All six of my children had been born naturally, in the comfort of our home. I knew the natural ways to induce labor\u2014walking, evening primrose oil, a bowl of pineapple chunks, a warm bath. I was a pro at breathing rhythms and the most comfortable delivery position. By child number seven, I knew what I was doing. But after 35 hours of labor, my home-birth doctor sent me on to the hospital.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need advanced medical attention,\u201d he said. \u201cYour labor isn\u2019t progressing.\u201d I didn\u2019t know if I was more disappointed or scared.<\/p>\n
My husband, Michael, helped me to our old blue Mercedes van. We\u2019d already made arrangements to deliver our baby at the hospital in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, if I had any complications. The eight-mile drive from our home in Teton Village should have been easy. But a blizzard was underway. As we inched down the winding Rocky Mountain road, the snowfall was so heavy we could hardly see. I had to roll my window down to help navigate just so we wouldn\u2019t slide into a ditch. Meanwhile my contractions were lengthening, the pain more intense.<\/p>\n
We pulled up at the hospital entrance just as I didn\u2019t think I could sit in that passenger seat any longer. The staff escorted me to a bed and prepped me for delivery. The whole atmosphere was foreign to me, so sterile and severe. My other births were warm, loving, comfortable. Soothing herbal essential oils burned while Michael held my hand and I knew when the time was right to push. I felt like I was in charge.<\/p>\n
Now I anxiously watched the white uniforms moving around and jumped when a nurse ran a cold stethoscope along my belly. Every 30 minutes I was given a shot to progress labor. I could feel the baby\u2019s head pressing on my pelvis. Try to relax,<\/i> I told myself. I was exhausted. Where to turn to for strength? Dear God, I\u2019m out of my element. Are you here? Like you are in our home?<\/i><\/p>\n
One of the senior doctors approached. I could tell he didn\u2019t have good news. \u201cYou\u2019ll need a C-section,\u201d he said. \u201cWe can\u2019t wait any longer.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was no time for questions. Nurses rushed me into the operating room. I lay there, helpless. I gripped the sides of the metal bed rail. The anesthesiologist leaned over me and put a mask on my face. I blinked slowly, then closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
When I opened them again I was looking down. Below me was a panoramic view of the operating room. There was an awful lot of commotion\u2014beeping machines, clanking metal tools, frantic activity. A woman lay unconscious on the table. She was bleeding badly. Who is this woman?<\/i> I wondered. What happened to her?<\/i><\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t need to see this.\u201d<\/p>\n
A figure moved in front of me, filling my vision. An angel\u2014the most beautiful of angels, dressed in periwinkle garments with pearlescent wings and sea-blue eyes that held me in their gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t take your eyes off of mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t blink. I stared deep into those eyes and let peace wash over me like a wave. Then suddenly everything went dark.<\/p>\n
I opened my eyes again\u2014white ceiling, bright light . . . Of course, that was me in the hospital bed. I looked around for the angel, but only saw the medical personnel that had gathered in my room.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s my baby?\u201d I asked. \u201cDid my baby survive?\u201d<\/p>\n
Michael stepped toward me holding a bundle. \u201cMeet Isaac Michael,\u201d he said. \u201cOur healthy baby boy.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took him in my arms while Michael explained what had happened. When the doctor made the incision for the C-section, he severed an artery. \u201cYou were dying right there on the table, Charlene,\u201d Michael said. \u201cIt took four blood transfusions to save you.\u201d<\/p>\n
In fact, I saw what it took to save me. And I haven\u2019t turned my eyes away since.<\/p>\n