During my initial collapse on the 17th, everyone has their individual perspectives because they were all in different places. The timing of my AFE made it so that people were preparing to meet the baby, so they were already at the hospital or on their way there. The following are the perspectives of my husband, my parents, and my best friend. These memories are so important to me because I wasn’t there to have any for myself.
Steve
Steve and I had just decided that we were going to ask my mom to be in the room during the birth. Steve was so incredibly anxious that he admits (now) that he didn’t even want to be in the room with me. He thought it would be helpful to have another support person there for me, since he was struggling too. She happily accepted and went to tell my dad. My OBGYN checked me and let me know I was 10cm and that we we’re going to have a baby today. She left the room and moments later I said I wasn’t feeling right. The nurse handed Steve a puke bag to hold for me because she said sometimes people throw up. While he was holding the puke bag, I started yelling my heart didn’t feel right. Because nothing registered on the machine, Steve was assuming it was just my anxiety. But when my eyes rolled to the back of my head and I slumped over he knew something very bad was happening. When he wasn’t able to wake me up, he sprinted to the hallway to yell for a doctor. The nurse hit the code blue alarm and people came streaming into the room pushing Steve to the back corner. He just remembers pure chaos. He heard someone yell do we have a pulse, but doesn’t remember the reply. Then someone said we’re going to OR 1, but someone replied no OR 1 is booked, head to OR 2. They proceeded to rip lines and cords out of the wall and unlock my bed. The room emptied just as quickly as it had filled. At this point, Steve was still in shock and just stared at the door. Soon after, 2 nurses came in to reassure him that they were going to do everything they could to try to save my life. My mom arrived at the room just before the social worker and chaplain arrived. She was frantically asking Steve what happened. He told her he had no idea but described my collapse. My dad and Steve’s mom eventually got back to the room. Steve couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head trying to make sense of pieces that didn’t fit together. What had just happened? Is my wife dying? He started to think about what life was going to be like as a single father. How was he going to afford to raise a kid on his own?
The OBGYN came into the room and said the baby was out and fine but that I wouldn’t stop bleeding, they were trying to stop it. She rushed back to the OR. My family was told told they were not allowed to leave the room (we found out later no one on the L&D floor was allowed out of their rooms, so they could keep the hallways clear for me). Steve remembers hearing people running up and down the halls and urgent muffled voices behind closed doors. The chaplain and social worker came back into the room and asked for Steve to come with them. They took him down the hallway to a tiny room. There was one chair in the middle of the room. Steve sat down with the chaplain and social worker on either side of him. Steve was preparing himself for them to tell him I was dead. My OBGYN came in and Steve remembers her being covered in blood, but isn’t sure if that was actually the case or he imagined it. The doctor told Steve I suffered an Amniotic Fluid Embolism. He doesn’t remember any of the conversation after that.
The doctor returned to let them know it was extremely critical and that they needed to pray. Steve remembers thinking “just go save her, go save my wife.”
My Parents
My parents came to the hospital on Wednesday morning to prepare to see their first grandchild born. Steve and I were exhausted and becoming increasingly anxious about how we were going to get through this. We had planned to just have the two of us in the room during the birth, but Steve changed his mind that morning. We decided we needed another support person so we asked my mom to stay for the birth. She left the room when I was getting checked to tell my dad that she was going to stay for the birth. As she was about the leave the waiting room to come back to walk back to my room, they both heard “Rapid Response Room 230.” They knew it was my room and my mom began to panic, but my dad said it could be anything don’t worry yet. At the same time my dad thought he heard Steve’s voice yell down the hall for a doctor, but my mom was sure it wasn’t Steve. Then, “Code Blue, Room 230” rang over the loud speaker and chaos ensued. My mom tried to step out into the hallway to get to my room just as a herd of medical personnel ran by, but they wouldn’t let her back. She told them “you don’t understand that’s my baby girl.” What felt like an eternity later, they let my mom back into my room where Steve was saying over and over again, “please just save my wife, please just save my wife.” My dad stayed in the waiting room because he knew my brother and sister-in-law were about to arrive. My mom asked Steve what happened, but at this point he still didn’t know. Eventually my dad came back to the room. Followed by my brother and sister-in-law. When the doctor gave the second update that I was extremely critical and they needed to pray, the room lost it. Everyone was crying. They were sure this was it. This was going to be the day they lost me.
Jessi
Jessi wrote me her perception of events a while ago, so I’ve included an excerpt of her own words here.
“That Wednesday morning, Steve called me while I was in the gym. It was almost time he said. Your body had recognized that it was going into labor and your cervix continued to dilate on its own overnight. You were at 8 centimeters and would be pushing in the next couple of hours. “I think she’d like you to come,” Steve said. “She’ll want to know you’re close by.” I called Michael and told him I was going to the hospital to see you and the baby. I gave him the option of coming or waiting for us to go together the next day after Callahan would have already been there. “I’ll drive you,” he said, – thank God, looking back now.
We arrived to the hospital and pulled into the parking garage – right before 1 o’clock. I remember laughing and smiling together, excited to see you and Cal. We made our way through the hospital and up to maternity. Turning into the maternity waiting room, my brain took three beats to recognize your dad, slumped forward in his chair, and a woman I didn’t recognize sitting in the chair beside him. He saw me and immediately his face crumpled. “It’s not okay, it’s not okay,” he said. He stood and hugged me hard, as I tried to piece together what was happening. “Kayleigh and the baby, we don’t know, we don’t know.”
We sat there. Michael on my left, holding my hand or rubbing my arm, me putting my hand on your dad’s back ever so often. Eventually, someone came to take your dad back to be with your mom, i think the chaplain, maybe. She told us that the baby was out and okay, but you were not. Kyle and Simone arrived not long after, much like we had, with smiles on their faces, food and coffee that would sit on the table and eventually be thrown out hours later. “The baby is okay, but we don’t know about Kayleigh yet,” is all I could clumsily tell them. Kyle fell into a waiting room chair, I remember his hair falling over across his face, head in hands, as he rocked back and forth.
At 2:03, you’d been diagnosed, but things still looked okay. Kyle and Simone got taken back to be with your mom and dad and Michael and I stayed in the waiting room. It was so difficult to sit there, not knowing what was happening, and every text from Simone was a godsend. My mom offered to come and I told her she didn’t need to, but when I got the notification on my phone that their garage door had opened, I knew that she was on her way anyway. Within 20 minutes, you were hemmoraghing and the doctors couldn’t stop your body from bleeding. I sat facing out of the waiting room, right outside the double doors, watching people in OR scrubs, running back and forth. “Please pray,” Simone’s text read. I continued to watch them run in an out of those double doors, running to save your life. “Run faster, run faster,” I desperately willed them, finally realizing that you might not live. But what will I do I remember thinking. Who will I talk to who understands what I’m saying. How could my world exist without her in it. Steve and Cal might not have her. My mom got there at some point and she and Michael held me up from both sides, reminding me how strong you were. We prayed at some point, just as we had done with Kyle and Simone earlier. The four of us had held hands and said the our father before they were taken back. I bargained with Nan, trying my best to convince her that she was not allowed to let you into heaven that day. Cal needs her, Steve needs her, I need her, I begged.
For an hour and forty minutes I didn’t know that you were going to live. People came in and out of the waiting room. Some tried to talk to us. I vaguely remember a set of grandparents and a newborn’s older sister coming to visit her new baby sibling. Can’t you see I don’t want to talk to you, I remember thinking. People would come up to the doors to go inside and look in, startled to see tears and sadness. Keep walking, don’t look at me I thought. A doctor came in with her white coat on and asked if we were there for you. “It doesn’t look good,” she said, then asking if we were family. “I’m her best friend,” I told her. “Unfortunately I can’t tell you anything,” she said, with a pitying look on her face. “It’s touch and go,” she finally admitted. “How much touch and how much go?”, my mom pressed, looking at my face. She grimaced and with an uncomfortable shrug said, “I mean, there’s a very small chance she could make it.”
Finally, around four o’clock there was news that the bleeding was slowing.
I wrote you this in a note…
‘ Kayleigh, If you don’t pull it together I’m going to be so so angry at you. Do you know how terrible it is to sit in a hospital all day thinking JUST DO YOUR JOB AND FIX HER. Also, I’m mad that of course you were right about the bleeding.’ “
