December 28, 2006, was the day I realized the doctors were wrong, I had been pregnant and not only was I losing my baby, but I was about to lose my own life.
I had discovered in November that I was unexpectedly, but happily, pregnant with my third child. My doctor (NOT my obstetrician) didn't do any tests because she said the three athome tests I had taken were as accurate as anything they would do. When I started spotting at 10 weeks and 5 days, I was sent for an ultrasound, the tech couldn't see a baby in my uterus, and she also couldn't see my left fallopian tube. Because my doctor had not tested, the tech refused to believe I had been pregnant and didn't feel it was a problem that she couldn’t find the tube. It was a problem.
That unseen tube is where my baby was hiding and would continue growing for another week until the tube ruptured, killing my baby and almost killing me. (While an ectopic pregnancy is not viable, I had been pregnant for almost 12 weeks and was attached to this baby and wanted it very much.)
The things I remember about that day are strange because I was bleeding internally and as a result was slipping in an out of consciousness:
Horrendous pain. The worst physical pain I have ever experienced in my life (I have broken bones, and have been through labor five times). It was in my abdomen, my back, and my shoulder (abdominal injuries often caused referred pain to the shoulders).
Snark Girl (then age 5) asking from outside the doctor’s office exam room, “If Mommy dies, who will take care of us?” (My heart broke. God bless my Aunt for telling her I was not going to die that day, but that if I did someday die, that she and the girls’ godmother would helping my Darling Husband take care of them.)
The ambulance ride to the hospital. The lights and sirens came on when my blood pressure was undetectable, and my veins were so collapsed an I.V. couldn’t be started.
DH running home for a bit to check on my Aunt and the girls, and the nurse calling his cell phone to tell him to get back to the hospital IMMEDIATELY. (He was 15 minutes away and they said it was too far and that he was not to leave again.)
Having the nurse assigned to stand next to my bed (stand not sit) and watch me and the monitors, tell me that I was so pale I was whiter than the sheets and it looked like my make-up was floating above my skin.
Being unable to move my left arm because of the pain, but being so hot the nurses had to cut me out of my shirt.
Waiting hours for a CT scan until the surgeon arrived and called the CT department and told them to bump everyone and hold the room because I was on the way. Because no one believed I was pregnant, they thought it was an acute appendicitis.
Having the pre-op nurse tell me I must possess an unbelievably strong will because she had never seen someone so pale and with such “crummy” blood pressure that was still conscious and cracking jokes.
DH looking terrified. (He had been a total jerk about coming home from work when I called him because I was in pain and vomiting and couldn't possibly care for the girls since I was wavering on the edge of being unconscious on the kitchen floor.)
Fear. Fear I would die. Fear I would leave Snark Girl and OCDiva without a mother at such a young age. Fear I would leave DH alone to raise our girls and worried that his grief for me would overwhelm him. Fear I would never be able to have another child.
The surgeon telling me he found a liter of blood in my abdomen and that he had called in an obstetrician to remove the ruptured fallopian tube.
My post op nurse being 8 months pregnant and after looking at my chart being horrified that she was assigned to a patient experiencing a loss of pregnancy. She asked if I wanted a new nurse, I told her no because I was sure she would be more sympathetic than any other nurse could possibly be. I asked her if SHE minded being my nurse, she said no. She was wonderful.
Seeing DH standing beside my bed, after surgery, crying in relief.
Obviously, I survived December 28, 2006. I lost a baby, a fallopian tube, and had a decent sized scar. But I lived. I got pregnant again, intentionally; about 5 months later and I lost that baby too, at 12 weeks. The loss was emotionally devastating and the D&C was not fun, but at least I was alive to experience it. I am so blessed and grateful for the five children I have, but I think there may always be two missing pieces of my heart and soul that belong to those two lost babies.
Blessings and love to any of you that have lost a baby.