October 11, 2017
(Second PPH Anniversary)
It’s a dark, rainy Monday morning. My husband left for work hours ago and my little one has snuggled in close to my chest. I can feel his chest rise and fall with each delicate breath. His sweet little body still fits perfectly inside my arms.
It’s sleepy moments like this and countless others that were almost stolen from us two years ago when we skated dangerously close to the edge of losing our little family. Each day is truly a gift and it’s a fact that hasn’t been lost on me once over the previous 730 days. It’s a fact that many don’t understand and likely never will… but it’s forever a part of me and of our family’s story.
Two years ago today, I lay in a bed in the surgical intensive care unit waiting for the doctors to decide how best to address my internal bleeding. The hope was that reversing my blood thinner therapy, which had spiked more than double the therapeutic range, and replacing my blood volume with multiple bags of whole blood, packed cells and platelets would help my blood clot where it needed to on it’s own, but that wasn’t happening.
Up until this point, I found solace in the midst of the medical gauntlet knowing my baby was tucked safely inside my body. That if, God forbid, things worsened and we didn’t make it, at least Nathan and I would be together. I’d still be holding my long awaited miracle. Yes, I realize my poor husband would be alone.
That’s a terrible thought.
But the reality that my son had been born and was now apart from me made this new crisis all the more jarring. We were in the thick of it again, but this time I was in it alone. There wasn’t a baby in my belly to talk to or sing to or pray over for comfort. It was just me... and somehow that made it all the more terrifying. Our story was shaping up to be one of those sad and tragic Lifetime movies, like the one called “What She Left Behind”. Oddly enough, I still remember the title of that film. I only saw the commercial as a young girl but it was a paradox that stuck with me. I remember it like I saw it yesterday. The concept that a mother could die in childbirth was such an unbelievable possibility to me then.
It still is decades later.
About the Author: Casey Cattell struggled with infertility for more than a decade before giving birth to her son in 2015. She is a two time Maternal Near Miss Survivor writing to give hope to women in the midst of these hardships. She is a Patient Advocate, Heroes For Moms Ambassador, survivor support group leader and has shared her story with many organizations and media outlets, including the Empowered Health Podcast, the National Blood Clot Alliance and co-authored Nobody Told Me About That-The First Six Weeks. Casey and her husband live in the Northeast, USA and in their downtime like to hike with their young son. If you liked this post or were encouraged by it, please consider passing it on. Find Casey on Instagram and Twitter..
It’s a dark, rainy Monday morning. My husband left for work hours ago and my little one has snuggled in close to my chest. I can feel his chest rise and fall with each delicate breath. His sweet little body still fits perfectly inside my arms.
It’s sleepy moments like this and countless others that were almost stolen from us two years ago when we skated dangerously close to the edge of losing our little family. Each day is truly a gift and it’s a fact that hasn’t been lost on me once over the previous 730 days. It’s a fact that many don’t understand and likely never will… but it’s forever a part of me and of our family’s story.
Two years ago today, I lay in a bed in the surgical intensive care unit waiting for the doctors to decide how best to address my internal bleeding. The hope was that reversing my blood thinner therapy, which had spiked more than double the therapeutic range, and replacing my blood volume with multiple bags of whole blood, packed cells and platelets would help my blood clot where it needed to on it’s own, but that wasn’t happening.
Up until this point, I found solace in the midst of the medical gauntlet knowing my baby was tucked safely inside my body. That if, God forbid, things worsened and we didn’t make it, at least Nathan and I would be together. I’d still be holding my long awaited miracle. Yes, I realize my poor husband would be alone.
That’s a terrible thought.
But the reality that my son had been born and was now apart from me made this new crisis all the more jarring. We were in the thick of it again, but this time I was in it alone. There wasn’t a baby in my belly to talk to or sing to or pray over for comfort. It was just me... and somehow that made it all the more terrifying. Our story was shaping up to be one of those sad and tragic Lifetime movies, like the one called “What She Left Behind”. Oddly enough, I still remember the title of that film. I only saw the commercial as a young girl but it was a paradox that stuck with me. I remember it like I saw it yesterday. The concept that a mother could die in childbirth was such an unbelievable possibility to me then.
It still is decades later.
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Related posts about maternal morbidity and survivorship:
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Music: Vance Joy- Alone With Me
New to The Heart of Home? Click here to catch up on our story!
Music: Vance Joy- Alone With Me
New to The Heart of Home? Click here to catch up on our story!
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