When Angela Burgin Logan and husband Samson Logan welcomed their first child into the world, it was a miracle in more ways than one. After Angela began to experience mysterious and unusual symptoms during her pregnancy, the people closest to her - including her doctor - said it was all in her head. Don't worry.
But in her case, mother really did know best.
Angela's doctor failed to diagnose her with preeclampsia, a dangerous pregnancy complication that occurs in 5-8 percent of all pregnancies and is a leading cause of maternal deaths. The wife, mother, writer and health advocate chronicled and executive produced her traumatic story in a film, "Breathe," which was featured on Netflix.
Now, she's telling her story in an inspiring memoir, Breathe: When Life Takes Your Breath Away, co-written with her husband and published by BroadStreet Publishing (March 1, 2017).
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“Breathe is inspirational oxygen! You will inhale the words of this book and exhale hope,” says Victoria Christopher Murray, #1 Essence bestselling and award-winning author.
In this inspirational, hope-filled memoir, one woman battles the good advice of others versus the God-advice she senses in her spirit and shows what it looks like to have hope in the darkest of times.
Read an exclusive excerpt below and order your copy here.
***
This is it! my mind told me.
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The nurses looked at each other and practically rolled their eyes. One of the nurses walked over to Sam and the other to me. At almost the same time, they patted us on our back, patronizing us as if we were children.
"She's having a panic attack," the nurse who had gone to my husband told him.
I guessed the fact that I was dying meant nothing.
The nurse who hovered over me, said, "There, there," in a voice that was supposed to be soothing. "The Foley is in. You'll be okay now."
My eyes felt like they were bulging "I. Can't. Breathe." I felt like I was screaming, but my words were no more than a whimper.
My nurse shook her head and waved her hand at the same time. "You're going to have to calm her down."
Samson took his job much more seriously than the nurses. He turned to me. "Ang. Calm down. You're okay." Those were his words, but in his expression, I could see his panic -- the way his eyes widened, the shallow breaths that he was taking.
"I. Can't. Breathe!" I told him like I'd told everyone else. If anyone would believe me, it would be Samson.
"Calm down, Angela," one of the nurses said in a sterner voice than she'd been using. As if being stern was going to save my life.
I wanted to scream again, but I didn't have enough air to say another word. My mind took over and began to play out the many scenes of my life. As life drained from me, my mind reminded me of all that I'd lived. But at the same time, I saw everything that I would never see.
Like my baby!
Dear God, my baby!
Would my baby live? I prayed that she would. Samson would take good care of her since I wouldn't be there for her. He would be a great father.
Father! My father! What would he do when he found out that I'd died and he wasn't by my side? He would never forgive himself.
"Get my father!" I struggled to say to my husband.
As life drained from me, I wanted my father there. If I was going to die, I wanted the last people around me to be my father, my husband, and my unborn baby.
Hold on, Angela. Hold on.
Even though that's what I kept saying to myself, I didn't think that I'd be able to hold on until my father got there. I was fading fast. I fought to scream again. "Help me please! Somebody help me." I was filled with such desperation that I barely recognized my own voice.
When the nurses didn't respond to us, Sam went into action. He pushed past the nurses and went screaming into the hall. "We need help!"
In less than a minutes, more nurses rushed into the room, rolling machines on carts, then pushing needles and tubes into me, hooking me up to life machines. As soon as I was connected to the machines, they shrilled warnings that something was wrong. The machines told the nurses what I'd been saying.
I was in trouble.
Now, I heard the patter of running footsteps and the room filled with more hospital personnel.
"What's happening here?" I heard someone yell.
If I could have answered, I would have told him that I was struggling to live. But the words wouldn't come out as I held myself up using the bed rails.
Chaos filled the room. Nurses pushed in crash carts. The doctor yelled out orders. And the whole time I screamed. "Help me!"
Another nurse ran into the room and her eyes locked with mine. "Hello, Beautiful," she said as she shone a light into my right eye, then my left. Her words, her tone showed me her kindness. "I'm going to help you. Tell me what's happening."
The weight of my head was too much for me to hold it up and I let my chin fall to my chest. I wheezed, "I. Can't. Breathe."
Over her shoulder, I saw another woman rush into my room. Her eyebrows were bunched together in a frown as if she was trying to assess the situation. "Where's her labs?" Her tone was stern, but then she looked at me and her expression changed. She was warm and inviting.
She glanced down at my chart before she moved toward me, wearing a gentle smile. "We're going to help you," she said softly as she placed her hand on my leg. But then when she touched me, her smile went away. "She's got at least a plus two edema." As she backed away and shouted orders, she nodded to a couple of nurses who turned to my husband.
"Mr. Logan, we have to ask you to step out of the room."
"No!" he shouted.
I knew Sam would never leave my side.
"Mr. Logan, please." I watched as two nurses pulled Samson away.
"Ang!" he yelled. "Ang!" he shouted.
I garnered enough strength to hold myself up, keep my head still, and lock my eyes on my husband. Suppose this was the last time that I ever saw Samson? I wanted his image solidly in my mind.
As Samson was dragged through the door, another man came in. And Indian man, pushing a cart. He didn't speak a word, but he looked at me. And his eyes spoke to mine without a word uttered.
His gaze said, "I am here to help," as he eased his cart next to the bed. He lifted my arm and I'm not sure what he did next. He probably stuck a needle in me, though I wasn't sure. At this point, I couldn't feel anything except for all the air that was being pressed from my lungs.
Then...I saw him! Actually, it was more like I sensed him. I managed to turn my head and there he was, entering the room.
Dr. Walters. My doctor.
Slowly, my eyes made their way up his blue-mist colored scrubs, to his face that seemed to be growing paler by the second. Then, our eyes locked. He seemed transfixed, though he kept moving toward me. It was as if he was being pulled into the chaos, drawing closer to me, and closer to the truth that this was all happening because of him. It was happening because he hadn't listened to me. It was happening because he hadn't treated my symptoms.
Even though what I was going through was Dr. Walter's fault, I was desperate and so, my mind pleaded with him. "Please, help me!"
But just as quickly, the plea in my mind was followed by, "I tried to tell you that I couldn't breathe. And now, because of you, I'm dying."
Dread and doom were in his eyes as I labored to breathe. And he labored the same way. As the air left my body, it seemed to be doing the same to him. Finally, he broke his gaze away from him and his eyes took a slow tour around the room filled with frenzied doctors and nurses.
When he turned back to me, his entire essence seemed to say, "What have I done?"
I wanted to scream that this was all his fault. He was the reason why I would never see my baby. It was because of him that I wouldn't get to love my husband anymore. It was entirely his fault that my father would blame himself for the rest of his life.
But I couldn't scream any of that because that was the moment I felt it. My last ounce of strength was being squeezed from me. In my mind and my spirit, I knew this was it. This was the end. So, I had to use this energy and this moment wisely.
With all the strength I had left, I lifted my head and raised my eyes toward the ceiling. I inhaled, then exhaled, calling out, "Jesus, please help me."
That was it! My fingers that had held such a tight grip, relaxed and with nothing to hold me up, I crashed back on the bed. I heard the thud as I fell back. I was in the position I feared the most -- I was flat on my back.
But this time, I didn't want to scream. I felt no pain. So, all I did was close my eyes and give in. I gave in to the white light.
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