I used to think that trauma, and in particular birth trauma, required wrongdoing. Someone had to do something wrong to traumatize you—like obstetrical violence or medical malpractice. But in my story, everyone did everything right which made coming to terms with my trauma so confusing. The terror in which my son arrived is something I still think about every day.
The Textbook Pregnancy
I was one of those extremely lucky women who sailed through pregnancy. I got pregnant right away after trying exactly one time, and actually found out at the doctor’s office when I went in to find out why my period wasn’t coming. I just didn’t think it could be so easy. Despite some typical nausea and fatigue, I felt amazing during my pregnancy and continued running until 34 weeks when I ran a local 5K.
At each prenatal visit and ultrasound, there were no complications or issues. In fact, my doctor routinely told me that our images were so perfect “you could put them in a textbook.”
As my due date approached, I was genuinely excited to give birth. I wanted to experience labor and all of its intensity, and planned on having an un-medicated vaginal birth as my mom had done with my brother and me. I read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth which focuses on the idea that birth is a natural body process, not a medical event. I believed that if I was mentally strong, healthy, and informed, I could have the birth I wanted. “Your body is not a lemon,” Ina May tells her readers.
Preterm Labor
As I approached 35 weeks, I started noticing that my Braxton Hicks were becoming increasingly regular and uncomfortable. After two very difficult afternoons, I called my doctor at around 7 pm and she told me—to my surprise—to go to the hospital. It was just two days after my 35 week ultrasound where I was deemed “perfect.”
After spending two hours in the hospital, I was diagnosed with preterm labor. I was 1 cm dilated but not progressing, and was told to go home and rest for the next five weeks. The doctor told me to return to the hospital if my contractions became so painful I couldn’t breathe or if I bled more than the size of a computer mouse. Throughout the night, I got up several times to go to the bathroom. My stomach was upset and my contractions were becoming increasingly painful. I didn’t want to go back to hospital unless I really needed to, and kept trying to convince myself I wasn’t in pain.
“Call 911 right now!”
At around 2:45 am, I got up to go to the bathroom one last time. After I got back into bed, I felt a trickle. I grabbed a tissue to see, wondering if maybe my water was starting to break. Even though it was dark in the room, I could tell it was blood and already about the size of a computer mouse. Confused and concerned, I stood up to go further assess in the bathroom. But as soon as I stood up, there was a flood which gushed down the side of my mattress and onto the floor. A second gush came and I screamed at my husband to “call 911 right now, there’s blood everywhere!” I had read about placental abruption on a pregnancy app and just knew that was what was happening. Every few seconds, blood would just pour out of me. I will never forget the sound of it splashing onto the hardwood floors.
Within seconds, my husband was on the phone with 911, and the dispatcher informed him an ambulance was on the way. At this point, I had tried to contain the bleeding by putting on one of the adult diapers I had purchased for postpartum, but it was no use. It was soaked through within seconds. I was shaking, and truly thought I or my son was going to die. I had visions of my baby having to grow up without me, my husband as a single dad.
Within minutes, the paramedics arrived. One of them went to assess the amount of blood on our floors which was deemed “a moderate amount” or about 300-500 ml (for reference you bleed an average of 80 ml over the course of your entire menstrual period). They were both so calm and assured me I was not dying. They loaded me into the ambulance and informed me that I would be going to the closest hospital, Denver Health and not the hospital I was meant to deliver at.
Emergency Delivery: “You want to do general?”
Denver Health is unique in that it has a dedicated OB triage door for ambulances, so I was brought straight to a screening room as opposed to the ER. A team of midwives immediately threw a fetal monitor on my stomach and found my son’s heartbeat which was still at a healthy rate. I could hear the relief in their voices, “Rebecca that’s your baby! He’s ok!” Like the paramedics, the entire medical staff was so calm and gentle with me. Throughout the night, so many people told me that I had done the right thing and that they were going to take care of me. I am so grateful for the way I was treated, but in the moment I was just so panicked and scared—everything was happening so fast.
Despite how calm and reassuring everyone was, I could see the concern behind their eyes as they weighed my blood-soaked under pads. It wasn’t long before I was brought to a second room where even more people appeared. The attending OB quickly determined that I would likely need a C-Section to save our lives and that they were going to bring me to the OR. Among the typical risks associated with a C-Section, he informed me that they might have to do a hysterectomy if they couldn’t stop the bleeding. At the time, I did not care what they did to me, I just wanted them to do what was necessary to keep us alive. I was definitely in “Jesus take the wheel” mode.
I later learned that shortly after we arrived in the OR, the baby’s heartrate plummeted. My memory of my time in the OR is a blur—everyone was moving quickly and there were at least five people working on me at once, placing lines in both of my arms, inserting my catheter, and creating the sterile environment. It was like being in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, except everyone was much less dramatic. At one point, I looked over to my right and saw the scrub prepping a table with surgical instruments. There were about 50 different clamps, knives, and what looked like household wrenches. The enormity of what was happening to me was overwhelming.
After some discussion about possibly using general anesthesia, the doctor decided we could try a spinal block. Unfortunately, it did not work quickly enough and the baby’s heartrate dropped again. Someone poked my belly with something sharp and asked “can you feel this?” over and over, with increasing urgency. I couldn’t lie—I could definitely feel it. Within seconds, I heard the anesthetist talking to the doctor again: “Ok you want to do general? Rebecca I’m so sorry we have to put you under.” The next thing I knew there was an oxygen mask on face and he told me to take deep breaths. I was absolutely terrified, hyperventilating, and crying. I was so scared I would not wake up, and scared that if I did, my baby would be dead and I wouldn’t have a uterus.
Meeting Baby Ian
The next thing I remember is a nurse waking me to say I had a baby. “Oh that’s right, I’m in the hospital,” I thought. I was so relieved—we had made it! He was born at 4:20 am, less than an hour and a half after my husband called 911. Sadly, in the haze of waking up from general anesthesia I don’t really remember meeting my baby (whom we named Ian) for the first time. This remains the most traumatic part of my birth experience: that I was not awake for the moment I became a mother and that I do not remember meeting my son.
I soon learned that my instinct was right: I suffered an acute placental abruption, meaning my placenta had detached from my uterus prematurely, causing excessive bleeding—nearly 2 liters—and eventually, fetal distress. Abruptions are rare and affect only about 1 in 200 pregnancies, but are a leading cause of fetal death. Unfortunately, they are still poorly understood and there is no explanation for why this happened to me as a healthy woman with an uncomplicated pregnancy.
Trauma
For the first days and weeks, I felt nothing but gratitude and elation. By some miracle, Ian suffered no oxygen deprivation from the abruption and did not need to go to the NICU despite being born at 35 weeks. I was just so thankful that we had survived this emergency and were both ok. But as the weeks and months went on, I began to realize how much the birth had affected me. I felt like my body had betrayed my baby—he was supposed to still be inside me—and I was just so sad that I missed out on my final month of pregnancy. Every night I relived the entire experience from start to finish like a movie in my mind. I was so scared the entire time, thinking I was going to die, and my mind just latched onto those feelings and wouldn’t let go. I recalled Ina May’s statement that my body wasn’t a lemon—but it was. My placenta, the baby’s lifeline, detached. Yet at the same time, I was confused as to how I could be struggling when I was pleased with my treatment—the doctors did everything right and we had a good outcome. How could I be traumatized?
Now, four months out, I am learning to accept my birth experience and find strength in my and Ian’s resiliency. One of my best friends reminded me that I am a warrior and a survivor, that I took the first step in saving our lives—instructing my husband to call 911 right away. I believe the speed in which we arrived at the hospital and the doctors’ quick decision making are the reasons we are both here today. And while I still have feelings that my body betrayed me, and sadness that I missed my last month of pregnancy and my son’s birth, I know that nothing in life is guaranteed and you can’t control everything.
About Me
Hi, I’m Rebecca, a writer, legal marketing pro, and award-winning jam maker in Denver, Colorado. In addition to my precious baby Ian, I am also the mom of two boisterous cats, Boris and Natasha.
