The Scoop

So here's the scoop.  What I had thought was a miscarriage, what the doctors told me was a miscarriage, I found out 6 weeks later to be an ectopic pregnancy.  And I didn't find out because of a scheduled ultrasound, or because the doctor saw something particular about my symptoms to alert them.  No, I found out after I decided to go to the ER after a second batch of unbearable pain.  Lovely.

The ER story goes like this:  I was at my father-in-law's house for a going away BBQ with Dustin's family.  We were to fly to NY to move in 3 days.  After telling my mother-in-law and sister-in-law how great I was feeling, finally, and that I thought my miscarriage and the 6 weeks of bleeding and cramping were over, I started to double over in pain.  I had felt similar pain 2 weeks prior, but when I had called my doctor's office, my practitioner had waived my pain away and told me that sometimes miscarriages took a while, that the pain was to be expected.  My HCG quants had mysteriously gone up 4 weeks after they had started dropping, but she wasn't worried.

In pain once again, I had Dustin drive me home while I curled up in a ball on the passenger side seat and gripped the door and arm rests until I could get home, pump my system full of Advil, and sink myself into a hot bath.  Dustin asked if he should take me to the ER, but the thought of sitting at the ER in that much pain sounded awful.  He took me home, I went through my cramp diffusing routine, and curled up on the couch knowing the pain had exhausted me enough to sleep.

With my assurances, Dustin went back to the family party to collect our son and to say his goodbyes.  By the time he got I home I was feeling better enough to devour some Wendy's and think clearly.  I couldn't move to a new state, without a doctor, and without a clue as to what was going on with my body.  But it was Saturday, we were leaving Monday night, and I was sure that my doctor would brush me off again or not schedule me for an ultrasound until later in the week.  We thought about going to Urgent Care the next morning, but then we ran the risk that they wouldn't have the right equipment if I did need an ultrasound.  So we left J. with my parents and headed out.

It felt pretty ridiculous going to the ER at this point.  I was feeling a lot better.  I looked fine.  I sat in the waiting room cracking jokes with Dustin, watching the news, pretty much expecting to be sent home with a tummy ache.  That was not the case.  Instead they forced a catheter on me, did an intrauterine ultrasound, stuck me with methotrexate (to end the "pregnancy"), pumped me full of morphine, and admitted me for the night.

The ultrasound was a difficult moment.  My budding doctor of a husband watched the ultrasound, and with the pieces of knowledge that he has, he saw what he thought was a heart beat, and he noticed a mass.  This made the news that my pregnancy was ectopic especially hard to hear.  I had already mourned the miscarriage, I had pulled my sorry butt out of my depressed state and and gotten all giggly about my future NY move.  I was over it.  But the new information broke my heart.  I had no choice, a life can't thrive in a fallopian tube, but it still seemed unfair that I had to do with drugs what my body couldn't do for itself.

The methotrexate made me feel awful, dizzy, hot, cold, and I couldn't control my emotions.  Luckily, however, sleep won out and I felt much more myself in the morning, just in time to make my next decision.  My doctor came to the hospital and told me that I could do surgery to remove the pregnancy now or wait for the drugs to do their work.  But I didn't hesitate.  I had had 6 weeks of not feeling well, of being unsure what was going on with my body, of being constantly reminded of what I had lost, and I didn't want it to go on a day longer.  Lucky for me, when I went under they found that my colon was wrapped around my fallopian tube, there was blood in my abdomen, and that my fallopian tube was a mess.  So I lost a tube, but I gained a newly healthy body and freedom from the nagging sadness.

Dustin had to move to NY a few days ahead of me while I healed, and the next few days were exhausting, but overwhelmingly I was happy for all that happened.  At the church I now go to I have had startling moments of revelation about my faith that have been answers to my prayers.  I have a renewed sense of gratitude for all that I have and am able to experience.  And very strangely, I feel that the loss of what seems like a very necessary organ, will actually lead to our gain.  I don't know what will happen, but I know more children are in our future, and I am sure we will know soon how that will come about.

My lesson learned on faith: Our trials remind us of our faith.  We don't have faith in an event or a blessing, we have faith in Christ, that he knows us, loves us, and that our faith will bring us eventual joy, even if it is not the way we have planned.