I was supposed to die.

Thursday, 13 December 2007.  My daughter's 9th birthday and the supposed day of my death.

The nurse, washed me solemnly, ceremoniously it seemed to me, in preparation for my operation, insisted I phone my daughter to wish her happy birthday.  I don't know how she got my sister's phone number, whose care my daughter and younger son were in, and I don't know what I said. But I remember her handing me the phone. 

It started with a pregnancy.

I've always known that I was to have three children, which is strange considering falling pregnant was difficult. I had had two miscarriages before the birth of my daughter, and a wait of six years before I had my second son. I never sought medical attention for my conception difficulties, I was fairly content to let nature take its course. When I fell pregnant when my son was two, I was surprised, but also not really, as I "knew" I was meant to have three children.

All my pregnancies were relatively uneventful.

My waters broke on my due date with my daughter, labour was induced, and everything went smoothly. When it was my son's turn, my water's broke two weeks early, an induction was attempted but was unsuccessful and I had an emergency caesarean section. After that, all was well.

During my third pregnancy I remember a pervasive feeling of anxiety.

But I was healthy. My waters broke a month early and I was hospitalised until after the weekend when another caesarean was scheduled on Monday 10 December 2007. The birth date of my third son. I had planned to be conscious during the operation, but at the last moment I experienced an epic panic attack and elected for a caesarean under general anaesthetic.

I woke with the nurse presenting my baby, I only saw the back of his head.

After that I crashed. I can't remember everything. I remember intense pain, I remember the nurses talking about falling blood pressure, and I remember my hospital room being filled with doctors. I was wheeled to intensive care. It was late night or early Tuesday morning and the lights were dimmed, but as it was also Christmas, there were a few Christmas lights. It felt like an alien world. I kept spasming, on and on and on, it would go as stiff as a board. Much later I was given pain medication that kept it under control.

I received 13 units of blood as well as plasma transfusions.

As fast as I was transfused, the blood poured out. I remember the nurses discussing that it was difficult to find the plasma. I had tubes everywhere. I couldn't move. Nobody knew what was going on, or even what to do. Once the pain was managed I was conscious. It felt like I didn't ever sleep. I could hear all the nurses interminable discussions and gossiping. I was aware of all the other patients. I couldn't receive many visitors in intensive care, and was happy about that, as my husband and parents couldn't cope. I had constant blood tests, and remember much murmuring about urinary output. Which I gathered was not good. Even to me, the erratic beeping of the heart monitor was a little ominous. My body swelled like a sausage.

Eventually there was no choice but to operate.

I gathered that the doctors were waiting for me to gain strength for an operation to find the cause of my malady. The opposite was happening so they had no choice. I had to give consent for a possible hysterectomy. I did, I wasn't scared. I knew that everybody else was, but somehow I was not touched.

The operation was successful but my body shut down and I was placed on a ventilator.

I later discovered that various family members had sat with me the whole time. Against the odds I pulled through. The first thing I remembered was the uncomfortable removal of the ventilator. After that I steadily improved. Every tube that was removed felt like a victory. Today no trace of the physical trauma, apart from a scar (the doctor had said I would be a hot-cross bun). 

Mentally there was a lot more traffic.

I remember that during the first desperate day how I fought to LIVE. My mind played a constant loop of my daughter and sons' faces, and I included the the glimpse I had of my baby's head in that loop. A little later I "saw" all the female members of my family standing around me in a circle, and I drew on their strength. At some stage, although I felt I hardly slept, I had the most lurid dream. I was in a field of flowers, but it was dark and the colours were sickly. I was reaching behind me and stabbing a demon on my back. During my recovery I had a further few disturbing dreams.

It was an aneurysm on the back of the womb.

The gynaecologist explained that this was a relatively common occurrence, and swollen blood vessels on the womb were cauterized when they were detected during a caesarean section. In my case, the guilty blood vessel was on the back of my womb, and not seen. It burst just as I woke up from the general anaesthetic. I have no idea if there was any negligence involved, although sometimes I felt a little suspicious. Fortunately they were able to cauterize the offending blood vessel and I did not have to undergo a hysterectomy. That meant I recovered fairly quickly. I was supposed to be off work for six weeks. But I could only manage two and a half weeks.

My family were with me every step of the way and were terribly traumatized, but the entire time it felt like my journey alone.

This is not to underrate their experience. My poor sister and her husband were emigrating, and were due to visit me over Christmas just before they left for New Zealand. Her "holiday" turned into a scar and I think the whole situation affected her worse than me. I discovered later that my husband had spoken to one of our customers in town, and broke down. My parents were overwhelmed. Luckily my children were too young to grasp the enormity of the situation.

My baby, one month premature, was fine.

He had been pumped full of antibiotics in case an infection was the cause of my malady. Other than being small and looking like a frog, he had a high apgar score and did not require an incubator or any other aid. He remained in the hospital until I left. A full eleven days after I first entered. He was exceptionally aware, and the nurses doted on him.

For a couple of years I lived with the perception of the fragility of life.

Every birthday was a milestone. And for a little while I could not get the idea of the aneurysm out of my head. There was an underground parking garage that I walked through regularly where I worked. I constantly imagined me being struck down and dying before anyone could find me. All these feelings faded over time. 

Now it is just a story.