On the 12th of August, 2024, I had the birth all women could dream of. It was unmedicated — three and a half hours of labour and half an hour of pushing — and our baby girl entered the world.
During pregnancy I only had one dream/nightmare. It was that once I delivered, my placenta wouldn’t release. Well, that became reality. I had the oxytocin injection, breastfeeding, midwives massaging my stomach, and midwives and doctors trying to remove my placenta. Then came one specific doctor who tried to rip my placenta out. It was the most excruciating thing I’ve ever been through. My husband and midwife stepped in and made the decision to send me for surgery. Surgery went well and I had the most amazing and much-needed sleep ever after delivering a 4.06 kg baby. I stayed in hospital for the night and was released the next afternoon.
My husband, however, had picked something up at the hospital while I was in there. So, during our first week at home with a newborn, he was bed-bound with the flu (fevers, cough, etc.). I was exhausted trying to navigate breastfeeding and parenthood by myself, along with visitors and all the other things that come with being postpartum. On the seventh day of us being home, my midwife came out and checked on me and bub. We were doing great—until 8 p.m. that night. My husband was feeling better and, as we sat on the lounge together, I got really cold, really fast. We live in North Queensland (it’s not that cold in August). I put my dressing gown on as I was shivering profusely and said to my husband, “I better not be catching your flu!”
I let it go for 10 minutes, but I just couldn’t stop shaking. I called my midwife and told her what was happening. I took my temperature and realised I had a fever (39 degrees). She told me to go to our small local hospital. I called my mother-in-law, packed up our newborn, and headed to the hospital. Upon arriving, we didn’t even get the chance to see a nurse or a doctor. I was instead told to see my GP the next morning as there was no doctor currently at our local hospital. We turned around and headed for the car. I then had to weigh up my options: drive 45 minutes to our main hospital or go home and try to see the GP the next day. I said to my mother-in-law, “Stuff it. We already have the baby out of the house; let’s just drive to the main hospital.” On the way, I called my midwife to let her know we were coming, and she met me at the L&D ward (so I didn’t have to go through ED).
Once we arrived, the next 24 hours were a bit of a blur. They tried for hours on end to insert a cannula, take bloods, and get fluids into me. My body was already fighting and they just couldn’t get a vein. After approximately four hours — me not being coherent at all, my mother-in-law having to look after my newborn, and a lot of poking and prodding — they got a vein, were able to take bloods, and got me on fluids. At 2 a.m. I got a bed on the ward, and my blood results had come back. I had a severe infection (endometritis) from the complications after birth with my placenta; this had then developed into sepsis. I spent three days on three different types of antibiotics and IV Panadol to keep my fever at bay (which was only lasting four-hour intervals). On that third day, my husband had just left after visiting me and my bub when the nurses came in to take my observations. She exited the room and came back, telling me that they were taking my baby away and that a large number of doctors would be entering my room. They had made a MET call due to my body not responding to the antibiotics. I had a fever of 40 degrees; my blood pressure had tanked, my heart wasn’t able to keep up anymore, and I had been through three cannulas (my veins kept giving out). A whole heap of obstetricians, ICU doctors, medics, and nurses entered to try to make a plan as to what they could do. There were talks of moving me to the ICU, which I really didn’t want, as the midwives were helping me with my baby during this whole ordeal. I didn’t know how I’d do it without them. (I must also add that I am allergic to the one antibiotic they would usually use, just to make things more tricky.)
In the end they decided to let me stay in the women’s health unit and completely changed my antibiotic regimen. That night my fever broke and I turned a corner. The sweats were insane, but I also knew it meant I was about to start getting better.
It was all uphill from there. I spent another three days in the hospital (I went through another two cannulas, the last of which had to be placed in my bicep under ultrasound guidance), and on the seventh day I was finally able to go home and try to learn what life was like with a newborn and my husband.
The enormity of what I had just been through hadn’t really sunk in until I overheard one of the nurses telling my husband that I was so sick that if I hadn’t come in that night I could have died. Then came all of the emotions. The realisation. I couldn’t believe it. There was something in me that night telling me that I needed to go to the hospital — that it wasn’t just the flu. I am so grateful that I did. Fast forward to now, September 2025, and I am due with our second bub in December 2025. Although we have precautions in place and I know what to look for now, I am so, so nervous of the same thing happening again. My sepsis journey is definitely something that will stick with me forever! I didn’t realise how common postpartum sepsis was. I had never heard of it before. I aim to be the biggest advocate for it. Use your voice — if you feel like something just isn’t right, get a second opinion!