Blogs are supposed to be cathartic, right? Let me get this off my chest, and maybe we don't have to talk about it again. I just want to write it down and get it out of my head.
I called for a telephone consult on Thursday, which we all remember well - I was a little concerned because I had (at that point) had my period for about 3 weeks straight. I was worried for DH, mostly, as I was starting to feel murderous - I just attributed it to PMS, though. I think he was ready to throw me out the window. I was DEFINITELY ready to throw myself out the window. Bloated and Bitchy are not two of my favorite states, and I was definitely both. We waited the weekend out with NO CALL. By Monday, I was antsy and paranoid. The woman on the phone asked me if I had fatigue (DING! DING! DING!) and headaches (YES!!!). Why did she ask me that? Is something wrong? Does that indicate something? I was driving myself crazy. I finally called back on Monday and said, "HELLO! I NEED HELP! ANYBODY?" to have my call returned by a nurse within thirty minutes. She suggested I go in to the emergency room. I called DH, and after he got home from work we headed over that way. I was OVERJOYED to see only men in the ER. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I've had my period for a month," I whispered into the glass, hoping that he could hear me. He's got a wife. He did. Thank God. I was spared.
I was escorted to a little room with an adjoining bathroom and asked all kinds of questions. At this point, they just thought I was dehydrated. They did blood work and said that all was good. My red blood cells were doing their job, and I looked healthy. Still, just to be safe, they put me on an IV, which was a comedy of errors. I came out of there looking like a pin cushion - my veins were too small and they couldn't get enough blood. Fun. The doctor wrote me a script for something to stop the bleeding and DH and I were ready to head out the door. "Let me just get a sample from you," she said, so I peed in the little cup and got ready to leave.
Within 30 seconds or 3 minutes, I forget, she came back in all brisk and business like. "Mrs. DH? You're not going anywhere. You came back positive." I didn't believe her. I asked if it were possible to be a false positive. She was doubtful. She also mentioned that she hadn't felt anything abnormal during the exam. In the tubes. At this point, I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. She mentioned ectopic pregnancy, which I had heard about but never really paid attention to. Then came the waiting. They had to retest my blood to check the hCG levels - if they were high enough, I would have an ultra sound.
After waiting nervously for about 2 hours, the results came back. The levels were high enough, and we would have the ultrasound. They called in the technicians, and around 11:00, they were wheeling me down to the room. It was dark and quiet in there, just two doctors, a nurse, Dh and me, all staring at the little screen, looking for signs of life. Initially, they found nothing. They had to reconfirm my hCG levels with the lab, because they didn't believe there was anything in there. But as they did the final sweep, they caught it. A tiny little sac. "What is that?" I asked, knowing full well what it was. They explained it to me in medical terms, and as I was looking, I saw palpitations on the screen. OH SHIT. A heartbeat. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "This is a developing fetus, and that is the heartbeat you see," they confirmed. I cried at this point, staring at the ceiling and feeling the tears roll out of the corners of my eyes. Dh just held my hand and squeezed it, offering the comfort of his presence without any words. Logically, I understood what had to be done. I knew that the tube could rupture at any time killing not only the fetus but possibly myself as well. The risk was entirely too high.
At this point, the OBGYN was called in, and he asked to do the ultrasound himself. I relented, hoping that perhaps it was just because of my body makeup that the fetus looked like it was in the tube. Not so. "We have to do surgery," he said. And after that, it was really a whirlwind. All kinds of questions from religion to living will to what I last ate. More IV's - which took forever, again, and three nurses, because of my damn veins.
I started to cry right before they wheeled me to the operating room. I remember Dh standing there, following me as far as he could. Smiling at me so that I would stay relaxed even though I was shaking and terrified. And sad. I had been so jealous of all the pregnant women around me only to find out that I was pregnant as well but would not be able to keep it. It was so fast. I don't even think I really knew what to feel.
Once I got into the operating table, I climbed up there by myself and shivered while they piled warm blankets on me and got my arms and legs into place. The anesthesiologist was wonderfully merciful and gave me something to relax me right away. I stared at the lights thinking, "Wow. This is really good stuff," and then I was out. Only to be awakened again by the shivering, feeling like I had done 1 million sit ups. I began to cry again, because the shivering hurt so bad.
They rushed me back to my bed and my husband, where I was given some more medicine to stop the shivering. I spoke to my mom and drifted off.
I don't remember much from that day, some more stitches, some eating, but everything is blurry. The doctor came in and said I was very fortunate as they had taken an alarming amount of blood from my abdomen and that they had gotten in just in time. The tube was stretched so tight, they were sure it would have burst within the next two or three days.
So here I am. A little bewildered, swollen, and sad. I notice the sadness mostly right after I take the percocet, but it only lasts about 20 minutes, which can seem like a long time when you feel lonely. I don't know how I'm going to feel after this. I'm at high risk for another ectopic pregnancy, and have a sixty percent chance of getting pregnant. That's not really one of the things you think about, you know? I always thought my biggest worry was pooping on the table.
The bizarre thing is, the doctors couldn't figure out why the pregnancy was ectopic. There were no indicators in my body, and I did not have any of the conditions that would lead them to believe I was at risk. Even more scary is that I was 7 weeks along. They kept remarking that I must have had a remarkably high pain threshold, but I don't remember feeling anything. A couple sparks of pain here and there, but nothing that would have sent me to the hospital. For the sake of sanity, Dh and I have decided that his sperm was so excited, it just went right past the uterus and that this will not happen to us again.
I want to thank all of you who wrote to me and sent me good wishes. They help tons. It helps me to feel a bit more grounded. One day at a time.