(Typically a C-section only has 6 units but Dr. I started to hemorrhage and was given 60 units of blood. That's called DIC - disseminated intravascular coagulation. If you're lucky enough to be one of the 40% to survive that phase of an AFE, the second phase starts. When amniotic cells get into a mother's bloodstream and you are allergic, you go into anaphylactic shock. ![]() Later, they told me it was an amniotic fluid embolism (AFE), which happens in about 1 in 40,000 pregnancies. Jacob was delivered, and within seconds, I went into a seizure and flat-lined. Then I told the doctor what I had been saying for months: "There's something wrong and I'm not going to make it through this surgery." The last thing I remember is them putting soap on my belly to get ready for the C-section. When they wheeled me out into the operating room, I wept because I knew I wouldn't see her again. I smiled and said, "You're going to meet your brother Jacob soon and I love you." I didn't want her last memory of her mother to be crying. So I put on the bravest, happiest face I could as I hugged my 2-year-old daughter. I had to shut down my computer before he could reply. No matter what happens, you've made me the happiest woman in the whole world." I begged the surgeons to hold off until his arrival, but the time was now. Please take care of everybody and love your son. While the doctors prepared me for surgery, I traded Skype messages with Jonathan, believing we might never speak again: "I just want you to know you are the most important person in my life and you're an incredible father. I rushed to the hospital with our daughter, Adina, and the nanny, and he hightailed it to the airport. I was grounded in Chicago. When I started bleeding all over the kitchen floor, I called him to say the baby was coming now. One week before I was scheduled to have the C-section, my husband was in New York for a big conference. Unbeknownst to me, she flagged my file and noted that there should be extra blood and a crash cart in the room at the time of my delivery. After she patiently walked me through the surgical plan, I decided to tell her about my premonitions, so I could ask what would happen in those situations. To help ease my anxiety about the procedure, my gynecologist set me up for an anesthesia consultation. I was so sure I was going to pass away that I just detached and disconnected.īecause of my previa, I was scheduled to get a C-section at 37 weeks. I didn't take pictures of my pregnant stomach. I bought nothing for the baby or his room. I started writing goodbye letters to my parents, my siblings, Jonathan, my stepdaughter Valentina, and daughter Adina. I posted on Facebook asking if anybody had my blood type. So I told everyone I met, hoping that somebody had the same experience I had had and could tell me who to talk to. We saw as many doctors as possible, but after many tests, my fears still weren't confirmed. I didn't feel insane - but everybody else thought I was. ![]() This was the first time I'd had an overwhelming sense of foreboding. In the past, I've had a strong sense of intuition, but I'd never have claimed to see the future. ![]() And in some worst cases, the placenta can join to the uterus and cause massive bleeding.) (Placenta previa affects about 1 in every 200 pregnancies. I had detailed, specific visions: The baby would be fine, but my organs would combine, and I was going to hemorrhage, need a hysterectomy, and die. I would be in the grocery store and imagine how I was going to die in labor. I dizzily clutched the stroller and knew something was wrong. Suddenly, I had a vision of the fountain flowing with blood. For now, you're being crazy."Īnd maybe I was being crazy, but that February, when I was taking my daughter to a class, we walked by a dry fountain, and I reminisced about how nice it is when it's on. He just told me: "We'll deal with a crisis in a crisis. After seven rounds of IVF, I was expecting our second child and had had an easy pregnancy so far. But when the radiologist told us I had placenta previa, I turned to my husband and said, "I have no idea what that is, but I have a bad feeling." Now, my husband Jonathan, who has a PhD in economics and was an Air Force pilot, is more logical, not one to think the worst. It all started at our 20-week ultrasound that January. I died on the operating table. But I didn't know I would live to tell about it, or that I would remember all the details. On May 30, 2013, as doctors rolled me into the operating room for my emergency C-section, I knew beyond a doubt that I was going to die - and I was right.
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