I’ve always been a private person, but recent events have forced me to reconsider my silence. An unexpected journey brought me to my knees, leaving me in desperate need of support and shared experiences. Unfortunately, every search led me to unsettling conclusions, making me feel like I was on the brink of disaster.
The truth is, I longed to find solace in another woman’s story, yet it became clear that my platform could serve a purpose beyond what I initially envisioned.
So, what transpired? Life, in all its unpredictable glory.
One October afternoon, I discovered I was pregnant with our third child. We were ecstatic, though admittedly a bit anxious, as this was a baby we had earnestly prayed for. Just three days after my first positive test, I began spotting. Unlike many, I didn’t panic. During a previous pregnancy, I had experienced a subchorionic hemorrhage at 11 weeks that sent me to the ER. After a harrowing experience, I was relieved to find my baby’s heartbeat strong. Thus, I dismissed the spotting as something minor.
My first prenatal appointment was scheduled for mid-November, when I would be seven weeks along. To ease my worries during the spotting, I took pregnancy tests every few days. When I feared a miscarriage, I contacted my doctor’s nurse. They wanted to test my HCG levels, but the night before my blood work, I felt dull pain on my left side, heightening my fears of an ectopic pregnancy.
Although the on-call doctor reassured me that I had no risk factors, he suggested an ultrasound for clarity. I was eager for answers. I had two healthy pregnancies before; I simply wanted to hear that everything was fine.
Unfortunately, the news was far from what I hoped. “I’m sorry, Ava. Based on your dates, you should be about six weeks along, but I’m not seeing what I should,” the doctor said. My tubes appeared healthy, but he couldn’t confirm anything. A sinking feeling settled in me. I had been trying to conceive, and I knew my body well; therefore, I suspected the worst. Oddly enough, I had felt a premonition that this journey might not end well, a thought I had shared with my husband during a quiet moment.
Days dragged on as I remained in uncertainty. Then, just before my son’s second birthday party, I received a call from the nurse. I had noticed my light bleeding intensifying, and I thought it might indicate a miscarriage. She informed me that my hCG levels had barely risen, confirming my concerns. The typical levels should triple at this stage, and the news was grim. As a precaution, she had called in methotrexate to the pharmacy, preparing for the worst.
Her compassionate guidance was invaluable as she helped me mentally prepare. “Separate your heart from your head, Ava. This is God’s will, and sometimes these things happen because it’s not a viable pregnancy.” Her words were a balm for my fraying nerves.
Wednesday arrived for my first official prenatal visit. I was seven weeks pregnant, a moment that should have been filled with joy, but my gut was telling me otherwise. The ultrasound technician’s demeanor made me uneasy as she prodded around, humming in a way that only deepened my dread.
About half an hour later, my doctor entered the room. “We have an ectopic pregnancy,” she announced. My world shattered. The news felt like a death sentence, not just for my baby but for me, too. Following a painful biopsy and a swift conversation about my treatment options, I was left waiting while the results came in. I had to occupy myself while my future hung in the balance.
I drove alone to the pharmacy, battling a tumult of emotions. After calling my husband and parents to share the devastating news, I picked up the medication that would save one of us but not both. The weight of that moment was unbearable.
I know many women endure similar losses, but mine felt uniquely heavy. It was as if my body had betrayed me and my child in a catastrophic way. The experience has been long and painful, as I’ve dealt with physical limitations and persistent symptoms. While the bleeding has lessened, the emotional toll remains.
Methotrexate is no simple medication; it’s designed to halt rapidly dividing cells, often used in cancer treatment. The side effects can be severe. I felt stripped of all vitality, and navigating this process has been a significant challenge.
Now, nine weeks post-treatment, I find myself scrolling past pregnancy announcements with a mix of emotions. My due date was July 4, and while I’m genuinely happy for others, my heart still needs time to heal. I just yearn for a straightforward conception, pregnancy, and delivery.
Not many know of my ordeal. It’s not easy to discuss, and when I do share, the responses can be unexpected. This experience has taught me a great deal about myself, my relationships, and my values. It has deepened my spirituality and enhanced my trust in my medical team.
I’m uncertain about when we’ll try for another baby, especially given the increased risks. However, I remain grateful for what I have and hold onto the memory of my little angel. As I finish this piece, a song plays on the radio, encapsulating my sentiments perfectly:
“Let it go
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don’t you know
The hardest part is over?
Let it in
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels.”
For more insights on navigating similar experiences, you can check out this helpful resource on pregnancy or explore this blog post for guidance. If you’re considering at-home options, this retailer offers a range of insemination kits.
Summary:
This heartfelt narrative details the emotional and physical turmoil experienced during an ectopic pregnancy. The author reflects on the pain of loss, the struggle for answers, and the healing process while navigating grief. Her journey highlights the importance of support and understanding, encouraging others to share their stories and seek resources during difficult times.