Katie’s story
Monday 5th January 2026. This baby was the little miracle our families had been waiting for. Pregnancy didn’t give me the ‘glow’ I was hoping for. Some people make it seem like it should be enjoyed every second of every day. However, mine was treated with a few scares right from the get go and numerous trips to triage, along with a low-lying placenta that thankfully, well maybe not so thankfully after all, moved at the last minute. This meant I was able to give birth naturally. Something I now know I wouldn’t and couldn’t ever be able to physically, emotionally and mentally do again.
Labour was just that – labour. Exhausting, draining and physically demanding. I had two episiotomies so my baby could be born safely and to stop any tearing. A few little stitches wouldn’t be a problem, I thought.
But then comes the bleeding, bleeding that wouldn’t stop. The emergency alarm went off and a swarm of what felt like every healthcare worker in the hospital rushing into my room to help. This was Haemorrhage Number 1 which took one-and-a-half litres of blood from me. Those few little stitches then became a much bigger number. But that was ok – my baby was safe and well, I was safe and all I had to do was heal. I was sent home a few days later with just a set of iron tablets to get me through.
Fast forward a little over a week and I’d be back in that maternity ward, unaware of the drama that was about to unfold. All the bleeding and clots I was experiencing post birth and at home that kept being treated as ‘normal’ were quite clearly not. I’d had a little scare the day we came home after having my baby but nothing compared to what I experienced next.
A morning trip to the bathroom at home on Saturday 17th January very quickly and scarily turned into Haemorrhage Number 2, which took around another one-and-a-half litres of blood from me. In under two weeks I’d lost over two-and-a-half litres of blood – an amount that if lost in one stint can prove fatal. I was blue lighted straight to resus, monitored closely and then placed back onto the maternity ward. My saving grace was that my baby and either my husband or my mum could be with me the entire time.
As anyone knows, and now I unfortunately know from first-hand experience, the weekend isn’t the time to require urgent medical care. If I’ve learnt anything from my trauma it’s to wait until Monday. I couldn’t be scanned to see what had caused the MPPH (major postpartum haemorrhage) as there was no one available because the ultrasound department isn’t open at the weekend and there were no sonographers to do the scan I needed. So I just had to wait it out, receiving a blood transfusion, antibiotic drips and bags of IV fluid to keep me going until the Monday.
The ‘priority’ ultrasound scan (if you can call a scan taking place at 2:30pm two days after a priority) showed left over placenta membrane and a few blood clots. Hopefully easily fixed with an injection that should help it come out on its own without requiring surgery. All I, and my body, had to do was hold on for 24 hours so they could monitor it.
That failed. At around 23:00 that Monday night I had Haemorrhage Number 3 – taking around another one litre of blood from me. Fortunately, I was in the right place. Apparently, a little drama in my life is just what I like, so whilst the same team of people who helped me during childbirth were doing all they could to stop the bleeding for a third time, I passed out, which just made things a whole lot worse. I was very closely monitored throughout the night and Tuesday morning I went down to theatre to have my emergency D&C. They got all what they needed to get which was great. While being operated on I had Haemorrhage Number 4, which took around 800ml of blood from me and I had to have a Bakri Balloon inserted to stop any further bleeding. Throughout the whole experience I lost around, or more than, four/five litres of blood (lots of blood cannot be measured if it’s in clothes or down the toilet).
I had four blood transfusions, iron on tap with antibiotic and fluid drips like they were going out of fashion. When I was finally discharged for a second time I had to take blood thinning injections to stop further clots, antibiotics to stop further infections and iron tablets. All I have to do now is heal, again.
Without those blood transfusions I wouldn’t be here. Haemorrhage Number 3 should never have happened and arguably Haemorrhage Number 2. It could have easily been avoided had I been scanned as soon as I was brought into hospital or if it was identified not all of my placenta had come away after childbirth. It’s tough to get my head around that my life, health and my new adventure as a mum was at risk just because it was a weekend.
I will never speak badly of the midwives who quickly got to know me pretty well – they were always so kind to me and my family and simply did their job as best they could. It’s the chaos of the NHS and the maternity service as a whole that is a huge red flag. Why should having a medical emergency at the weekend stop you from getting the treatment you desperately need? I have so many questions.
Long story short: I nearly died because it was a Saturday and was saved purely by the kindness of strangers donating their blood. Make it make sense.
