could make it through the rest of the removal. As he began the procedure again, I felt pressure but not pain and I was grateful for it.

When all was said and done, I watched as the doctor and nurse gathered up the tools that still glistened with blood. I remember there being a good amount of blood with the previous removal but it didn't bother me. I have never been one to get squeamish around blood. "I'm sorry that was so rough compared to the last time." The doctor said as he stood from his stool. "The skin on your cervix had grown around the cerclage and when I went to remove it, a small pearl size chunk of the skin came off with the cerclage. Now, I've applied a clotting ointment on that spot and it seems to be doing the trick. But I want you to stick around for the next half hour for some additional monitoring to make sure everything is holding up well." I agreed and followed the nurse to another room where they hooked me up to heart monitors for me and the baby. I wasn't worried in the slightest. Some skin had come off last time, albeit not as much, but it didn't seem to be a major deal. Even as I popped into the bathroom right after the removal, I noticed I had little to no bleeding whatsoever. In fact, it was less bleeding than the previous time I had a cerclage removed.

A half an hour passed and everything was fine. Both the baby and I had healthy heart rates, I was hardly bleeding at all, and on the whole I felt good. The doctor apologized again for "maiming"  my cervix, but he felt confident that he had stopped the bleeding and everything seemed to be holding up strong. I was cleared to go home.

This was it! I was flying fancy free. Without the cerclage anymore, the baby could come at any minute and the anticipation was thrilling. It took everything within me not to go hiking off into the horizon on a mad trek to induce labor. But I knew, after just having the cerclage removed, it would be best if I took it easy at least for the day. Gearing up for a lazy day, I propped my son up on my lap, sat back in our cozy computer chair, and started up some cartoons for us to watch together.

Three hours past and my butt couldn't stand it anymore. I had to stand up and stretch. My husband had gone grocery shopping so I waddled around the kitchen helping him put away the food. It was all so ordinary, so mundane. But when I think back at that moment in the kitchen, as we were moving about in the humdrum activities of everyday living, I am amazed at how still and simple everything was before disaster took place. The calm before the storm I suppose.

I hate to say it out loud, let alone commit it to writing but, all the drama began while I was sitting on the toilet....

Thanks to the weight of the pregnancy pushing down on my bladder, I had to go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time that day. As I finished up my business, I noticed that I was still trickling. It's important to know that, in the previous pregnancy, my water broke right after going pee, which made it hard to tell if I was just having the worlds most unsatisfying pee or if my water had actually broke. All I remember was it feeling like a small gush followed by a small trickle. So as I sat there, once again, pregnant and on the toilet, I felt the familiar gush and trickle. Since there is no modesty in our house, I excitedly called my husband over to the bathroom. "Do you hear that?" I asked him. He stood in the doorway looking confused. "I'm leaking!" I said with excitement. "I think my water just broke!" He gave me an incredulous smile. "You've got to be shitting me!" he chuckled. I squealed with excitement. "We better go finish packing our hospital bag!" I said while reaching for the toilet paper. But as I stood up from the toilet, I looked back before flushing and was shocked to see the bowl filled with blood. I wiped again to check. Nothing but blood. I looked up at my husband who stood frozen in the doorway. "That's a lot of blood." he said in a near whisper. "Yeah," I agreed, "that's not right." I asked my husband to get me a feminine pad since they were in the other bathroom across the house. As he went to retrieve one, I sat back down and could hear the continual trickle of blood.

After putting on a pad, I began to walk to the bedroom still with the intent on packing up a hospital bag. With that much blood loss, I wanted to go to the hospital either way to figure out what was going on. I didn't even get halfway across the house before I felt a sudden gush between my legs. I was losing more blood. With each step I felt another gush, and another. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the other bathroom attached to our bedroom. My husband was busy working on packing the hospital bag when he looked up at me, concern and panic etched into his face. "What's wrong?" he demanded.
"I keep getting large gushes of blood coming out." I said as I made my way to the toilet. As I peeled off my pants, I could see that the blood had not only overflown the pad, but had saturated through my pants as well. In a daze, I tossed them next to the tub and set to work on putting on fresh clean underwear, a pad, and pants. I stood again to go help my husband pack, but as soon as I stood up I could feel the blood pouring down my legs. "Joe!" I called from the bathroom, "We need to call 911!" In a blur, my husband dashed off to get his phone.

I remember feeling concerned and yet unusually calm. Obviously something was wrong, but I had confidence that the doctors could help me. But in that moment, the only thing I could focus on was making sure that the baby was safe. I had felt him moving just before, so he was at least still alive....he was alive. I had to keep repeating it to myself. I couldn't lose another son. My heart was not strong enough to go through that again. But I knew that panicking was not going to help the situation. I just have to get to the hospital and the doctors can make sure my baby is safe. He's 37 weeks now. If he's born today he will survive. With shaking hands, I set to work on putting on another pad, this time not even bothering to change my blood-soaked clothes. Joe is calling 911. They will be here soon. They will know what we need to do. I just have to get to the hospital. The door to the bathroom opened and my breath caught in my throat. There, standing right in front of me, was my two year old son. "Mommy? Happened? Hey, dis?" he asked, pointing to the pad. Oh God, he should not be seeing this! I took a deep breath and put on my best smile. "It's okay, Sweet Pea." I said in as happy of a voice as I could muster. "This is called a pad. It's like a big band-aid." He looked at me so innocently. "Mommy owie?" I have to get him out of here! He really shouldn't be seeing this! "Yes, Mommy has an owie. But that's okay. I'm going to go see the doctor and they'll help me feel so much better. Now why don't you go back out to the living-room and finish watching your cartoons, okay?" He lingered for a moment, looking at me confused. At that moment, my husband came in to the room with the phone. "It's 911." he said, "they want to talk to you." He handed me the phone and gently took my son by the hand. "C'mon, Andy." he said with a smile. "Let's go start another show for you."--We both knew we had to be as calm as possible for our son.

"Hello?" My voice sounded tired.
"Hello. Is this Jennifer Belousek?"
"Yes."
"We have paramedics on the way now. While we wait, why don't you tell me what's going on." The lady on the phone sounded so casual and friendly. As I began to explain the situation to her, my eyes drifted over to the mirror next to me as I still sat on the toilet, blood trickling out of me. I was ghostly white, my eyes looked tired and sunken in, my head felt fuzzy.
"Okay, Jennifer? I need you get off of the toilet and go lay down on the bed. It is important that we have you lay back so gravity won't keep working against you."
"Okay." I stood up, pulling my blood soaked pants up with me. Instantly the room began to spin.
"Keep talking to me." Her sing-song voice suddenly sounded stern. "Tell me how you are feeling."
"Feeling?" I staggered toward the bed. "I feel really dizzy." I caught another glimpse of my colorless reflection. "I look freakishly pale." I mumbled.
At my request, my husband laid a towel down on the bed. I didn't want to get blood on the sheets.--In retrospect, it seems ridiculous that I would even worry about that in the middle of it all.--I eased myself onto the bed and handed the phone back to my husband.
"Keep talking to me, Tiny." my husband was nearby. I'm not sure where exactly. I remember hearing his voice. Either the room was going black, or I kept closing my eyes. But I remember him insisting that I keep talking to him. I don't even know what it was we talked about. In that moment I felt so cold, so dizzy, so tired. I'm in bed anyway. Maybe I can just doze a little while I wait for the paramedics. I could hear my son asking about me. No. I should stay awake. In the movies they always tell the injured person to stay awake... My husband tried to get Andy to leave the room. I think I can hear sirens. My husband scooped my son into his arms. "It's okay." I heard him say. "They're here to help mommy."
The paramedics came into the room and asked me to explain the situation to them. Don't they already know the situation? I thought. Why do I keep having to re-tell it? I stare off at the bassinet next to our bed. That's the baby's bed...I hope he's okay...I need him to be okay... They were taking my vitals as my husband stood at the foot of the bed, my son still in his arms hugging around my husband's neck. 
"Well," one of the medics said, "We have to take you to Evergreen Hospital right now." I looked up at him confused. "But we registered to deliver at Overlake Hospital." I explained. The man shook his head. "You don't have enough time. Evergreen is closer. We have to take you there right now." I glanced up at my husband. He was poised and ready for action.

It almost seemed like a dream as I watched them move the bassinet to the corner of the room to make way for the stretcher. I vaguely remember silently praying that wasn't a bad sign. Blood-soaked towel and all, they helped slide me onto the stretcher and started for the door. I don't know if they really paused for a moment for me to say goodbye, or if in my hazy memory I remember time moving slowly, but as I left the room, I stretched my hand out towards my husband and my son. They both looked nearly vacant. "It's okay, Andy." I called to my son, "Mommy is just going to the doctor's. I'll see you guys really soon, okay? I love you!"--Later I realized I was so focused on keeping my son calm that I didn't even know if I had really said goodbye to my husband as I left. I felt horrible about that.

It was odd leaving the house on my back. When you spend every day walking in and out of your home, it just feels weird going through the doorway laying down. Even more-so when you have a team of people carrying you down the front steps. Carefully they carried me to the ambulance and secured me inside. I could vaguely hear my husband's voice off in the distance before they closed the door. Suddenly I was alone. Of course, there were paramedics there with me. But as I lay there on the stretcher, feeling the sting of needles pricking my skin as they tried several times to find any sign of a vein for the IV, I felt alone, ripped away from my family. I watched the houses in our neighborhood slip past the window above me as I lazily answered their questions. So many questions. Why do they keep bothering me with so many questions?... I wanted my husband there with me. I wanted to kiss my son, Andy, and tell him I was going to be okay. I wanted to know that my baby was safe and healthy. But as the cold exhausted ache began to turn to numbness, I wanted so badly to give in and close my eyes for just a moment to rest.

And then the first contraction hit me with full force.

***

From the Husband

I've told this story how many times now? Yet, reading it here has probably had the biggest impact. It was no longer my story to tell. I'd told it to various nurses, doctors, friends, family, social workers, etc. but I had always told it by myself, and from my perspective. 

Now, my wife and I had told each other the pieces that we missed of course but putting it down into written words makes it stand out all the more how different our experiences were. 

Up to the point of when she started losing blood that's about what happened. Those humdrum details are all fuzzy like peripheral vision; you know what's there, but can't quite make it out. It was apparent that she'd lost a lot of blood, enough to effect her memory even by the time the first set of medical personnel showed up.

Sirens blared and the ambulance parked in front of our car on the street. Two men came out with bags and gear and quickly came in and said hi to our son and asked, "Is she just in the bedroom" he gestured through doorway you could see my wife's feet. They went in and I followed behind at the door trying to keep my son focused on the computer and his shows. I prayed he wouldn't be too stubborn about strange people going into Mommy and Daddy's room and not being able to see Mommy. Unfortunately and fortunately, all he did was shrink into himself in his chair. He was scared. I was scared. The two EMTs (or paramedics? There's a difference one of them explained but I can't recall which is which) took her vitals and talked to her. She sounded like she just had a bad headache and just wasn't feeling well. That was it. She was fine. But blood. Lots of blood. She couldn't be fine. At this point I couldn't keep my son away so I held him and kept his head buried into my shoulder and neck.

More sirens blared and two more folks joined us along with a gurney. One was a tall husky woman and the other man just blended in with the other two. As soon as the woman got into the doorway her first words were spoken with commanding presence, "I don't like your color. Where are you delivering?" 

"Overlake." I don't remember if I responded, one of the other medical personnel, or if my wife spoke up to say it.

The woman gave the order, "Not today you're not. We're going to take you to Evergreen. They have great doctors. We've got to go." 

With that they set into motion getting her on the gurney. While they did that, I gathered up all of the bags a parent has and our hospital bag while holding my son. Wallet, keys, cell phone. I stood off to the side of the medical personnel as they wheeled her passed my son and I. She offered solace to our son with a beaming smile and a soft voice. We only caught eyes for a moment. We only had that moment to mouth "I love you" before she was ahead of me and couldn't look back. I couldn't speak the words that had come so effortlessly so many other times before. I could tell her energy was running low otherwise she would have said the words too. 

As they loaded her onto the ambulance, I had already thrown the bags into the trunk, gotten Andy into his car seat and was sitting in the driver seat with the car on. I couldn't go anywhere because the two ambulances had blocked my only route to move. I wanted to swear rampantly that I couldn't get to the hospital I knew she was going to. But I had to wait. Again. I always had to wait and do nothing while the worst moments of my life happened. I also couldn't swear because I had to explain things to my son and not worry him. 

The ambulances moved and I was behind them, but once they turned a corner and their sirens blared they were gone. My wife was gone and I didn't know how she was doing. I wasn't by her side and I couldn't be by her side. 

I had suddenly felt very much alone.

October 15 2006

October 15, 2006

It was our first date. I stood nervously in his dorm room looking at the art in his portfolio as he got ready for our late-night walk around the campus. (It was a casual enough proposal, a late-night walk, so that, in case I was unknowingly in the "friend zone", I could excuse it away as a non-romantic in-devour). As I skimmed my hands over the pages of art strewn across his bed, one of his suite mates walked in and began chatting away with him. Was he going to invite his friend along with us? If he did, I decided, it would mean I was in the "friend zone" for sure. But if he didn't, then perhaps, just maybe, he might be as attracted towards me as I was to him.
"Well," he said while slipping into his coat, "we are going to head out for a walk. I'll catch you later."
His friend nodded, shot me a knowing smile, and walked out of the room. He didn't invite his friend. I tried to hide the big goofy grin that threatened to expose my excitement.

The night air was abnormally warm--either that or I was too nervous to notice the chill in the air. We walked and talked for hours, skittish and bubbly in the way that people often are on a first date. It must have been obvious to anyone who walked past us. And as our walk came to an end, we looked for excuses to prolong the night together. We settled on watching a movie together in the commons room.

He sat close to me. Close enough that our shoulders were touching, even though the couch could easily sit five people. For what felt like hours, I sat there wondering if he was going to make a move. Should I be bold and put an arm on his leg? No. That might come across a little too friendly for a first date. What if I just take his hand and put his arm around my shoulders? That seems cute and innocent enough, right? But the date was still walking the perimeter of the dreaded "friend zone". One bold move could make or break the night. Just as I had settled on making my move, my twitchy hand about to reach for his, he very carefully slid his arm over my shoulder. My whole body shook with adrenaline as I tried to nonchalantly nestle into him. As my head rested on his chest, I could feel his whole body relax. He had successfully made his move. Goodbye "friend-zone".

On October 15 2006, my husband and I had our first date. Little did we know that on the exact same date, seven years later, I would almost lose my life.

The Nearly Departed

I nearly died. It still doesn't seem real when I say it. I nearly died and walked away completely unscathed. And because I walked away with nothing more than a cesarean scar and anemia to show for it, it feels like it wasn't a near death experience at all. How could I complain when I was up the very next day, walking the halls of the hospital, laughing, and holding on to my beautiful newborn baby? But when I saw the fear in the doctor's eyes, when I had nurses, doctors, and EMTs checking on me the next day just to make sure I had survived, when I saw the bag that contained my blood soaked clothes looming over me like a cold shadow in the corner of my hospital room; the reality of my "near death experience" seeped deep into every fiber of my being. The day I gave birth to my son, the reality of my experience gave birth to new fears and unforgettable life changes.

Being back home from the hospital felt strange--it was too normal. I had just experienced a life-changing event and my home showed no evidence of it. Where was the blood that soaked the bathroom toilets? Where were the pants I had frantically tossed aside when the blood had poured down my legs? How did the bed not get a single drop of blood on it? The crimson trail I had left behind me had been washed away and replaced with the clean glow of normalcy, a normalcy that left me feeling uncomfortable. But why? Of course I didn't expect, nor wanted, to see the horrific retelling of my experience. So why did it bother me to see it so carefully washed away. And who washed it away? My poor husband. How could he have handled such a terrible task when he nearly fainted once when I nicked myself while shaving? The thought of him moping up my blood left me sick to my stomach. "I tried to wash the blood out of your clothes." he said to me as I inspected the wet clothes crumpled on the bottom of the bathtub. They were still tinged with brown and smelt metallic. "I'm sorry I couldn't get all the blood off of them." My husband looked at me apologetically. A lump formed in my throat. How could he possibly be sorry? I assured him it was okay and that I was just going to throw them out. But after some hesitation, I kept the dark grey tank top since it showed the least amount of evidence. Only in the right lighting could you see the shadow of brown blood stained into the fabric. I'm not sure why I felt compelled to keep it. To this day it still makes me uncomfortable to wear it.--It is a bad omen.

Later that day I decided to take a shower. I had hoped that perhaps, in some way, I could wash away my discomfort. I needed a warm and comforting escape from my awkward feelings of displacement and from the sweaty film of postpartum. My body ached with exhaustion as I wrestled with my clothes, as if they were made of lead. But as my clothes fell to the floor, I stood for a moment staring blankly at the mirror. A stranger stared back at me. Her tired eyes lay deep into her pale skin. Even her freckles held little color to them. On her wrists and the inner crook of her elbows were bruises and puncture marks, evidence of multiple needles that had pierced her skin. On her left hip was a bruise that looked much like a finger print. There was a long cesarean incision just along her bikini line that was still held together by medical tape. Her privates were swollen and bruised. Her stomach hung low and deflated from a pregnancy now over. Who was this woman, this victim? It couldn't be me. I have always been too warm and feisty, too confident and alive to be this woman staring back at me. No words can truly describe the disassociation I felt with my own reflection, with my own body. But as I inspected the wounds on my skin, retracing a story I couldn't tell, I felt...ashamed. I couldn't explain where all the bruises and cuts came from. I didn't know how or why. I was unconscious for everything that had happened in the O.R. For the first time in my life, I looked at my own body and felt embarrassed and painfully vulnerable. My body had been touched and ransacked by strangers and, in that moment as I stood in my bathroom, I felt like I had been raped. But who did I have to blame? I couldn't be angry at the dozen of doctors and nurses who had saved me and my baby's lives. They were only doing what they had to do in that situation to keep us alive and for that, I thank them with all my heart. So then...why did I feel like I was raped?

It was never a sexual thing. Although it involved my privates, I knew that it was necessary given the circumstances. What left me feeling unsettled was the fact that I had no idea what happened in that O.R. As soon as I was knocked out, the rest became a mystery. I gathered some information here and there from the doctors after the fact. But on my body, a desperate story of ruthless survival was written in cuts and bruises. I felt dirty, used, worthless, defeated. I was the success story, the woman who survived, and yet...it only felt like a part of me had survived but another part of me was lost. There I stood in my bathroom staring at the scraps of my existence.

In the weeks to follow, my nights were filled with vicious nightmares laced with gore and feelings of helplessness. My days consisted of a strange mix of joyful bliss with my newborn baby, and the ache of hidden tears and I sobbed in the quiet moments in between. And at random moments I felt the need to take deep breaths as I relived the terrifying moment of suffocation I felt just before I blacked out in the O.R. from the sedative they gave me. I was told later by doctors that most people pass out before that feeling kicks in, or their mind mentally guards them from remembering such a traumatic moment. For some reason, knowing that made me feel stronger than the average person. Unlike most, I remembered. My body was able to hold on for that second longer. Yet that sliver of strength did not eliminate the extreme fear and claustrophobia I still feel when remembering the moment. That horrifying second as I gasped for breath, trying desperately to yell out that I couldn't breath as the doctors pinned me down to the bed, forcefully holding the oxygen mask to my face as I frantically clawed at it with my last bit of strength. The thought of it still leaves me feeling breathless. I can't see an oxygen mask now, even in a movie, without feeling that tight feeling in my chest.

One week exactly after giving birth to my son, I had to go to the dentist for a root canal. The timing of everything was brutal. They very carefully prepped my mouth, stretching a thin rubbery sheet over my mouth to isolate the one tooth. All the gear in my mouth forced me to breath through my nose. So they placed an oxygen tube in my nose to help me breath and "relax". And finally, they placed headphone over my ears so I could listen to relaxing music. For a minute the dentist left the room to gather the supplies for the job. And as I lay there with all these devices jammed into every hole on my head, I suddenly felt a wave of panic. Flashes of being pinned to the bed, unable to breath, came rushing into my mind. Only a week after the event, it all came so vividly. Immediately I began to attack the headphones, yanking them off my head and weaving its cord from around my neck. One noose removed. I then set to work on removing the oxygen tube. It took everything in me not to rip out the gear in my mouth just so I could take a clean breath, but instead I gripped the seat of the chair and prayed silently that the dentist would be quick. When he came back to the room he looked surprised and even a bit annoyed that I had removed the oxygen tube. "You really should have it on." he insisted. "It will help to keep you calm." With a mouth full of metal and plastic, I couldn't verbally argue. But with the pleading in my eyes and the frantic shake of my head as I tried to steady my breath, the dental assistant took pity on me. "Do you feel like it's too much around your face?" She asked me tenderly. I nodded in near tears. She understood. To my great relief she convinced the doctor to proceed without the oxygen tube and in under an hour, I was taking in deep breaths of sweet fresh air as I left the clinic. It was the first time I realized just how deeply my experience in the O.R. had effected me. It was the first time I realized my life wasn't all washed clean and normal again. I had a lot of healing to do and it was going to take a long time.

It's for that very reason I am starting this blog. As silly as it sounds, a part of me keeps waiting for me to suddenly be "all better." But I am coming to realize that it isn't as simple as that. It isn't some switch I can just flip. I can't just tell myself to get over it and go back to "normal." I now know there is no going back. This is a new me, a new version of me, forever altered by my near-death experience. As odd as it is to say, I nearly died. And because of that, I have to find a way to accept the new me and what I went through.

I am a victim. I am a survivor.