NOTE: mental health and depression, starts off with thoughts of death/dying

*BUT faith, encouragement, inner strength, and spirit in the end, if you want to read my story]]

When I had sepsis, I had a sense of impending doom that I never got to talk about. Now that it’s been a year, here’s my story.

I was getting weaker and weaker, that I could only whisper, and I remember thinking to myself on that ED stretcher, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve anything. I am going to die and this is how it feels.

And all I remember feeling was, why is everyone moving so slow? Why is my husband just on his phone? I felt like I was dying, and everything and everyone around me wasn’t listening. I felt hopeless; like no one really knew. I didn’t know at the time, or maybe I did, but my body and mind was failing me.

A case manager came in and asked about my insurance and I remember asking her to not make me a Full Code (meaning I didn’t want CPR). I remember telling Kurt to tell Levi I loved him. I felt like I was giving up right then and there, and suddenly I thought to myself “Get up”. It wasn’t forceful, it wasn’t gentle, it was a simple, “Get up.” It felt like an inner voice that was almost joyful, almost like it was just another day and I needed to get out of this hospital stretcher.

So I did. And i think it saved my life.

Everyone was staring at me and I thought, randomly, I need to go pee, I haven’t peed in 8 hours ( I just had a cesarean surgery a few days ago) and I remember I said, “I have to go to the bathroom” full on ignoring that I was hooked up to an IV in the emergency room with antibiotics running.

Then after Kurt had to hold me to stop me from going I went, quite literally, full on screaming my head off. I didn’t feel anger, I felt oddly calm, but somehow I was just screaming “Get your fucking hands off of me!!”

Whatever the reason was, yes the septic shock, yes the postpartum depression, I truly believe that evening, something in my soul was telling me to fight. It was saying, “This is it. Time to decide” And all I knew was no one was listening; so more people came in and they took my temperature while I was screaming that no one had given me Tylenol (I didnt know I had a temp of 106– as no one told me what my temp was after they checked it after I started screaming— and right after doing a double take/check— they wheeled me out right away)

I went into SVT (sinus ventricular tachycardia) my HR was in the 180-190s, they gave me 6 mg adenosine, it went down to 150s and then they found it was extreme sinus tachy d/t underlying process….(septic shock).

The next few minutes truly felt forever, like hours, because my body was shaking and shivering and my muscles felt like in pain, almost like I had hypothermia since I couldn’t stop shivering from the chills.

It was the worst feeling, almost the same as contractions to be honest!, while at least you get a break when they stop before the next wave, this felt like hours of shaking. I was in full crisis mode, bc I couldn’t stop spewing random illogical statements. I think I was crying that God wanted me to live so I could watch my son grow up.

At the end people were asking me questions, but it was like I couldn’t understand or really think of the answer. There was a vague “Do you know where you are?” Or “Do you know your name” And I couldn’t respond, but I was there. Medically we call that Alert and Oriented x 0. Not alert to self (person/name), place, situation, or time.

Im so used to asking these questions as a nurse, that being on the other end, I feel that maybe people who are found AOx0 are truly there, they just can’t respond yet.

Kurt said when they asked me questions I would just blink and turn my head, and I could imagine for him how scary that was.

That evening was terrifying and probably for my husband Kurt, too. While he was there right by my side, just like when I was giving birth; I felt like this was my fight, life or death, at the time.

To anyone who is going through a mental health crisis: I want you to know that I love you.

I know it might not feel like it right now, but you deserve every bit of light and peace this world has to offer. You are so so loved even in the moments when it feels hard to believe. Keep holding on to yourself and that light— because you matter more than you know. And I pray this for you:

“May the Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”

It has been a year and I still can’t fully wrap my mind around what happened. The sense of calm I felt, I think God was walking me through, but the fight I had, that’s your soul fighting.

It’s in those moments, when it feels hardest, that your spirit rises to meet the challenge. Trust that you have that strength within you, and that God is with you every step of the way.

It is a <1% chance of getting sepsis after a cesarean (they found 3 bacteria in my blood) which means to me, that this is a stark reminder that life is fragile and unpredictable. But here’s what I’ve learned: you can’t just lie down and surrender when things get tough. That’s not the life you deserve or hope—it’s giving up.

No matter how it gets, fight for your life, because tomorrow is never promised. Every day is a chance to live fully, so grasp it with everything you’ve got. Fight for it! The fact that I’m alive and breathing, after that slow emergency room visit to screaming all the way to the ICU:

I thank God. I thank God for the inner calm He gives to help us through tough moments, especially in times like this. I thank my husband for saying we should go to the ED when I started having chills. But I hope you remember this: that even when things feel overwhelming, know that your life is worth every ounce of the effort it takes to live, breathe, and fight for. You deserve to live this life, to take in the same air that we all breathe. We breathe God’s name, YAHWEH. Believe that truth, fight for yourself, and when you look back, you’ll see that God has been with you every step of the way.

May the Lord bless you today with inner strength and peace. You are not alone, and I’m grateful you took the time to read my story! Blessings to you,

Regine ❤️

That was a heavy post so here’s something to brighten your day! Our smiling boy this afternoon. Levi is 15 months old and thriving!