Friday started just like any other day-- playing with Lucy, doing chores around the house, making sure her needs are met. I was suddenly met with the most intense surge of pain that I've ever felt pulsing through my abdomen. I've always been a really healthy person-- perfect first pregnancy, no broken bones ever, never a concern for my personal health. As soon as I felt this pain and realized I was home alone with Lucy, I felt hopeless. I didn't want to be ridiculous and go to the hospital if I didn't need to, and there was no way I could make it to the car with her. Then, I had a panic attack. I started sweating profusely, my breathing increased rapidly, and my hands seized up, and I couldn't move them from the new misshapen form they had taken on. I knew it was time to call Steve.
Steve had been out that day working with his father, and their last client had cancelled their appointment, so he was already on his way home and was there for me in just a few minutes, but those moments felt like forever. Lucy was crawling on my lap trying to figure out what was wrong with me and started crying when I couldn't hold her. I'm so grateful that my father-in-law was there. He stayed with Lucy, so Steve could take me to a nearby urgent care facility.
We arrived at the urgent care and were admitted quickly. One of the first questions they asked-- are you pregnant? Well, a little known fact by many, Steve and I have been trying to have another baby for the past 7 months with no luck. I used to think that if you could have one baby so easily that somehow meant the trend would continue and we'd have no problem having another whenever we wanted another. I've since learned that the female body is so amazingly complicated and that every birth is simply a miracle, be it a perfect pregnancy or a perfectly painful one.
So back to the question. I had told the doctor we were trying but having trouble so that I didn't think I could be. Turns out, I was pregnant. They ran some blood work and found out I was very early in the pregnancy, only about 3 weeks, but the pain I was having was concerning. It could be completely unrelated to the pregnancy or the pregnancy could be the cause. I had several tests and ultrasounds done, and it was found that something (blood) was pooling in the left ovary. We were praying that, because the baby was so new and so small, it could have been a cyst or something that had ruptured and was causing blood to enter into my stomach. I wanted this baby so badly, but I knew I couldn't let myself hope just quite yet.
I was then transferred via ambulance to a different hospital with gynecologist specialists that had better equipment for tests that could give us more answers. By this time, I was tested more, and the testing lasted from 3pm to 11:30pm at night. More and more ultra sounds, pelvic exams, everything that women have to, but don't love to, endure.
A doctor came into the room. I was hopeful at this point. It could have been my exhaustion, but I felt at peace. It was the only news I didn't want to hear. It was an ectopic pregnancy. Instantly, my heart sank, the tears came, but the relief I longed for to cry and mourn could not come due to the severe pain that I was still overcome with. My sadness was silent, and my heart was broken, as I looked over at my sweet husband who was in just as much pain as I was over the news.
For those who don't know, an ectopic pregnancy is when the baby is growing in the wrong place. The place where they normally take up residency in an ectopic is in the fallopian tubes which causes severe risk for the mother to bleed out, go into shock, and die. I knew at that moment that, even if I came out of everything okay, my baby that I longed for would not be saved.
I was prepped for surgery. None of my ultrasounds showed where the baby was, so I was put to sleep with breathing tubes and all of the works. I had two amazing female surgeons that I put all of my faith into. Being surrounded by these strong females who would be responsible for my life gave me comfort. I knew that I was going to be okay. Their dedication, love, and care can never be equaled in my lifetime. After I was asleep, a small incision was made in my stomach and a camera was placed inside to look around for the baby. Once they found it, they would proceed with the surgery to remove the pregnancy.
In most common cases, a small incision can be made in the fallopian tube and the pregnancy can be removed, or a portion of the tube is removed along with the pregnancy. In rare cases, the baby grows on the ovary which is even less favorable, and the ovary will need to be removed. I was prepared to know all of the possible outcomes as well as the possibility of a blood transfusion.
An hour and a half later, I woke up having lost both my sweet baby and, to my surprise, my ovary, and in their words "a bottle of wine full" of blood. I desperately tried to work my way out of my anesthesia which was just about impossible when mixed with my complete exhaustion at 4am, and was amazingly allowed to go home that same night. I fell asleep right away and tried to let my 3 small incisions heal along with my mind.
This mourning process has been hard for me. I feel like I robbed myself of the chance to get through all of the many emotions stuck inside of me due to my need to stay logical in these situations. The only way I can make it through hard times is for me to think about the facts and to accept them. I thought at the end of this, after giving myself time to think it through, I would be bitter and angry and hurt. My faith would be struggling more than it already was with the many unanswered questions that plagued me. Somehow this was not the case.
I felt blessed. My husband was able to be by my side almost instantly and found me and held me and got me to the ER. My husband's mom and dad stayed with Lucy till 5am and loved her and took care of her and made sure she was happy and in bed. My parents and nana stayed up very late praying for me and sending me love all through the night. My doctors were the very best, and even though I lost a considerable amount of blood, I didn't need a transfusion and was able to go home to heal in my own home. I am alive. I remind myself that I belong to this community of women who struggle and cry and mourn for children they have never met. My pain is not my own. It is shared by my husband, my sisters, my friends, and a Savior who loves me and guides me through my pain and pulls me out of the dark.
My recovery will be quick, I still have another ovary, I'll be able to someday be pregnant again, and I am lucky, and not just lucky, but blessed.
The most apparent way that I have found joy through this challenge had been the way that it has allowed me to connect with and be empathetic to other women's similar struggles. I was paired up with a woman right after I moved to Colorado Springs to visit teach with. I later found out that she had lost a sweet baby and felt just as alone as I did. We were able to become quick friends, and I was able to see my suffering through a different lens.
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