On June 8, 2020, I checked into the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine procedure. It was a simple D&C, a way to close the chapter on a miscarriage that had already left me feeling hollow. But as I lay in that cold, sterile room, things went terribly wrong. I lost a massive amount of blood—two liters, they later told me—and for a brief, terrifying moment, my heart stopped. They had to bring me back.
I don’t remember all the details. I remember the cold of the table, the panic in my chest as I couldn’t breathe, and the voices around me turning frantic. I remember waking up in the ICU, still pale and shaken, realizing just how close I’d come to not going home to my son.
Two days later, I was discharged with an iron prescription and a deep ache in my bones—a reminder of how fragile life really is. Even now, years later, I still feel the weight of that day. It’s something I carry with me, quietly woven into my story.
I’m sharing this not to dwell on the medical details, but to honor the fact that sometimes, even the simplest plans can turn into the hardest fight. I want other people to know that these moments don’t just pass—they change you.
Over the past few years, through therapy and a lot of reflection, I’ve been able to process what happened and find some peace. Writing this post was part of that process—one more step in understanding how strong we can be, even in the most unexpected moments.
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