- After doctors said Casey Gould, 35, had unexplained infertility, she fell pregnant with her boy Archer
- During the traumatic labour, Casey experienced an overwhelming sense of impending doom
- After giving birth, Casey flatlined due to pregnancy-related heart failure
Here she shares her story in her own words.
My hands trembled as I flipped the pregnancy test upright. Seeing two pink lines, my heart bloomed with joy.
‘I’m pregnant!’ I cried to my husband Ben, then 33, who wrapped me in a hug.
Following our wedding in May 2016, we couldn’t wait to start a family.
Sadly though, our first pregnancy two years later resulted in a miscarriage at seven weeks. We tried again, only to suffer an ectopic pregnancy in February 2020. Another miscarriage followed in August 2022 at 11 weeks.
Doctors said I had unexplained infertility.
Heartbroken, we tried to come to terms with the idea we might never be parents, donating the baby clothes we’d been gifted as they caused us too much pain to hold on to.
Now, in February 2024, learning we were pregnant a fourth time, I was racked with nerves.
We can’t lose you, I prayed, touching my belly protectively.
When we heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time at eight weeks, we were thrilled.
‘We were having a boy.’
As the pregnancy progressed smoothly, and each scan showed no issues, it felt like a weight off our chests. Finally, we allowed ourselves to get excited about our future as a family.
At 20 weeks, we learned we were having a boy.
‘Congratulations!’ loved ones said, doting on me at my baby shower that September.
By then, we’d chosen a name – Archer.
In November, at 40 weeks and one day, Ben rushed me to hospital after my waters broke at home.
This is it, I thought, cradling my bump.
Our dream of becoming parents was coming true.
After 36 hours in labour, I was finally ready to push.
As one of the doctors walked into the room, though, I suddenly felt an all-encompassing wave of dread. Behind her, a thick black fog seeped down from the ceiling.
The dark vapour began enveloping the walls and caving in until almost the entire room was painted in the inky blackness.
It was like something out of a horror movie.
‘Impending doom washed over me.’
Am I hallucinating? I fretted.
Then a feeling of impending doom washed over me. It felt surreal, like some sixth sense.
‘I’m going to die!’ I screamed.
Suddenly, the machines started beeping incessantly.
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‘We’ve lost the baby’s heart rate,’ the doctor said.
Within seconds, I was raced down the hallway towards theatre for an emergency caesarean.
‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ Ben said, running beside me.
But it wasn’t okay. The baby and I were both going to die. I was certain of it. After all the hurdles we’d overcome to become parents, I was about to lose everything.
In the room, I heard the jarring clanks of metal tools as doctors rushed to save my baby.
‘Can you feel that?’ one asked from behind the curtain.
‘I don’t care if I can feel it. Get him out!’ I begged.
‘We need to put you under,’ a doctor said.
Then my world went dark.
When I came to, I had a coughing fit as doctors pulled out a breathing tube. My eyes adjusted and I saw Ben and my family were surrounding me.
Archer! I thought, frantically. Had he survived?
As I tried to piece together the last thing I remembered, Ben approached the bed.
‘Do you want to meet your son?’ he smiled.
I was in disbelief as he lay our boy on my chest.
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Soaking in his adorable cheeks and sandy-blond mop of hair, I broke down.
He was alive!
Holding my baby close, I listened in shock as the doctors explained our son was born just minutes after I went under and, thankfully, he was very healthy, despite his heart rate dropping.
But after my C-section, I’d haemorrhaged, so I had blood transfusions as well as a special device placed into my uterus to stop the bleeding.
All was looking okay, and I was stitched up soon after. And, although I couldn’t now remember, I was awake for a very short time post-op. But something wasn’t right.
‘You were so pale,’ Ben said. ‘You told the doctor you couldn’t breathe.’
‘My stomach knotted.’
Within minutes, I’d flatlined.
‘Your heart failed,’ a doctor confirmed.
My stomach knotted. I’d predicted my own death.
Doctors had no explanation for why I felt the impending doom, which made it all the more creepy. Thankfully I was revived, then placed in a coma for two days.
Not wanting me to miss out on all the ‘firsts’ I’d longed for, Ben requested that, aside from him, no-one else hold our boy until I could.
While I’d been unconscious, he’d wrapped our boy in one of my shirts so he would get used to my scent, and even advocated for us to have skin-to-skin contact.
I struggled to wrap my head around it all. But all that mattered was that our bub was safe and healthy.
While I was in a coma, doctors had diagnosed me with peripartum cardiomyopathy (PPCM), a life-threatening form of heart failure linked to pregnancy. I couldn’t believe having a baby had caused it.
After nine days in hospital, I was allowed home. But I’d likely need heart meds for life.
Adjusting to life as three was initially overwhelming after everything that’d happened. My sweet Ben did all the night feeds and nappy changes until I was feeling more like myself.
‘Archer brings us so much joy.’
Archer, now 20 months, is such a social boy, and loves making new friends at the park.
Due to my condition, I sadly can’t carry any more children. But I’m so grateful for the joy Archer brings to our lives.
He’s our greatest blessing.
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What is peripartum cardiomyopathy (PPCM)?
Peripartum cardiomyopathy (PPCM) is a rare form of heart failure that develops during the final stages of pregnancy or within months after giving birth. It weakens and enlarges the heart muscle, reducing its ability to pump blood effectively. Symptoms can include extreme tiredness, low blood pressure, breathlessness and swelling caused by fluid buildup.
