Part Two
Everyone slept soundly for several
hours. Suddenly I awoke and instantly realized that I was
hemorrhaging. I woke Murray and calmly but urgently told him, “Go
get Mom, I'm bleeding badly.” He rushed downstairs and came back
with Mom hot on his heels. I told her to call for an ambulance.
Neither she nor Murray understood at that point how much I was
bleeding. I hadn't used the word “hemorrhage” with them. Mom
asked if I was sure I needed an ambulance or if one of them could
just drive me to the hospital. I knew that time was precious and I
couldn't spend it explaining what I knew was happening. I said, “Hand
me the phone.” Mom punched in 911, hit send, and handed me the
phone.
The next while is a bit of a blur, but
I maintained consciousness up until Dr McCarthy put a mask on me in
the OR and told me to take 3 deep breaths. While waiting for the
ambulance, I felt the familiar rush of warmth through my body – my
clue that I was seconds away from passing out. I threw my feet in the
air as high as I could and sternly told myself to keep it together. I
prayed and prayed. Mom saw what was happening and held my feet up for
me, sending Murray to grab a cold, wet washcloth for my head. I
closed my eyes and prayed. I had a sense of peace, but also a sense
of urgency. I kept my eyes closed and took deep breaths and prayed
that Mom and Murray would also maintain consciousness. (Neither of
them are very fond of the sight of blood and here I was with blood
pouring out of me, completely helpless.) I prayed for the ambulance
to hurry up. They arrived promptly – I'm sure it wasn't more than
5-10 minutes, but it seemed like such a long time. Mom stayed by my
side and phoned Dad. Murray rushed downstairs and turned the lights
on, unlocked the door, and put our dog Rusty outside on his chain so
that he wouldn't be underfoot when the ambulance arrived.
I recognized both EMTs. I answered
their questions correctly. Nick took my blood pressure and announced
that it was not compatible with life. (If memory serves me correctly,
he said it was 60s/40s. That's insanely low, and I knew that, but
didn't let myself dwell on it too much.) Mom let out a soft wail in
the background. I prayed even harder for her to be okay. I think she
sat down on the floor and Alex talked to her from my side. They
started an IV in each arm – the most painful sticks I've ever had
due to my low blood pressure. Nick originally called for a
helicopter, but decided it would be faster to drive me via ambulance
to Daviess Community Hospital – the hospital where I work. He
called for help from the volunteer first responders to get me down
the narrow stairway. I remember my dad giving me a kiss as we stopped
for a moment downstairs. I thanked Mom and Murray and told them they
had done an awesome job.
I sang and prayed and recited Psalm 23
in the back of the ambulance. I was in so much pain, and so cold, and
I knew things were bad, but I still had that sense of peace. As I was
thinking of different songs to sing, a few “funeral songs” came
to mind and I said aloud, “No, I'm not even going there” and
tried hard to think of different songs. This happened more than once,
but I refused to even entertain the thought of dying. The song that I
remember singing was “There Shall Be Showers of Blessing.” Nick
prayed with me as we flew down I-69. I kept track of each turn we
made and therefore had a general idea of where we were. I listened to
Nick on the radio with the hospital's ER. He was originally told to
start dopamine. Then they radioed back immediately and said never
mind, just keep fluids going wide open, they would have blood ready
and waiting for me. I think I had a liter bolus going in each arm.
Not sure...I didn't have my contacts in, and my glasses were still on
the bedside table at home, so I couldn't really see much.
Jessica was the first nurse I saw upon
arrival to the ER. It was right at shift change, so she wasn't there
long before giving over to Joan. I was quickly surrounded by nurses
and lab techs. Nurses were starting the blood transfusion and
attempting to start IVs and lab techs were drawing what little blood
they could get from me for lab work. I was placed in trendelenburg
and denied pain medication until my BP was stable. I yelled out a lot
from the pain – it felt like labor all over again, and from the
needles. We joked later that I looked like an IV drug user when they
had finished with me.
Murray and Dad arrived shortly after I
did. My Aunt Hazel and Pastor Carmen followed soon after. Carmen had
already sent a phone tree message, waking the entire Bethel church
family to lift me up in prayer. Murray brought my phone and I had him
text a few people for me to ask them to start praying. There were
others that also came to the hospital that I didn't even know of
until later. They brought coffee and food and sat and prayed and
supported my family.
Dr Frances came very quickly and
ordered a CT scan to be done so he could see if the bleeding was
contained in my uterus before he took me to surgery. His plan was to
put a balloon in and stop the bleeding long enough to stabilize me
and send me to a bigger hospital in Evansville. The balloon worked
long enough for him to tell Murray and my dad that it had worked, but
while he was still talking to them, a nurse came to tell him that it
had started again. They opened my incision from the c-section with
intentions of doing a hysterectomy. It was then that they found the
source of the bleeding – my left uterine artery. They ligated the
artery and still thought long and hard about doing a hysterectomy.
The decision was made to save my uterus.
When the nurse came to tell Murray
that they would be doing a hysterectomy, she was teary-eyed and
started with, “We were unable to stop the bleeding.” Murray's
heart sank as he thought the next words were going to be that I had
died. Thankfully she was just telling him about the impending
hysterectomy which never had to be done! Many people were praying
specifically “Stop the bleeding and save the uterus.” Those were
then the exact words that Shawna used to tell Murray and my family -
“They were able to stop the bleeding and save the uterus.”
The next few days were tough. I had to
spend extra time on the ventilator. They extubated me in PACU, but I
couldn't maintain on my own, so they had to re-intubate me and keep
the machine breathing for me until that evening. I remember that –
being awake in PACU and realizing I was intubated. It was the worst
feeling ever. I felt like I was suffocating, but couldn't talk. I
thrashed my head around and fought it, biting at the tube. It was the
only thing I remember until I was extubated at 6:20pm and my sweet
nurse Lourdes kept telling me to take deep breaths. I kept thinking,
“I am breathing! What are you talking about?” I only fully woke
up at around 11:00pm.
I was moved to the Ob floor the next
day where I received the best care imaginable. The nurses were so
gentle and compassionate and they listened to me and spent time with
me. I ended up needing two more units of blood on Thursday as my
hemoglobin had dropped back down in the 6 range. My nurse Erica sat
down and had a talk with me on Thursday to help talk me out of my
funk. I was so depressed and angry that my hemoglobin had dropped
again, causing me to be very weak and tired. I wouldn't make eye
contact with anyone. I just laid there and stewed in my misery. I was
frustrated that I had taken a step backward instead of continually
improving.
Mom stayed in the hospital room next
to me and cared for Riaan. A friend provided us with some of her own
breastmilk that she had pumped for her baby but didn't need. What an
answer to prayer that was – I was praying and asking for someone's
name to come to mind so that I could ask them to provide breastmilk.
She had been praying for someone's name to come to mind so that she
could offer to share hers. I know God had that all planned out before
this even happened.
The next 5-6 weeks were not easy by
any means. We were discharged from the hospital on Sunday, December
20. We went and stayed with Mom and Dad until the 24th
when we went home to be our own little family for Christmas. What a
huge blessing to have family close by. I don't know what we would
have done without them. Murray was struggling with a cold and was
trying to get better without making Riaan or me sick. I couldn't do
much of anything without help. It took a long while to get my milk
supply back up to where it needed to be for our growing baby. I had
excruciating back pain, not to mention the pain from my incision. I
had a nasty cough, too – I tried to cough up all that phlegm and
not get pneumonia from being intubated, but it felt like my incision
was ripping open each time I coughed.
Through all of this, God proved
himself faithful. I struggled for a while with “survivor's guilt.”
Why was I born in a country where we have access to proper health
care? What about all those women in the countries I mentioned before
who would have been dead multiple times by now and would not have a
living baby to hold? There were so many things... I had an emergency
c-section when Riaan was stuck in my birth canal. Otherwise, he would
have died and I could have either had a fistula or died. I was given
blood in a timely manner – both right after giving birth, and a
week later when I hemorrhaged. It was clean and had been tested, and
there was plenty readily available. When I called for an ambulance,
they were there in a few short minutes, no questions asked. The ER
was ready for me. I had a clean room, everyone worked together. The
OR was ready for me. It was clean and well-stocked. Everyone caring
for me was knowledgeable and caring and did what they were supposed
to do to ensure I lived.
Why am I making such a big deal about
clean facilities, available blood, and quick ambulance service? I've
seen with my own eyes the conditions of some hospitals in other
countries. I've seen how poorly staffed they can be – one nurse for
an entire ward at a hospital I visited in Sierra Leone. Seriously. I
saw no other nurses or staff around. When we lived in the rural
Eastern Cape province of South Africa, we saw the struggle the
hospital had with the ambulance service not being reliable. Sometimes
the ambulance would arrive within an hour, sometimes they would show
up the next day! When blood is needed, they send someone to the
nearest city – an hour's drive one way – to get the blood because
they don't have the facility to maintain their own supply.
I truly am blessed and am so thankful
for the prayer warriors who lifted us up when we needed it most. My
great-aunt told me at church, with tears in her eyes, “You have no
idea how many prayers were prayed for you. You'll just never know.”
So I say thank you. I know there were literally friends across the
globe praying, including the very nurses and doctors caring for me.
There were people I have never met who were praying. There were also
people who gave to us financially that we never expected it from. My
heart is full.
Today is a Tuesday, and it's March 15
– exactly 3 months from when I hemorrhaged. I even sat down to
start writing this today at about 5:30am. At 5:30am 3 months ago, I
was waiting for an ambulance to arrive. Such interesting timing...
I'm now back to working full time, I've got a healthy, happy baby,
and a loving husband and family. There are so many loving people in
our lives who poured out to us in ways I haven't even mentioned here.
You know who you are – THANK YOU!
3 comments:
Love! God is good all the time, even in the midst of our trials. Beautiful story!
Oh Candace,
I read both parts with tears and goosebumps. Your account of singing and praying in the ambulance is so powerful. Thank you for putting your story out there for us to read. God is good.
Candace,
Thank you for sharing your story. The power of prayer is completely humbling and overwhelming when you experience it firsthand. I am so happy that you are okay and can enjoy your beautiful little family. My prayers continue for you.
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