The night I almost died alone...
How a failed miscarriage almost killed me in the middle of the night.
I was in my early 20s and I had gotten pregnant. It was a “molar pregnancy”. That basically means the sperm and egg met and started to create a zygote. It continued until about nine weeks or so before the first sign of something being wrong was noticed. By week 12 I was in full-blown miscarriage and because of bad theology dind’t want a D&C. Being raised to think abortion was murder; I wasn’t aware that a D&C- Dilation and Curettage-is not the equivalent of an abortion. Rarely is science ever separate from faith, except where bad theology is its foundation.
Somewhere around week 12 to 13, I went septic (I had a sepsis blood infection). I lived alone and it was the middle of the night when my fever hit a raging fever pitch. For some odd reason, I woke up in the middle of the night because I had to pee. I walked into the bathroom and saw just this nasty infection in my underwear from my vagina and uterus. I managed to call 9-1-1 in a very foggy and delusional state. To this day I still don’t know how my #thinREDline friends got into my house, but I thank Papa they did.
The next thing I know I am naked on a gurney, being rushed down a hallway and all I see are the flashing lights and two men standing beside me holding my hands. Those two men were a Rabbi and my deceased grandfather (my dad). The entire time they are telling me I am fine and I am going to be ok. I hear them and see them plus a flash of light, a flash of light, a flash of light… complete and utter darkness. Then I remember screaming and crying and attacking my surgeons because at the time I thought I was being gang-raped again. Then pitch black, soundless, dark…silence.
Then all of a sudden I am awake in the hospital room on the floor beneath the exact room my grandfather died in several weeks earlier, roughly five weeks give or take a day. I was in the hospital for several days, worrying that I lost my job, my animals were dead, alone, and honestly highly pissed off. Plus someone taped my new eyebrow piercing and it basically got ripped out because a grumpy ass old charge nurse and I kept going rounds it, that’s how I knew about tape and charging paddles. (I do love my nurses, not all of them but most)
I was later informed that when I had hit the ER my temp was about 105.5 and they were doing everything they could to bring my temp down. Apparently, I was close to frying brain cells and being like permanently dead dead. Luckily my story didn’t end there, but my god it came so close. I was terrified and just angry, full of rage really. I dind’t want to die but at that point of sickness, I’m not entirely sure I wanted to live either. The hardest part was seeing my grandpa, the only dad I really ever knew in the hallway, and waking up to see that I was literally right under the room he died in.
You see the week he died about a month or so before; I was with him every day until the day he passed. I held his hand, brought stuff to him, sat up every night with him, and I loved him. However, the day he passed I could not see the man I loved die in front of my eyes. I told a family member to tell him I loved him and I would see him again soon. What nobody knew was that night I had been praying and I heard “you can’t go, he is holding on for you.” (I’m ugly crying again) I knew in my heart that my grandpa, dad, didn’t want to leave me alone. He wanted to stay and protect me and love me.
His funeral was before I found out I was going to lose the pregnancy and it was an open casket. I signed his burial book with my name and his unborn grandchild. Little did I know he would be with me right as I began to die. At his funeral, I lost it. My two male cousins came out in the hall with me while I cried uncontrollably because I couldn’t let the last memory I had of that man be him dead and lifeless in a casket. My last memory was him telling me…
“Baby I built this country and now I need you to take care of it.”
My grandpa and I had a special bond. He was one man that never hurt me. He carried my picture in his wallet until the day he died. I am thankful that I have that picture now. Our life together was simple but amazing. He made everything fun and enjoyable. He carried me when I was little and when I was a young woman. I never really had a dad except him. He never saw my faults and he raised his voice once at me my entire life. My grandfather had more grace, mercy, and love than I have yet to see in any man since. He was my life and my best friend (well and grandma too). They were my safe haven in a very horrendous life storm from the house of horrors. To them, I was and will forever be their daughter. I will forever be grateful to a good God that I was born surrounded by grace because of them.
I am going to post a few pictures because these are some of my favorites. (Hint the little girl with the flower and pink dress is ya girl)
This last picture is probably where I get my goofy spirit from and how I remember my dad the most.
I have been so blessed even in the midst of such great loss. I may have almost died that night and didn’t end up with a baby then but in my darkest moment, a Rabbi and my dad were there holding my hands as I was being rushed away from death’s door. And because of that alone, I am blessed beyond measure, loved until eternity, protected, and safe from the fear of the unknown. It has been a journey since that dark and cold night I almost died, but I wouldn’t change my story for anyone or anything.
Love & Light,
Brandy Jo