We had an ectopic early in the year. We had been trying for a baby for nearly 8 years so when we found out we were expecting we were at first shocked but totally overjoyed.
After 7 anxious weeks waiting for our first scan, I started to bleed but kept optimistic. After doctors visits and a long night waiting in A&E I was checked over but was told to come back in a week when the could fit me in for a scan.
A long week went still bleeding and the day arrived for our scan. I sat in the waiting room with other expectant mothers and looked out the door window into a ward with a women looking forlorn in bed. I prayed for her and for myself but in my gut I knew something was wrong.
Off to the scan I went, external and internal but nothing was found. I was told to go back into the same waiting room to await the results. At this moment I broke down in-front of the other mothers awaiting their news, which must of been shocking and worrying for them but I couldn’t help the tears that fell. A kind women handed me a tissue and my husband held my hand.
A short while later I was taken into another room and told that I’ve had a miscarriage but I need blood tests, so off we went. Shocked, I felt shocked like I was actually in shock. My stomach was sore from what I thought was the scan. We walked 10 ft out of the ward and I turned to my husband. I wanted the loo which was right in front of me and I collapsed. I told him to put me on the loo, I really needed to go. At that moment I knew something was really wrong. I kept going in and out of conciousness, my husband was more than concerned and shouted out for help. A lady he found stayed with me while he ran his arse to A&E.
I was put in a wheelchair and then taken back to the same ward where I had my scan. They all thought I was in shock from the news but in no time there were doctors and nurses undressing me, asking my husband questions like what has she eaten to which I kept shouting a polo! a polo! I was going a bit mad by then. I remember my husband holding onto all my belongings for dear life like this is it. This could be the end.
So within 40 minutes in bed writhing in agony I was sent into emergency surgery. All I could do was say ‘I love you’ to my husband and ‘I’m sorry’. This could be my last moment I would ever see him and I couldn’t think of a thing. He kissed me goodbye as I was wheeled off to theatre. I kept reciting the lords prayer in whispers and they let me finish before they put me under.
I’m awake and cold, my throat is sore and there is a kind face of a nurse telling me I’m OK, it went well and you’re OK. I was at put at ease as I tried to take in my surroundings. I made it, I’m alive.
When I started to recover from the anaesthetic, I was wheeled back into the ward I was once in and in the same spot where I first saw a lady in bed that morning. I had taken her place but I could see my twin through that door window now. It was weird like I was looking at myself from earlier. This time I smiled and waved.
My husband who actually looked liked he had gained a few extra grey hairs kissed me sweetly and held my hand. I smiled and was happy on morphine oh my good sweet morphine. After tears and smiles and reunited kisses with my family we awaited the dreaded news.
The doctors came but we all knew the outcome. I had an ectopic pregnancy which had ruptured my fallopian tube. I had severe internal bleeding which resulted in me loosing two thirds of my blood. With that news I just smiled and thanked the doctors for saving my life. It really could’ve been a different matter. I was in the right place at the right time.
After a long night with pain and morphine and hallucinating (I thought I saw death waiting at my door – very scary). I was ready to leave. I had to eat, drink plenty of water, get all my tubes out and then walk, not forgetting the 3 pee challenge before I could go. I was a women on a mission. By the time my husband and twin sister had arrived I was waiting for my last pee. I joked with my sister about bringing in skinny jeans for me to wear after abdominal surgery. I mean what was she thinking.
I was now free to go home and recover. It took the standard 6-8 weeks but I was back on form. A few tears, friends and family visits and a couple of outings for blood tests but it was over….but is it ever really over…..
to be continued…. how I coped with loss.