Postpartum Hemorrhage: Retained Placenta and a Blessed Reminder
When I first found out I was pregnant with my Huck, I was so overjoyed! The thought of becoming a mother was not something I necessarily looked forward to as a young adult. Now that I was married to someone who would be a great father, I genuinely felt the Lord had been softening my heart to be molded into the likeness of someone who would joyfully fill the chairs at the dinner table.
Holding a little babe in my arms and watching him grow up to be a man that would somehow resemble my husband and me was so exciting! I couldn’t wait to kiss his little face, see his first smiles, hear his first words, watch him take his first steps. It wasn’t long before those future joys became current worries.
What if I miscarried?
What if there were complications with the birth that would leave my arms empty at the end of the day?
How would I handle a child medical needs that would require years of treatment?
I praise God for eventually settling my heart and helping me to expect a healthy pregnancy and baby. I had focused on the “what ifs” instead of resting in the truth that God was capable of delivering our child right into our arms. We had peace that God would give us his sufficient grace to care for whatever needs our child may have.
Little did I know that the concern of complications wouldn’t be for my Huck, but for myself.
Nearly six weeks after giving birth to the sweetest little boy a mother could ask for, I found myself in the Emergency Room nursing my baby for what I thought would be the very last time.
The daily bleeding I had been experiencing every day since leaving Labor and Delivery with my family went from a light period flow to softball-sized clots in a matter of weeks. Each time I called my OB/GYN with growing concerns, I was met with a response with the normality of my disposition. I was told I should wait to be seen at my postpartum follow-up appointment (which was scheduled for 7 weeks post birth).
It was March 8th, 2021 and my first day back into the office. Even after expelling an extremely large clot that very morning at Huck’s 3am feeding, I decided to return to work. Everything was, apparently, normal. Right?
At 1:00 in the afternoon, I made my way downstairs into the conference room for a meeting. At 1:30, the bottom fell out.
In seconds, I was sitting in a puddle of my own blood.
At this point, I had no idea this was a postpartum hemorrhage!
My heart was pounding.
My words trying to coherently communicate to my coworkers what was happening to me.
Taking a deep breath, I confidently interrupted the meeting. I informed everyone there was an emergency and that I needed to get to the bathroom now.
I never thought that walking to the bathroom, assisted, would take so long!
With clots dropping one by one, soaking through my jeans and leaving a crimson trail behind me, I made it to the nearest toilet.
There’s no way this could be normal! I called my OB’s office, and they instructed me to go straight to the ER.
As I waited for my husband to pick me up with clean clothes, I sat there on the toilet. Flushing every 5 minutes. Flushing to make more room for the frustration, confusion, and questions I had over the last 6 weeks.
Why was I still bleeding? And this bad!
“As long as you’re not pouring out blood, you’re fine,” were the words that kept echoing through my mind as the medical assistant repeated numerously in past conversations.
Once arriving to the ER and getting placed into a cold, sterile room, things only got worse.
I gave all the information as to what was happening, and two ultrasounds were ordered. Abdominal and vaginal.
At this point, two different nurses asked how many pads I was soaking through in an hour. I kept telling them I couldn’t answer that question because I was bleeding non-stop. After being asked a 5th time, I finally just told them 100 so they would put it to rest.
But did they check the area under which I was sitting? No.
The abdominal ultrasound finally happened, and it was inconclusive. There was too much blood flow to tell what was going on. Before the vaginal ultrasound was to take place, I was instructed to empty out my bladder in the nearest restroom. Before standing up, I could feel the clots lining up to make their grand exit. I told my nurse that I needed towels and a bucket because there was going to be a mess.
After squatting down to legitimately hand the nurse nearly 15 fist-sized clots, I was ready to urinate. Because I had lost so much blood in that moment, I went blind and couldn’t stand up by myself. Thankfully, the nurse was kind to assist and get me cooled off.
This postpartum hemorrhage was 6 weeks delayed and not stopping any time soon.
Now the vaginal ultrasound.
Inconclusive.
Being visited by the ER doctor, I was informed that everything was fine. I was experiencing my very first period after giving birth.
Excuse me?
My husband, sitting in the corner with our infant, spoke up and defended our experiences from the last month. Were we to return next month when this happens again? Something is terribly wrong, and we felt completely ignored.
What was causing this postpartum hemorrhage?
The doctor repeatedly asked that infamous question, “how many pads are you soaking through in an hour?”
I wanted to cry and somehow make my way to another hospital for better care.
After the hospital staff decided to monitor me for just a little longer, we had the room to ourselves to comprehend what was going on.
Through tears of fear and no answers to be found, I started crying with the belief that these would be my last hours and I didn’t know why. Michael prayed over me with thankfulness in his heart that God had given us the biggest gifts we could have ever asked for. We had a beautiful 3 years of marriage, and we got to experience loving a baby boy of our own.
I held my precious baby one last time and gave him what nourishment I could through my bosom as my tears rolled down my face. As I was calling my dear family back in Alabama, my heartrate plummeted as the blood began to flow again.
I blacked out.
I woke up surrounded by a slew of medical staff trying to help me regain consciousness and control of my blood pressure. With tears rolling down my face, I could feel myself drifting off again thinking full well that I was about to meet Jesus face to face. And I was okay with that.
I didn’t realize I was having a postpartum hemorrhage because I thought those could only happen immediately after giving birth.
After being given a shot to slow the bleeding, I regained my breath and held tightly to my husband’s hand. Fearful of what the next hour would bring, I was at peace knowing that my hope was secure in the salvation that was extended to me at a young age.
After another round of passing clots, fainting on a nurse, and being surprised that I keep waking up in the hospital, it was finally noticed that my hemoglobin (blood levels) was at a dangerously low level and a blood transfusion was absolutely necessary. I arrived at the hospital at 2:30 in the afternoon, and the blood transfusions began at 12:00 midnight. Nearly 10 hours later.
At 2:30 in the morning, I was settled in a recovery room when my husband was asked to leave the hospital due to COVID restrictions. No visitors were allowed except from 3-5pm each afternoon. I was kept in recovery for two days and two nights alone. I looked forward to the times I would get to snuggled next to my best friend for comfort each day.
Every 2 hours I used the hospital’s breast pump to keep my milk supply going, and I was constantly facetiming family to keep everyone up to date.
Why did God allow me to go through this?
Should I have been a better advocate for what my body was going through?
How could this be part of God’s plan? He gave me a son, so shouldn’t I be around to care for him as he grew up?
What about my husband? How could I leave him like this?
I closed my eyes.
“What about what Christ suffered?” the Holy Spirit whispered. Jesus was the only perfect, non-deserving person who experienced pain and death when it should’ve been me.
As I sat in my bed having received three units of blood that kept me alive, I realized that this wasn’t the first time someone else’s blood had saved my life.
The sinless Christ suffered on a cross to die as payment for the sins of many. He lied buried in a tomb for three days, and then rose on the third day to show that the propitiation of sin was accepted. He ascended into heaven and is now seated at the right hand of God advocating for us.
If a physical reminder of the gospel was the only reason God wanted me to experience what I did, then I believe it was well worth it. I was reminded of the hope in Jesus I had, and my faith was strengthened in confident surrender of where I would’ve gone if I were to have died that day.
After several tests and two more doctors who informed me that the whole charade was caused by my body’s reaction to a period, I finally left the hospital with questions unanswered and the joy of getting to see my family again.
The only conclusion they could conjure up was that this was a inconclusive delayed postpartum hemorrhage.
Thankfully this story didn’t end there, and God gave me a concerned General Physician who simply pulled out a small ultrasound reader connected to his phone and immediately discovered a large blood clot along with residual pieces of my placenta through my uterus.
Even after discussing these findings/concerns with my OB/GYN, she was adamant that the hospital report was correct. Apparently, the official hospital report recorded no findings (even though they told me everything was inconclusive due to heavy blood flow). The care and concern I received from my OB/GYN was disappointing, and the request to have another ultrasound took weeks.
Eventually, I did have a D&C under general anesthesia (after a full month post trauma), and the bleeding stopped immediately after I returned home.
I still struggle today at times when I remember everything that took place that awful day. I’m also thankful for the extra memory that God gave me that would invoke thankfulness for what Christ already suffered on my behalf.
For anyone who has suffered through a postpartum hemorrhage, I am so terribly sorry this happened to you! I hope you know that you are not alone. I encourage you to share your thoughts and emotions with close family and friends (especially your spouse) for processing thoughts when memories arise.
Suffering a postpartum hemorrhage isn’t easy. Thousands of women die in childbirth each year due to a postpartum hemorrhage.
For anyone who is in the midst of postpartum bleeding that hasn’t seemed to go away, I would strongly encourage you to see your OB/GYN and to insist on an ultrasound. Just in case it turns into something much worse.
By the way, here’s a link to my favorite postpartum recovery kit if you’re needing some help feeling more yourself down there:
I wish I would’ve been a better advocate for my body when I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m so thankful for the doctors who were able to help me throughout my journey. Just know that no doctor is perfect, and you are not their only patient.
Give grace when you can. But don’t forget to stand up for yourself and insist on second opinions.
