LYING on an operating table, new mum Helaina Thorpe was looking forward to the precious first glimpse of her newborn baby, when her heart unexpectedly stopped.
The 34-year-old Brit had been struck by a deadly birth complication – one so difficult to control that it has been dubbed every maternity doctor’s and midwife’s “worst nightmare”;;.
(AFE), which kills up to 80 per cent of sufferers, occurs when a mother suffers an reaction to amniotic fluid entering her bloodstream.
The rare condition strikes suddenly – usually during or shortly afterwards.
It often causes cardiac arrest, organ failure, and uncontrollable bleeding, with survivors reporting losing nearly all of the blood in their body while medics worked to save them.
Others have described enduring so much CPR that their chests were left blackened.
The terrifying yet little-known condition recently– an American nursing influencer who had battled years of before conceiving her son.
Hailey – who has been described as an “unbelievably loyal”;; wife and an incredible nurse – saw her baby boy, Crew, for a split second before she died from AFE aged just 33.
Her heartbroken husband, Matthew, wrote on Instagram: “Though her time with us was tragically cut short, Hailey’s love for Crew was limitless, long before he entered this world.
“She would have been the most amazing mom.”;;
AFE is thought to occur in 2.5 of every 100,000 births. There is no specific treatment, nor tests to confirm the diagnosis.
Here, two British mums who nearly died from AFE – and have since been supported by the charity,Amniotic Fluid Embolism Foundation– tell The Sun about their own horrific ordeals:
Special educational needs (SEN) teaching assistant and single mum Gabbi Simpson, 30, lives with her six-year-old daughter Bea in Faversham, Kent.
Gabbi says:“I fell pregnant with Bea aged 22. I was over the moon.
Back then, I was a super-fit, super-healthy yoga teacher. I had a dream pregnancy – it was so ‘textbook’. The midwives said I was low risk because of my age and my health.
I was really excited. The worst thing I expected to happen was an emergency C-section – no one warned me about any other scenario. The AFE was completely out of the blue.
I went into labour at home during the July 2018 heatwave while Bea’s dad was at work.
I watched TV and had a shower before going to Princess Royal University Hospital in Bromley, London. There, I was given gas and air and used the birthing pool.
I was in labour for 22 hours, but I couldn’t eat or drink anything, except for Lucozade. I was in so much pain and exhausted. I eventually asked for an epidural; I just wanted her out.
Despite the time that had passed, I was only 5cm dilated and my waters hadn’t gone.
The midwives broke them – and that’s the last thing I remember. What followed was 19 or 20 hours of blackness, though I’ve since been filled in on how Bea and I nearly died.
Apparently, the midwives were taking my blood when I started seizing. My fingers and toes curled and my heart stopped. A lady literally jumped on me to administer CPR.
Doctors were arguing over whether to cut me open because Bea wasn’t getting any oxygen. But luckily, they got me back. I lashed out at the medical team because I was so out of it.
One doctor, who saved my life, ruled that I would bleed to death from a C-section, so they put me under general anaesthetic and used forceps to deliver Bea in an operating theatre.
I was 10cm dilated by this point, but they had to cut me to kingdom come to get her out – I now have a scar down to my thigh. Bea was born not breathing, weighing 8lbs 6oz.
During all of this, my then-partner and family didn’t know if either of us would survive.
Bea had to be resuscitated, while I began haemorrhaging. I lost four litres of blood – almost the amount of blood in the average human body – and was receiving constant transfusions.
The doctors also stuck their arms up inside me to manually retract my womb. Finally, they managed to stabilise the bleeding and I was taken to the intensive care unit (ICU).
I woke up nearly an entire day after Bea’s birth. I remember seeing a picture of a baby hooked up to machines
Gabbi Simpson
I was incubated, with blood clots in my lungs, while my new baby was transferred by ambulance to The Royal London Hospital, where she was also intubated.
When I woke up, nearly an entire day after Bea’s birth on July 22, 2018, I remember seeing blue curtains, followed by a picture of a baby hooked up to machines.
I still looked pregnant, so I couldn’t make sense of the picture – but it was of Bea. I met her for the first time days later, on July 26, after I was transferred to the same hospital.
I cradled my daughter in my arms, but I struggled to bond with her. I was too messed up in the head. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t lie down, and I was on heavy medication.
I was expressing milk for Bea, though my chest was blackened from the CPR. Bea and I were later moved back to Princess Royal, where the staff were just fantastic.
I’ve never been so well cared for in my life. Two weeks after Bea’s birth, I returned home, on blood thinners and under the care of my mum, who works as a nurse.
It was great to be home – but AFE has robbed me of so much.
I still suffer from severe physical damage, and I can’t give Bea a sibling. Being told at 23 years old that you can’t have any more children after your first one is horrendous.
Bea would have been such an amazing big sister.
I have also suffered from panic attacks; it took me six months to leave the house on my own without having a meltdown. And it took me four years to go back to work.
The Amniotic Fluid Embolism Foundation and psychotherapy have both helped my recovery.
No one seems to realise how dangerous AFE is, even in a first-world country like England.Yes, I survived, but I’m not fine. If I dwell on what happened, it gets to me.
Thankfully, today, Bea and I have an amazing bond: she is so clever, empathetic and hilarious. She loves Ghostbusters and the rock band, Led Zeppelin.
Although Bea’s dad and I have since split up, we are on fantastic terms.
We were told Bea might never sit up or smile, but she’s the most switched-on, sociable kid ever. She’s now in Year Two and receiving so many certificates and awards.
She has defied what everyone thought about her.”;;
‘My chest hurts’
Helaina Thorpe, 34, who works in merchandise accounts, lives with her husband, Ashley, 34, son Matthew, three, and daughter Nora, five months, in Tamworth, Staffordshire.
Helaina says:“My first child, Matthew, was born during the Covid-19 pandemic, so when I found out last May that I was expecting again, I was really looking forward to a ‘normal’ birth.
My daughter, Nora, was due on Christmas Eve, but I had placenta previa – where the placentalies dangerously low in the uterus– so she had to be delivered four weeks early.
Due to concerns over the condition, I was kept in hospital for a week before my C-section on November 29, 2024. The surgery went fine until the moment that doctors pulled Nora out.
I turned to my husband, Ashley, and said, ‘my chest hurts’.
My heart had stopped before they’d even brought Nora around the curtain.
Unknown to me, Nora, who weighed 5lbs, 15oz, had also come out not breathing, which was frightening for Ashley, but not completely unexpected because she was so early.
Fortunately, doctors quickly got Nora breathing again.
Because my daughter’s birth was high-risk, there were loads of specialists in the operating theatre already. But when my cardiac arrest happened, more came running in.
Ashley was kicked out as upwards of 25 people filled the room.
It took ten minutes for the medical team to bring me back around. I’d had a major bleed and was so unstable that I remained on the operating table six hours after the birth.
Nora was in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), and was thankfully expected to survive.
But Ashley was told I might be brain-damaged, or might not wake up at all.
At this point, he was facing the prospect of having to raise two children on his own.
Eventually, I was stable enough to be transferred to intensive care myself.
The doctors joked to my family that my hormones must be working overdrive because I kept opening my eyes when they didn’t want me to. They said I must want to see my baby.
While I was out of it, Ashley just sat there.
The doctors tried to get him to talk to me, but he was struggling to cope and said, ‘I can’t’. One surgeon was rubbing the back of his shoulders; another gave him a hug.
Ashley and my mum kept going down to visit Nora at the NICU at Heartlands Hospital in Birmingham, while I received blood, plasma and iron transfusions.
I knew I was in hospital, but I had no idea what had happened
Helaina Thorpe
Because of the placenta previa, they already had plenty of blood on hand for me, which they were able to use.
When I eventually woke up, my heart rate was through the roof and I was still losing blood. I knew I was in hospital, but I had no idea what had happened; I had no short-term memory.
I was thinking, why are all these people smiling at me and saying, ‘you’re awake’? One student midwife was in tears in the corner, crying, ‘I’m just so happy to see you awake.’
Medics didn’t know what was causing the bleeding, so they opened me up again. They packed my insides and kept me open so they could investigate the blood loss.
They finally got it under control and I was taken to the high-dependency maternity unit.
In the following days, my memory began to return and I was told what had happened to me.
But because I developed infections, I was unable to meet Nora until she was eight days old.
I was so excited to see her, and Matthew was able to come in to cuddle her, too.
I was discharged around 12 days after the C-section, with five months’ worth of blood-thinning injections and three or four sets of tablets. Nora was already home by then.
It was so lovely to be back in my own bed.
For the first few days, Ashley stayed awake all night so I could get some sleep.
I had staples in my stomach, which were painful, and I felt breathless.
Matthew, who is about to turn four, kept coming into our bed at night to check I was still there. He’d say, ‘You’re not going to get poorly and go back to the doctor’s, are you?’
Doctors have since told me they believe I could have suffered from an AFE.
They said, ‘no-one really survives this.’ That’s when it hit me: I’m very, very lucky to still be here.
AFE is so rare that some doctors and nurses have never encountered it before.
We wouldn’t want to risk trying for more kids. Our little family is complete
Helania Thorpe
There is also a lack of support for families afterwards.
My husband’s paternity leave had virtually finished by the time I was out of the hospital. It was a very stressful time for him and he then had to care for us all at home.
He ended up having to get a sick note for four weeks, until things settled down.
Nearly half a year on, I’m doing really well. I take Nora to baby classes and I’ve started doing the NHS’s Couch to 5K running programme because I want my body to feel strong.
Matthew loves his baby sister – he’s always giving her cuddles and kisses.
They are sweet together but, after what we’ve been through, we won’t be having more kids.
We wouldn’t want to risk it. Our little family is complete.”;;
