Last thing I heard was the doctor telling me I was going to get a DNC to vacuum out pieces of the placenta that are causing excessive bleeding…or so they thought. Three days later, I woke up. Thinking it had only been hours, it had been days, three to be exact. Not understanding why everyone was so happy to see me, exited that I was awake. I figured I was just coming to after a few hours of a DNC procedure…I had no idea it had been nine hours of surgery, six blood transfusions and three days later with my husband being told to say his goodbyes. I was not looking at recovery, I was not even pulling through the surgery half way through, when the doctors told my husband to call the family to let them know I am not going to make it. Three days gone, gone from my memory, gone from my conscious, but never forgotten. I am grateful for my three days, three days I lived, three days I recovered, three days I fought. Three days may be gone but three days helped me live.