I've waited on writing this out for a while. I guess because I wasn't quite sure how to process it or if people would think I was just making a mountain out of a molehill. & maybe it is just a molehill in the grand scheme of things, but it's a mountain in the scheme of my life. So, here it goes:
I was eight weeks post partum and I started hemorrhaging with extreme pain. Now, I want to spare you the gory details of life post-partum, but let's just say this wasn't an immediate red flag in my mind. I took some pain medication I had prescribed to me and tried to wait it out. I quickly found that I couldn't.
I called my doctor's office emergency number and left a message while crying in pain. They say they'll respond within an hour, so I tried my best to wait. However, I soon found myself in such extreme pain that I was literally crawling around the house, banging on the walls and crying out "somebody help me please!". It is then that Ryan realized he needed to take me in to the Emergency Room immediately.
When we got to the ER with our twin 8 week old babies, we were promptly told Ryan needed to go home and be with them. They took me in pretty immediately. I told them I was bleeding a lot but I don't think anyone quite knew what "a lot" meant to me. They could tell I was in pain and gave me some morphine, I found myself frequently still screaming in pain.
Several times a medical professional would come in and try to suction all the blood they could out of me so I would cease to hemorrhage, but to no avail. I kept losing blood. Later we learned that within these two hours, I lost half my blood volume as when I came in.
I remember getting to a point where I felt really tired, like eerily tired. Luckily, friends were able to watch our babies so Ryan was there at this point. I told him I was afraid to fall asleep. The nurse came in to check on me and she could tell something was up so she called for help. They got a doctor in there ASAP. Before I know it, my monitor is beeping. They are suctioning the crap out of me. They start a second IV and give me oxygen. They slant the table so gravity would be in my favor. My heart rate dropped from the 110s down to the 40s and my blood pressure dropped really low too. Honestly, I was scared.
My doctor at another hospital (we had driven to the local one) knew I needed an injection of estrogen. They administered this injection in the midst of all that chaos. And, ultimately, it's what saved the day.
The story didn't really end there for me and complications. I still had to stay at the hospital for a couple of days. I had four units of blood transfused and then ended up needing a D & C that also had some complications and yet another hospital stay.
But what I really remember, more than that chaos, and in that chaos, is the sweet feeling of Ry holding my hand while I was scared. I remember how he managed to work from home to provide for us AND take care of two 8 week old infants for days on end and never complained. I remember the way my Dad took the next flight he could out to be with me. I remember how my friend stepped in to watch my girls, and ultimately, be a mother to them when I couldn't be. I remember how our friends prayed & Fr. Charlie anointed me. I remember a community who surrounded us with hands to help and hearts to love.
I hear a lot of talk these days about organic growth. It's usually in reference to numbers, and that's not a bad thing. But the best kind of growth, is the one that cultivates a community who is as relentlessly giving as a beating heart. That's what I want to be a part of. That's what I want to build.