The Aftermath of an Ectopic

So what exactly happens following an ectopic pregnancy?

Well, initially, not much of anything.

I spent the first week in a haze. A great deal of sleeping and crying. I honestly don't remember much. I know anyone I told was as supportive as they could manage to be, given that you can't possibly understand when it isn't you. I know that some people who Jon told seemed to avoid me....I know it wasn't ill-intentioned, but I felt incredibly isolated. Pregnancy loss discussion boards and one Facebook  friend who suspected and reached out to me became my lifeline.

Physically, there was some bleeding but I'd had worse periods before. I wondered, is this it? But that wasn't it.

One week after my shot my pregnancy hormone level was 3300. The shot wasn't working. My doctor asked me to consider a second shot of methotrexate, as not everyone responds to the first one. Fine, just get it done.

The second shot worked. Three days later I was in agony. The methotrexate is so successful in fighting cancer because it attacks "rapidly dividing cells" - what my Baby had now been reduced to. As the drug destroyed my poor little embryo, inflammation ensued. Well guess what? The fallopian tube is not designed to expand. So when it does - it's agony. I felt like a ticking time bomb. Confined to the couch, all I could do was wonder if my tube would burst. How much pain was too much?

But it didn't burst. And Percocet got me through it. I think it numbed some of my sadness and anger too. Allowed me to sleep without nightmares.

A few days after the shot my HCG had fallen from over 3000 to around 400. One week later it was 94. I'm still waiting for zero. Then I can safely resume my "Project Baby" nutrition/workout/supplement regime to try and pass the time while I wait two cycles. Then they test my tubes to assess the damage. And then hopefully we are given the go-ahead to try again. It feels like forever...

But somehow I think I'm handling it okay. I still have waves of bitterness and anger. I still cry at least once a day for the miracle Christmas baby I don't get to have. I'm planning a forget-me-not tattoo in memory of the Little One who I already loved and will never forget. But I also know that sinking into that black pit of depression that I know so well will not bring back my Baby. And it will not help us try for another. So I am trying very, very hard to move forward and try to see the positive. I expect to hit many bumps along the way, but I'm done with the secrecy and I'll reach out and work through things as they come up. Because that black pit isn't going to do me any favours.

~Michelle

Shattered

It looks like I haven't posted in ages, but that's not actually true. I have five new posts - great posts - all saved to draft, just waiting for the perfect time to publish them and share the exciting new turn in my life with the world.

But that won't happen now. I can't publish those posts anymore....though I know I will never be able to delete them either.

I was pregnant. I was one of those women who "just knew" within days. I told Jon that I knew something was different this time, even though a dozen home pregnancy tests argued I was wrong.

We went for our first consultation at the fertility clinic at the end of March and I told the doctor my suspicions. She ordered a blood test and the next day I got the call: Pregnant. Just barely....my levels weren't even high enough for a urine test to work yet.

I was in total shock that we had actually done it on our own. I was scared too. I didn't quite trust that my body could actually do this amazing thing for me, given how unreliable it had been so far. But mainly I was more happy than I can even find words to describe. We were getting everything we had ever wanted and we felt so incredibly grateful and blessed!

But I just couldn't shake a nagging doubt; that things weren't so perfect after all.

At almost seven weeks, I went for an early ultrasound. Our fertility clinic follows patients very closely in early pregnancy. There was no evidence of an embryo in my uterus. That's when time stopped and the tears began to fall. I was right. I had known. Our doctor sent me to the hospital for a hi-res scan, which verified the pregnancy was developing in my right fallopian tube. Ectopic. If our clinic hadn't been following me so closely it could have ruptured. I could have lost my tube. I could have died.

It was found early enough to avoid surgery - the one small consolation. But I had to make the choice to have a shot of methotrexate - chemotherapy - to end my pregnancy. Really, I know it wasn't a choice at all. But on some level it hurts even more that I had to give permission for it to be done.

We had thought everything was finally falling into place. We let ourselves believe that after two years of waiting the universe had decided we had suffered enough. But then I fell into the 1-2% of pregnancies that are ectopic. Even when I don't have a single one of the few known risk factors for it! What are the fucking chances of that???

The whole day at the hospital we felt that fate was mocking us. The woman in the waiting room playing with her happy, healthy baby boy. The smiling woman with the gorgeous baby bump skipping out of her ultrasound. The strong fetal heartbeat I overheard on Doppler from a few rooms down. The happy couple being wheeled from labour and delivery cradling their brand new baby girl, on their way home to begin their lives together. My heart had already been shattered into a million pieces, and then those pieces began to cut my insides completely raw.

It may sound dramatic, but if you haven't lived it then you just can't possibly understand.

I know we'll heal with time, though we will always keep a special place in our hearts for our Baby who already meant the world to us. I was due December 8th...

We aren't allowed to try again for three months and I'm scared for what is to come. My heart can't wait two more years for our next miracle, so we won't be dragging our heels on fertility interventions this time.

I know these things are rarely discussed openly, but we aren't embarrassed or ashamed. No one should be. Trying to heal in isolation is never healthy. For me, grieving means sharing my feelings and in a way, I want people to know how much our Baby mattered to us. It was real to us, and this loss has cut us very deeply. We would have done anything possible to save our Baby, but it was out of our hands. There is no reason to hide that.

~Michelle