I woke up at 3am, 39 weeks 6 days pregnant, feeling intermittent cramping and a bit unwell—that feeling you get at the onset of a fever—hot/cold, shivering, aching. I was excited because I thought this might be it, but the timing of the contractions was inconsistent so I tried to go back to sleep.

I think it was around 9 or 10am I woke up, and felt really sick. I had a fever, I felt nauseous, my contractions were around 5 minutes apart and I knew I had to get to the hospital. I took some Tylenol, but vomited it up a few minutes later. I forced myself into the shower but I was feeling so weak I could barely stand, and I wondered how I would make it to the hospital. I considered calling an ambulance. The contractions were intense, really intense. I was groaning in agony every time they came on.

I somehow managed to get dressed and my husband and I got into the car. The entire 50 minute ride I was wailing in agony. I was put in a wheelchair on arrival and taken to labour and delivery where I was sent to triage. I told the nurses about my fever, and given the frequency and intensity of contractions they thought my baby would be delivered very soon. I was excited again.

They moved me to the delivery room, they suspected my waters had broken, I was in agony as the contractions were more intense and frequent, they were coming every minute or less and I couldn’t figure out how I would survive this pain, so I asked the nurse for an epidural. About an hour later they came in and got the epidural in and it was such a relief. My heart rate was very high, and my fever was worsening. I think at this stage I had been put on IV antibiotics. I was also vomiting intermittently and had intense reflux. I kept willing my body to lower its temperature and fight the infection, but it didn’t work.

Hours pass, night falls, and I am still in this room, pressing that pain relief button as often as I need it. My fever is not under control, I am so tired, my heart rate is high, baby’s heart rate is high. I try to rest, but the fever, nausea, reflux and numb legs keep me from sleeping.

It’s now 3am and the OB on call comes into the room. I’m not doing well, my baby isn’t doing well, we’re both under stress. It’s been 24 hours since the contractions started. The OB says they need to do a c-section, that I’m 6cm dilated and not progressing and both our lives are at risk. I ask some questions, but I know there is no other option, I am so tired and so sick.

Fifteen minutes later I’m wheeled into the OR, the anaesthesiologist is trying to lighten the mood, and he asks my husband for music to play (we did have a playlist ready to go, but hadn’t even thought about it until now), he tells us how we will be able to see our baby through the clear drape that they have set up when she comes out. I am so uncomfortable, the reflux is so bad I feel like I can’t breathe because of the acid coming up my throat.

They start to cut, and the doctors are chatting about their weekend, everything seems ok. I start to feel some tugging and pulling, and the OB seems to be having some difficulty. The mood completely changes in the room, and there’s a sense of urgency. Then I hear the OB say “page another attending, right now” and I hear panic in her voice. My baby is stuck, and I am haemorrhaging. I start to realise that things are going wrong, a feeling of dread creeps over me and I try not to panic as I hear the monitors beep and I wonder if the strange feeling coming over me is death. I start to pray, because there is nothing else I can do. Someone mentions sepsis.

Time passes, there is so much tugging, pulling, pushing, it feels bizarre, like I’m outside my body. Then I hear a cry, it’s my baby girl and all I can think is “please let me live so I can meet her,”  and I keep praying. My husband and I look at each other almost in disbelief at the sound of her beautiful voice. The mood in the room shifts as I assume they have things under control again, but I keep hoping that I’m not about to die. Eventually the OB says that they are sewing me up. This takes longer than I could have imagined. I think they brought my baby over to see me but I can’t recall, and I am so sad that I don’t remember the first moment we met.

I’m then taken to the post anesthesia care unit (PACU) where some nurses repeatedly press on my abdomen, take a bunch of blood and keep me very closely monitored. I’m told my white blood cell count is very high and I have a serious infection. I realise I’m not out of the woods yet, and a deep sense of anxiety comes over me. It’s now around 5am, and at some point they bring my baby girl in, my husband takes some photos and I stare at her, in disbelief that she’s mine. After only an hour they take her away, I don’t remember them asking, I don’t remember why they took her. Maybe they could see how sick and exhausted I was. We were in the PACU until 9pm that night, and I hadn’t seen my baby girl since the morning, but I felt so awful, I couldn’t even look after myself, how could I look after a newborn? They took us up to the maternity ward and to our room, then the nurses brought her in from the nursery. 

The next few days in hospital were a blur, I had lost over 1.2L litres of blood and was completely exhausted, but my infection was slowly improving. I tried to breastfeed, I tried to pump, but it was all so overwhelming, so I did what I could. My body retained so much fluid that my legs were unrecognisable, and so uncomfortable. I was told by my OB that we were both really lucky to have survived.

The following days and weeks back home were hard. I would go over all the “what-ifs” in my head and wish for a different outcome. Maybe if I had done something differently I could have prevented what happened. I had wanted a “natural” labour, and hadn’t read a single thing about c-sections because I was so sure that I wouldn’t find myself in that position. I was incredibly anxious, and I experienced panic attacks. But intermixed with all that was the most incredible feeling of love whenever I looked at my daughter. I could hardly believe she was mine (and even to this day almost 2 years later I can still hardly believe it). A persistent feeling that I’ve had since we got home was that I want a “do-over,” a second chance to have a more normal birth (or at least calmer and less sick). I hope that’s in the cards for me, but I now know that nothing about pregnancy or birth is guaranteed.

My birth experience has had a profound impact on my life. One of the most lovely lactation consultants I met in the hospital said that “everyone has a birth story and unfortunately yours is a really shitty one.” I broke down sobbing after she said that, it was the first time that what I had been through was acknowledged. I am so grateful that we both survived. It was terrible, scary, anxiety inducing, and the sense of loss of all the things I missed out on—my husband cutting the cord, getting to breastfeed my baby right after she’s delivered, skin to skin time, getting to see my placenta, not feeling like I’m on death’s door and just being a “normal” amount of exhausted persists to this day. I do want to say though, that as awful an experience as it was, I would suffer through it again if it meant I would have my daughter at the end of it. She is the light of my life, and I truly didn’t know I could love someone so much.

—Denise F.