How I Ended Up Dying
I just want to thank each and every single one of you for the overwhelming feedback, love, and support from my post “On The 10th Anniversary Of My Death”. I received more views on that one post than I usually receive in a whole month on all of my posts combined. Your kind words, comments, and personal emails were exactly what I needed to validate that I am on the right track in sharing my story.
It has reminded me that we are all suffering in many ways, and now that we have Chiron moved into Aries for the next 7 years, healing our identities and physical bodies, we absolutely need to share our experiences with one another. To recognize our wounds, our trauma, our pain, and actively work towards not allowing it to define us or restrict us in life will be an on-going challenge as we take our power back.
I had many questions asked of me in regard to the details surrounding my death. Slowly but surely, I will disclose as much of my story as I can in little bits and pieces. The most common question I have received over the years of sharing my story with others, and from my latest post, was “What happened to you for all of this to take place?”
Well, the storyline that took place to get me in that operating room isn’t a good one. I don’t think there is any storyline that could be a good one leading to that kind of situation, but mine is an absolute heartbreaker.
Just after Christmas in 2008, I discovered I was pregnant. Being a Mom was the only thing I ever wanted to do in this life and I was excited and scared shitless to realize that my dream was coming true. I had a difficult pregnancy from day 1. Early on in the pregnancy I experienced spotting which landed me in the emergency room where after hours of poking and prodding, many failed scans, and multiple blood tests, I was told I was miscarrying. This was honestly the worst day of my life.
The amount of pain and heartbreak that comes with the realization that your dreams of your child, their future, what they will look like, how they would laugh, is ripped out of your chest and stomped on the minute you hear those words. So many women suffer this great pain in silence and it isn’t a wound that is easily healed. I was beyond the point of distraught. In the middle of an emotional breakdown, I became very depressed and zombie-like as I spent the next couple of days on the couch staring off into space.
I was required to go get followup bloodwork to ensure I was miscarrying properly and didn’t need a procedure to help my body in the miscarrying process. Off I went. Another blood test and back to my couch of mourning. I received a call from my doctor a few days later stating that she was unsure what as going on but my bloodwork revealed that I wasn’t miscarrying at all, that my HCG (human growth hormone present when you are pregnant) levels were on the rise. She ordered an emergency scan, and of course more bloodwork.
The news that I may still be carrying my child woke me up from my zombie state and put me into panic mode. Off I went, back to the hospital for more tests. They concluded that there was no signs of life inside of me from the results of the scan, however, my bloodwork still suggested that something wasn’t right. Confused and scared as hell, I went back to the couch, paralyzed, not knowing what to think or to do.
Over the next couple of weeks the scans and bloodwork continued. The dialogue went from, "Yes, you’re pregnant. I’m sorry you’re miscarrying. We think you’re still pregnant. We are considering the possibility of twins. We lost a twin. We have lost all viable pregnancies."
What a shitshow right?!
At this point, I think my soul had checked out of my body. I couldn’t handle the emotions anymore. I was instructed to go home and let the process happen. I tried. I went back to the couch and laid there for days which turned into weeks. The pain got more and more intense and although I reached out to my doctors they assured me that it was totally natural and to just try and relax.
Two days prior to the day I died on the operating table, I went to the emergency room knowing that something wasn’t right. Nothing was right about this process, but I just didn’t feel like what was supposed to be happening, was what was actually happening.
Low and behold, they discovered through a whole day of exams, scans, and bloodwork, that I was in fact still pregnant. They located my little girl at in my fallopian tube. She was alive, had a heartbeat, and somehow created her own blood source in an area that would never support life.
I was immediately admitted to the hospital and scheduled for emergency surgery. I should have been dead right there. A fallopian tube is only as big as the tip of a sharpened pencil and here I had a growing baby in there. They advised me that it was a miracle that the tube hadn’t burst already. Having an ectopic pregnancy (a pregnancy located in an area other than the uterus) is a very dangerous condition. Women have lost their lives from having the tube burst inside of them, so this was not only a medical miracle, but it was a medical emergency too.
I went into surgery where they removed my baby from me. There was no chance of her survival, but removing her asap was the only way they could ensure my survival. The surgery went as planned except when I woke up from surgery, I couldn’t breathe. I complained to the doctors and nurses about this but was told that it was natural to feel that kind of discomfort after a surgery and that it will go away. It didn’t. It got worse.
The next morning with the shift change of nurses, I continued to tell them that I couldn’t breathe. One beautiful soul of a nurse was so empathetic that she humoured me and gave me a good check over. Her faced dropped as she checked my lungs with her stethoscope and hurried out of the room. She came back with a whole crew of nurses and quickly transferred me to a gurney where they took me to the X-ray department.
I couldn't stand or hold myself up, the pain was too much. I had 3 nurses do all they could to hold me in position for the scan to be done. There, on the screen, they confirmed that my complaints were totally valid as I had a chest full of blood. My surgery the day before somehow continued to bleed internally and I had an abdomen of blood putting pressure on my lungs, preventing me from breathing.
My second emergency surgery was scheduled and they frantically got me hooked up and ready for a blood transfusion as I had already lost too much blood to go into surgery. As it turns out, I have a very rare blood type and they had to contact other blood banks in order to get the blood I needed before I could be operated on.
After a series of 3 blood transfusions, they finally took me into the operating room where I died on the table as they attempted to repair my surgery site. That’s how I was able to have my white light experience and visit the spirit realm for the first time.
I will definitely be writing about my white light experience in another post in the very near future, but for now I am going to stop my story here. Hopefully this gives you an idea of the emotional pain and trauma my soul was under prior to my “near-death-experience”.
In the aftermath of this horrible event, it was determined that I was in fact pregnant at one point with twins. I had lost my little boy naturally and of course my stubborn little girl held on until she was forced out (stubborn like her Momma).
I have hesitated for many years to share this part of my story publicly, as it is a wound that just won’t seem to heal. But knowing how many women are suffering in silence through their own miscarriages and pregnancy losses is an epidemic that needs more light and attention brought to it. It's a painful experience to go through and many women never heal because of the lack of support and acknowledgement of grieving a child that was never really “real”.
What I learned in my death, in my time in the spirit realm, is that the souls of these babies that never got a chance to experience this human world are very real, and are very alive in spirit. It’s been through my understanding of this phenomenon that has allowed me to heal my wounds surrounding losing my babies knowing they are in the spirit realm watching over me, guiding me, and protecting me.
It is my hope that by sharing the details of my story and experience that I can help even ONE woman feel not so alone through similar situations. It is an awful thing to have to go through and process alone. Even with the love and support of family, friends, and doctors, you never really feel like they “get it”. It’s only been through connecting with other women who have suffered the same kind of loss and wounds that you start to realize that you’re not alone in this.
It’s an awful thing to have in common with another person, but at the same time, the world isn’t as dark knowing that others have survived and have gone on to be happy in life despite what happened to them and their angel babies.
This storyline in my life has been my greatest source of pain, and although I feel at peace with it now, it still carries a heavy weight on my heart. In my attempt to turn my pain into power I have found myself fully embracing the gifts and abilities that were blessed upon me in that operating room, and because of that, I feel that helping others, sharing my story, and being a source of light for someone as they navigate through their darkness is honouring the lives of my children.
It is through the pain of their loss that I channel the power of their love through me, pushing me to be better and encouraging me to be a source of hope for others who need to know that they are not alone.
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