Story #109 - Jessica, Twin Lakes WI (USA) - On Subchorionic Hematoma, Threatened Miscarriage, Postpartum Hemorrhage, Anxiety, Depression, PTSD & Advocating for Oneself
My husband and I have been together for six years. He has an older son and we welcomed a daughter in 2019.
My pregnancy went well… until it didn’t. At 17 weeks, I suffered from a subchorionic hematoma/threatened miscarriage. On Father Day’s, I began to bleed a lot and we almost lost her. We went to the ER and, for a couple of months, I was put on pelvic rest until everything felt safe again. But it tainted everything.
For most of my life, I had suffered from anxiety and depression. I had to go off my meds for the pregnancy and, truly, I felt the greatest up until the near miscarriage. Although I tried to remain positive and think that it was an amazing experience, I couldn’t shake the anxiety away.
When I finally went into labor, my heart was racing the whole time. I was so nervous something terrible would happen. And in a way, it did.
My placenta tore and my midwife couldn’t get it out in one piece. She ended up scrapping the inside of my uterus with her hand. She said she’d never seen this in 30 years of practicing midwifery, which got me incredibly scared. She and the doctor on-call talked about calling someone else to consult, but I guess they decided against it because no one else came. I was angry because the doctor I had seen throughout my whole pregnancy was not there that day – or any other days after. The relationship we had built was really nice, and I felt truly let down.
After I was wheeled into the maternity ward, I couldn’t stop thinking about my placenta and the pressure of my midwife’s hand inside of me.
But once again, I tried to focus on the positive aspect of my birth: I had a healthy baby and I was enjoying getting used to her.
We went back home after two days and I felt pretty good. I was nervous because my husband had to go back to work right away. I convinced myself that I was doing better than I actually was, but in reality, things were incredibly hard: I didn’t sleep for one week straight and had a lot of racing thoughts.
The sleep deprivation got so bad that one afternoon, I was sitting on the couch next to my husband and I had a major panic attack. I completely dissociated: nothing felt real. My body, my mind, everything was gone. It was very scary.
We called my midwife and the therapist I had been seeing for years. They got me medication (Ativan) to relax and make me sleep. My mom came to the house and she stayed for a couple of days. We thought that, hopefully, things would get back to normal.
I saw my midwives the next day and they diagnosed me with postpartum anxiety and psychosis, due to the attack and dissociation. Luckily, my mom was able to take off work for a while and she took care of me. Because my husband works in construction, he didn’t have the luxury to stay with me.
We worked on getting me some sleep and taking care of my daughter. And for a while, things felt like it would be okay.
Two weeks after my birth, I hemorrhage at home.
I was holding my daughter and bent over to put her into the bassinet. When I got back up, I felt a gush in my underwear, as if I was peeing. It wouldn’t stop. I went to the bathroom and saw it was blood. So much blood.
I yelled for my mom and urged her to call an ambulance. Thank god she was with me because I don’t know what I would have done without her. I got myself into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I was able to do deep breathing. My mom was in and out as she was talking to the 911 outline. I talked myself into not passing out.
The ambulance arrived and my bleeding sort of stopped. They took me to the hospital and ran a bunch of tests, including an ultrasound that revealed I had retained placenta from birth.
They sent me home with some medication to try to get it out that way. I really wanted to stay, because I felt safer there, but they said I’d be fine at home. They also mentioned that, would it happen again, I shouldn’t call 911 but drive to the hospital where I delivered my daughter. “Unless you pass out,” they said.
It felt very strange and triggered all sort of fears. I went back home, extremely traumatized.
After this, sleeping became unbearable. I thought, “If I fall asleep, I’ll wake up in my own blood and die.” I asked my husband and mom to check on me in my sleep.
I had a lot of cramping due to the medicine. I was trying to monitor how much bleeding I had and often wondered if I was hemorrhaging or actually passing the retained placenta.
I went back and forth between my parents and my home because I couldn’t bear to be on my own. All this time, I kept bleeding. At some point, it even began to “pour” out of me again and I called my midwife. I tried to explain to her that I didn’t feel like I was passing anything, but she just told me, “Give it another day.” She transferred me to the doctor who had delivered my daughter, and she sounded very frustrated with me, to the point where she just told me to call the next day.
So, I did. But this time, I demanded another ultrasound. And just as I had suspected, I still had retained placenta.
They decided to do a D&C this time, and scheduled me for the next day. But during the procedure, I started hemorrhaging again. Thank God I had been put under, but my mom told me afterward.
It took me a while to wake up and feel like I could leave the hospital. Then as I was getting ready to leave, I stood up and began to hemorrhage again.
The nurses told me to lay back down and wait it out. When I got up again, it seemed to be okay, but I didn’t feel safe going back home and I asked to be admitted. At this point, I felt like I had lost too much blood and I wanted to be monitored. They refused, but I advocated for myself. I had put up a big fight for them to keep me.
I’m glad I did because when I stood again that night to go to the bathroom, I passed a clot the size of my fist.
They still released me in the morning. For a couple of days after that, I felt absolutely miserable. I didn’t get my blood results back days later, and I could barely walk around the house. When I receive them, my hemoglobin was down to a 7. I called and asked my midwife if I should go back to the ER, but she said, “You’re one point away from needing a transfusion. You’re not there yet, but if you ask, they might give you one, but it’s not guarantee.” I know she was trying to talk me out of it.
I felt so depleted. I didn’t understand why no one seemed to take this situation seriously. I felt silly for wanting to be safe. My mom called back and was met with so much contempt she almost started yelling at the nurse. Everyone was like “You’re not quite there yet,” as if I had to wait to be extremely ill to be taken seriously.
It was a terribly sad situation.
For months after it, I was scared that I was going to die. My mother in-law even moved in with us because I couldn’t stay alone in the house. I was able to care for myself and my baby, but I needed someone to be with me at all time in case something bad were to happen.
I’d never been this close to dying before. And it haunted me.
This experience tainted everything. For example, I breastfed for the first couple of weeks but it was so hard to get on a schedule that I had to quit. I tried to solely breastfeed, which didn’t work, then pumped. But I had to wake up every other hour, and it added to the anxiety.
At some point, my nipples were so cracked I was pumping blood – no milk, just pure blood. I was stuck in this vicious cycle, I really wanted to breastfeed her, but I had to take care of her and myself. So, I formula-fed her. And it broke my heart.
It took my hemoglobin about two months to come back up. Even now, 16 months after the birth of my daughter, I still have iron deficiency.
I processed my experience with a therapist, but some days are still very hard. The most difficult aspect of the trauma is that I always wanted many children, but I’m now beyond scared to have another one. I don’t know if it’ll even happen.
Having my period is a trigger and I’m still struggling with PTSD. There are also big parts of me who feel guilty because I know many people out there have gone through way worst, and I don’t want to take this away from them.
I consider myself lucky because through all this, I always felt very connected to my baby. She was my rock and the reason I’m here. I needed to be ok to be here for her. I got so scared she would grow up without a mother.
Every time I would struggle, my mom would hand her to me to make sure I could focus on something. To know that I still was able to care for her all while going through something like this is something I’m very proud of.
I didn’t want her to realize that her mom struggled so badly during the first year of her life. I know she would have understood, but I still didn’t want to pass that onto her. The whole anxiety and depression parts are still somewhat embarrassing.
I did Ativan and Prozac for a while, but it stopped working. Finding the right medication for my anxiety and depression has been a struggle throughout my whole life. But I have my therapist, and my doctor and I are still trying to figure out the right meds.
Currently, I’m in a better place than I once was. I manage the anxiety and depression, but I don’t have as many panic attacks. I still feel anxious, but not nearly close to what it used to be. To this day, my mom, my husband, and my mother-in-law are also supporting me, which I’m grateful for.
I often think about the quote, “One day, you’ll tell the story of how you overcame what you went through and it will become someone else’s survival guide.”
I’m holding on to the idea that if I share my story, others might benefit from it.
In the end, we can overcome so much more than we thought we were capable of. We are not alone. There is hope.