The Moment I Truly Surrendered
The first time I truly surrendered, I thought I was dying.
I was 27, pregnant with my first child, and bouncing down the hallway of Bernalillo County Medical Center in Albuquerque on a gurney. Flat on my back, I could see only the ice-blue eyes of the anesthesiologist above me. Attendings ran on either side. Somewhere up ahead, my husband — a medical resident — was trying to hold it together as they rushed his wife and unborn child to the O.R. And he was helpless.
Earlier, a nurse had warned me:
“If this becomes an emergency C-section, things will move very fast.”
She wasn’t wrong. What no one tells you is what it feels like to become the object of saving. In an instant, I wasn’t Susan anymore. I was no longer a person with thoughts, questions, or fear. I had become a life to save.
There had been blood in my amniotic fluid. Several failed, painful attempts to attach an internal monitor. The external monitor gave only flickers of good news. The decision had been made. I was the emergency.
I Wasn’t in My Body Anymore
As the gurney flew toward the operating room, I felt detached — as if even I had abandoned the body being rushed through those doors. In the chaos of the O.R., a surgeon dropped an instrument and muttered “Jesus” under his breath. Another said “Shaving,” and with one sweep, removed my pubic hair.
I finally put the pieces together.
This is what it looks like when people are trying to save a life.
I must be dying.
“Am I dying?” I asked, turning toward the surgeon.
He stopped.
He looked me in the eyes and placed a steady hand on my forehead.
“Oh no, sweetheart. We’d never let you die.”
The Surrender
I took a deep breath. Not because I was brave, but because his words anchored me.
“Will you just hold my hand?”
He strapped the mask over my face, then took my left hand. A nurse reached from the right and took the other. I had never seen either of them before. I would never see them again.
But in that moment, I surrendered.
Not to death.
Not to fear.
But to trust.
Two strangers held my hands as the world faded to black.
Surrender Is Self-Care
People often think of self-care as soft things: bubble baths, candles, yoga classes. But self-care is sometimes terrifying. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s asking for help when you feel like you’re disappearing.
Surrender isn’t giving up — it’s letting others show up for you. It’s recognizing that control is not safety. Sometimes, the deepest self-care is simply this:
“Will you hold my hand?”
If this story resonates with you, you’ll find more in my new book
Prioritize Your Self-Care: Reclaiming Your Path to an Extraordinary Life