My Miscarriage (Part Two)

On September 11th, after an early Monday morning blood test, the nurse called me and said my hCG levels were going back up. 

She asked me come back to the clinic the next day to take another blood test and do an ultrasound. We came in on the morning of September 12 and the doctors noticed a cyst in my ovary that was so large that the doctor thought it was my bladder, full to brimming. They told us to sit in the waiting room while they consulted. When a nurse came out and asked me if I’d had anything to eat that day, I began worrying. She explained that I might need emergency surgery for an ectopic pregnancy.

This is what I had feared most when the nurse first mentioned a biochemical pregnancy back what felt like eons before.  An ectopic pregnancy - where the egg and sperm meet and create a fetus that implants somewhere outside of the warm, nurturing home of the uterus.  An ectopic pregnancy that can cause fallopian tube rupture, internal bleeding, death.

They took me to another specialist for an ultrasound - the specialist worked within the pre-natal ward so I walked past women with beautiful round bellies proud and happy and not facing the fear and grief that I was. 

I was actually pretty cheerful about it - joking about looking forward to coming back to this floor when it was my turn. 

Although they were pretty certain that the large cyst was not the fetus, simply because it existed, it was a contraindication to administer methotrexate. They also still couldn’t locate where the pregnancy had implanted, despite multiple ultrasounds. So the lead doctor suggested a dilation and curettage procedure to empty my uterus in the hope that it would flush out the remaining HCG and any fetal cells that had been produced as part of the inviable pregnancy. At this point, it was certain that I did not have a viable pregnancy but uncertain whether I had an ectopic pregnancy. 

I felt so well taken care of, K at my side, three different doctors consulting me and doing procedures. I woke up from the short procedure feeling fine and hopeful and looking forward to the next try.

We came back in the next morning for blood test.  By noon, the results had come in - my hCG levels were just as high as the day before. The fetal cells were definitely still growing and they weren’t in my newly emptied uterus.

I hadn’t had a miscarriage, I had an ectopic pregnancy.

They scheduled an emergency laparoscopic surgery to find and remove the ectopic pregnancy the next day.  Rather than the small clinic, K and I headed over to the large hospital down the street and a brand new set of nurses. As I stripped down and put on the surprisingly soft multiple hospital gowns (one tied in the front, one tied in the back), the hospital nurse asked me to take a pregnancy test to assure them that I was not pregnant.  I looked at her surprised and said, “But I am pregnant - that’s why I need this surgery. That test will come up positive. It’s an ectopic pregnancy.”

I was surprised and frustrated to have to explain it. How could I be the one explaining the purpose of the surgery? Tears sprung to my eyes but I took the test.

When I had the chance to meet my surgeon, I felt much better. She was calm and intelligent and took a lot of time making sure that I knew what the procedure was - a laparoscopy with possible salpingostomy. Basically, sending a tiny camera into the uterus and fallopian tubes to look around, identify, and remove the ectopic pregnancy, possibly through an incision in the fallopian tube.

It was scary, but so were the stories I had found online about women who had bizarre shoulder pain that turned out to be due to a burst fallopian tube. 

I hoped that doing the surgery would allow my body to recover quickly so we could try again quickly.

I woke up dizzy, in pain, nauseated, and alone. I was miserable. My happy wake up from two days earlier was a distant memory. 

The recovery nurse came over to me and said that they weren’t able to locate the ectopic pregnancy so she was to give me a shot of the methotrexate. She asked me to roll on my side so she could put the injection in my hip.

I burst out crying. Surgery and still they didn’t find the ectopic? I complied with the nurse but inside I crumbled. I knew that the methotrexate shot meant that we couldn’t try another IUI for three months while the chemicals made their way through my system.

I was devastated and felt terribly sick. K finally arrived in my room after what felt like days and I burst into tears immediately upon seeing her. They wouldn’t let her stay very long as I drifted in and out of sleep so I woke alone again and tried sipping some ginger ale. (As a final humiliation on the way out, I vomited that ginger ale into a drain in the parking lot.)