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I was pregnant. {most difficult post ever.}

Posted Feb 10 2011 7:16pm

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If you usually come by my blog to read the light-hearted, quad-latte induced ramblings of a girl who takes too many photos of her cats, then I apologize for what you’ll find in today’s post. Honestly, if that’s what you’re in the mood for, then you may want to skip today’s post all together and come back in a few days. I’m sorry. :\

Today’s a more difficult blog post for me to write. Today, I’m going to expose my life a little more than I ever thought that I would on my blog… and I’m not even sure why I’m doing so. I suppose it’s because I began blogging as a means of free therapy and I still occasionally use it as an outlet for crazy emotions. Thing is… I thought that I had boundaries. I thought that there would be a place or a point where I would draw a line and say “No, this isn’t something I want to put out there for everyone to know… this is my personal life, I need to keep this to myself and my family.

I guess I thought wrong, because this is one of those things that would fall in to the “too personal, only for the family” kind of category. In fact, it’s so personal that there are many of you that may be close friends with me in real life who still have no idea what’s going on and will be finding out this information for the first time while reading this blog post. Well, that is, if I actually have to courage to hit “publish” when I’ve finished typing all of this. I haven’t blogged at all this month, except for one post saying that there wouldn’t be a blog post. I wanted so share why and what’s has been going on.

Deep breath. Here goes…

I was pregnant.


Key word, however, is was. I was pregnant.

We were thrilled; it was an answered prayer. But, from the beginning, in the back of my mind, I knew something wasn’t right.

On Tuesday morning, I went in for a check up with my doctor. I was scheduled for an ultrasound before my appointment, and I could tell by the concerned look on the tech’s face that whatever she was seeing, or wasn’t seeing, on her monitor must not be normal. There was something about the way she wouldn’t look me in the eye or saying anything like “yep, everything looks good!” After about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence accompanied by even more uncomfortable poking and prodding, she instructed me to get dressed and return to the waiting room. I didn’t really have a lump in my throat until this point.

Back in the waiting room, I found that I was having a hard time getting myself to thumb through the most recent issue of Fit Pregnancy Magazine. All of the excitement about having a baby seemed to be fleeting.

My iPhone dinged a couple of times while I starred blankly at the January cover of the magazine. I decided that distracting myself with emails would probably be a good idea, so I fumbled around my bag to find my phone.

Great. It’s an email from BabyCenter telling me how old baby is this week and what developments are taking place. Before I could hit “delete,” a nurse came in to the waiting room and called my name.

Once back in the exam room, I really knew something was wrong when the nurse asked me to just sit and wait on my doctor; no need to change in to a gown or anything. Dr. M. came in to the room just a few moments later and I could read her face like it was an open book.

It’s ectopic, isn’t it?” I asked.

Oh honey, I’m so sorry, but it is.” She put her hand out on my thigh and gave me a sympathetic glance.

Before she could explain things, I continued with my questions,

It’s in the right tube, isn’t it?” She looked at me a little puzzled,

Did the nurse go over this with you already?” I explained to her that she hadn’t, it was just instinct… I could feel it.

I know it might sound completely crazy, but even around the time that implantation occurred, I suspected something wasn’t right. I had even made a note in my chart about pulling & pinching sensations that were too far off to the right side of my uterus. During dinner one night, I mentioned this concern to the hubs, but he assured me that I was being overly analytical.. which I usually am.

So, the ultrasound confirmed my worst fear; an ectopic pregnancy. The fertilized egg had implanted in my right fallopian tube instead of inside of my uterus. To add insult to injury, I was also hemorrhaging and there was a pool of blood collecting inside my abdomen. My doctor was worried that I could rupture soon, so I was sent immediately to the hospital for emergency surgery.

On the way to the hospital, I had less than ten minutes to call all of the necessary people. Dad was first on my list because I felt he would be the most calm with everything. Mom was at work and I hadn’t decided how to go about telling her – I didn’t want to give her the news while she was working, but I couldn’t keep it from her. She ended up calling me at the same time I was telling my Dad, so I had to return her call with the news. After that, I called my sister and briefed her. I live about five hours away from my family, so I felt like I really needed to reassure them that I was okay, despite the news, and that they didn’t need to worry. I asked my sister to call and check on our parents and be there for them. After that, I had just a couple of calls and texts to send to close friends who were waiting on updates from my appointment.

We arrived at the hospital around 1pm and I was doing much better than Hubs at this point. I was doing everything that I possibly could to reassure everyone in my support system that I {we} would be fine and, even though the circumstances were horrible, something positive would just have to come of it.

A nurse came to walk me back to pre-op, so I kissed hubs goodbye and left him in the waiting area with my things. Once I got changed in to my lovely, oversized blue hospital gown and huge, brown fuzzy socks my pre-op nurse began to take my vitals. Her name was Kim, and I swear she was a blessing. As she took my blood pressure, she put her hands on mine and asked how I was doing.

I’m doing well, thank you.” You know, standard response I had given everyone that day… it was better than “Well, actually, I’m horrible. My heart is shattered.

She smiled at me, “Well, honey, I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about a thing. I went through this very same surgery with my first pregnancy and I now have three healthy, beautiful kids. I promise we’ll take great care of you.

Her southern belle accent was honest and sincere. I tried to compose myself and just say a simple “thank you,” but words came out as squeaks and next thing I knew, the nurse was holding me in the tightest hug imaginable and sobbing along with me.

A few minutes later, I had regained my composure and they brought hubs back to sit with me until it was time for surgery. Both the surgeon and the anesthesiologist stopped in to explain things and answer questions. After that, I made a few more phone calls to my parents to check on them and let them know that we were doing well. It also occurred to me that I could very well be blogging this later, so I took a few minutes to snap some photos on my iPhone and requested that hubs get a photo of me looking my finest.

photo 1

Poor Hubs.

photo 2

Me looking lovely {sarcasm.}

photo 4

That’s about the last thing I remember before waking up in recovery.

Surgery took around an hour. Basically, they removed the pregnancy, performed a D&C , an HSG to check the condition of my left tube {it looks healthy} and I, unfortunately, lost my right tube. It had to be removed because the chance of an ectopic pregnancy reoccurring on that side was pretty great due to the damage and scar tissue inside that tube.

My teeth were chattering when I started coming out of anesthesia. I remember trying so hard to wake up enough to talk so that I could tell them that I was in pain. I was cramping so badly and I felt like my belly button was being used for a tiny bon fire pit. Apparently, all I was uttering to my nurse was “belly bon fire button pit…. belly bon fire button pit… FIRE PIT!!!” over and over. Clearly, they were confused as to what message I was trying to convey.

Once I was a little more lucid, the nurse confirmed that they were giving me another dose of morphine. Now, I’ve never had morphine before, but I’ve heard it’s pretty good stuff. Well, that second dose didn’t phase me one bit. After 20 minutes, I was still suffering from sever belly button bon fire-itis, so they topped me off at a total of 10mg of morphine.

After what seemed like an hour of me insisting that my recovery nurse feed me ice chips, they finally offered me a cold drink. Ginger Ale has never, ever tasted so good. The nurse handed me the ice cold can with a straw and said that he’d be back shortly with my husband. He reiterated to me that I was to drink my precious ginger ale very slowly, else I could get sick. I shook my head understandingly and as he walked out of my curtain, I ripped out the straw and shot the can down my throat as fast as I could. I was SO thirsty. Turns out, they’re not kidding about the drink-slow-or-you’ll-get-sick thing!

Fast forward to today. It’s Thursday. I still haven’t made sense of things. Overall, I’m in pretty good spirits. I’ve had my moments of breaking down and we’re both incredibly heartbroken, but working towards accepting it. I’m sad, but I find that there’s nothing good that comes out of being angry or bitter.

On the physical recovery front, I’m sore. Like, really sore. I can’t really get up on my own, so Hubs has worked from home the past two days to help me get around. Basically, he just walks me back and forth from the bathroom. It seems like a simple task, but I’d be in serious trouble without him. Well, and he also hands me my drinks, fetches my medicine. I guess he pretty much waits on me hand and foot.

I’m very bloated, bruised and have two incisions that feel like they’re on fire. Look how groooosss my belly button looks!


Doctor has me off of work for at least a week and said that I’ll be sore for a good three weeks.

I’m so blessed with an amazing support system. My parents & in-laws have been incredible – they’re my rock, my sister has been in these same shoes and has an understanding like nothing else! All of my wonderful girls from TN {you know who you all are}… words just can’t describe how thankful I am for each of you, we’ve been through so much together. To the few close friends who have watched this story play out, you’re amazing. My growing church family, I can’t even express that gratitude we have for each and every one of you. Everyone who has offered prayers & good thoughts when all they knew was that I was undergoing surgery, I thank you. Mostly, though, without my husband, our marriage and our faith in God, I don’t know how I would get through this.

Thank you, everyone, for all of the calls, emails, texts, tweets, flowers, fruit and everything – we’re overwhelmed with love and support and I’ll never be able to fully express how much that means to us.

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