On the Emmys red carpet in 2014, a few months before giving birth.
Brrringg …
It was 6 a.m., and my alarm was ringing so loudly it might as well have been a jackhammer pounding into my skull. I slapped the snooze button and drifted off into an uneasy sleep. The night before was hazy, but I was sure it was like all the other nights since I’d gone back to work shooting Nashville: Come home, spend the little time I could with my daughter and make sure everything was going smoothly with her nanny, eat dinner, FaceTime with my fiancé, Wlad … I’d drink a bottle of wine and feel the euphoria of a blanket on me like warm water, washing away all my anxiety, self-doubt, and fears … drift into unconsciousness, wake up, and once again try to face the day.
One swig of Fireball burned my throat, then sent heat down my chest, into my arms, and through my torso. My shoulders relaxed and my heart swelled as I welcomed the bliss, then the nothingness. Addicts aren’t patient people. We want and need instant relief. Well, whoever invented Fireball sure knew the meaning of “instant” because the second I felt that burn, the anxiety I’d felt since my daughter’s birth was gone.
I labored with Kaya for 14 hours and was in surgery for three hours after she was born. My blood wouldn’t clot during my C-section, so doctors had to close the blood vessels in my uterus to prevent me from bleeding out. I had seven transfusions and ran a fever the entire time. My uterus had become infected, and the antibiotics I’d been given during labor hadn’t been strong enough to lower my temperature. When I woke up in the recovery room, I was exhausted, disoriented, and racked with pain.
