About a month ago, I made a new soup recipe. It was like a potato, rice, cheese soup. Very filling. Later that night I had unbelievable stomach cramping. So painful I was doubled over in pain, crying. I figured this new soup recipe had caused me some very serious gas.
That was a Thursday. I continued this way through the weekend. Ruling out gas pains, I thought maybe I had the flu. Then I started thinking it was something more serious. Maybe colon cancer. I Googled everything I could think of, but nothing quite lined up with what was going on with my body.
On Monday, after spending most of the day on the couch, my hubby insisted I go to the doctor. I said I wanted to give it a few more days and if I still felt bad, then I would go. By nine o’clock that night, I was convinced I was dying.
As I hovered over the porcelain throne losing my dinner, I felt the world fading away from me. I remember thinking to myself that if I just concentrated on breathing, I knew I was still alive. My husband called a good friend to come stay with the kids and off we went to the emergency room.
When I arrived, we waited. And waited. And waited some more. Then they drew blood and had me pee in a cup. Then we waited and waited some more. Around midnight, we were called into a room; where a male doctor and a male nurse listened to me tell my symptoms. The doctor said I needed blood drawn and I told him I’d already had that done. He got up and looked at the computer screen in front of the nurse and said four words I never thought I’d hear again in my life.
“Yep. Positive for pregnancy.”
I was a little blown away to say the least. Then the brilliant doctor verified my name. Wouldn’t that have been awkward if he’d been looking at the wrong person’s info? But he wasn’t. It was me. I was pregnant.
My hubs got the ‘proud father’ look on his face, and I quickly had to crush his hopes. See, after our youngest was born, I had an IUD put in. It’s supposed to be more effective than a tubal ligation. On the off chance someone gets pregnant while having one of these in; it is most likely a tubal, or ectopic, pregnancy. Which means a baby would not be born.
But there was always the chance that wasn’t the situation.
Several hours later, I was taken for an ultrasound. They were trying to determine where exactly the pregnancy was located: In my fallopian tube, or in my uterus.
 |
| Photo by Denney Photography |
In the time I’d spent waiting, while my husband snoozed next to me, I wondered what it would be like to have another baby. Could we do it? Sure we could. I decided which room could be a nursery, started to make a mental list of all the things we would need. Would it be a boy or a girl? Blonde hair like me or dark hair like hubby? Blue eyes or green eyes?
Hubby sat in a chair next to me while I had my ultrasound. He said he wasn’t feeling well, kinda lightheaded. The tech and I told him to put his head down and take deep breaths. He seemed to be being overly dramatic to me. I mean, I was the one in all the pain who just found out I was pregnant! I was getting a little mad, to be honest.
And then he passed out. Fell off the chair and hit the floor. The tech went over to help him. I jumped off the table and asked what I could do to help. I don’t remember what she said, but I wrapped the blanket around my bare bottom, opened the door to the room and yelled for help down the hallway. People appeared, picked hubby up and he came to. He kept saying he was fine, but they strapped him to a gurney and took him to the emergency room.
Oh, yeah. I forgot the part where I was hysterical and calling my sister and brother in law. Imagine getting a call at 1:30 in the morning from a hysterical woman telling you she’s pregnant and her husband passed out. Yeah. I’m that kind of relative.
After we finished the ultrasound, they took me to hubby’s room, and sis-in-law showed up. Hubby was all better, and they explained he’d had a vasovagal response. Then the same male doctor came and took me to a different room. He told me my right ovary is full of blood and they couldn’t see where the pregnancy was. I was offered medicine that would ‘dissolve the rapidly forming tissue’ (ie- the pregnancy). I declined. Why would I want to do that when they couldn’t tell me where the pregnancy was? What if it was in my uterus and just fine? I would never know. There was no way I could do that. I was instructed to call my OB/GYN to follow up and was discharged, much to my disappointment.
See, the risks of a tubal pregnancy include the fallopian tube bursting and I could bleed to death. If that were to happen, 911 should be called. My issue was that I spent the day at home with a three year old, who can find a game on my iPhone, but couldn’t dial 911 to save my life.
Hubby stayed home from work the next day. And my wonderful OB/GYN called me himself and told me to get my butt to the office so he could figure out what the heck was going on. He said the ultrasound report indicated my IUD was not there.
The little sliver of hope that I developed for this baby I didn’t know I wanted grew. If the IUD was gone, then there’s a better chance this was a normal uterine pregnancy, and a better chance the baby would make it.
“Lucky,” hubby said we would name a boy.
“Miracle,” I said we’d name a girl.
At the OB/GYN, we found out the IUD was still there, however, it was sideways, therefore useless. They did another ultrasound, seeing I was still filled with blood. It was even up around my diaphragm. Doc took out the IUD. Still couldn’t see where the pregnancy was located. Doc offered the same medicine the ER doc offered, the one to ‘dissolve the rapidly forming tissue.’ I again declined. Doc explained the risks. I understood. I could bleed to death.
He ordered blood work for the next day and sent me home. That was Tuesday.
Wednesday: Hubby went to work. I went to school. While sitting in class, I couldn’t catch my breath. No one said anything about shortness of breath. So I called the OB/GYN and was told to go to the ER. It could be a blood clot.
Sigh.
I prayed as I drove to the hospital for the second time in three days. I talked to God and praised him for the beauty in my life and told him I trusted that he knew what he was doing. I wanted to be okay with whatever happened, but deep down I wanted the baby to survive.
After nearly twelve hours at the ER, with the company of some good friends, there was no blood clot. They did do another ultrasound, but still couldn’t see where the pregnancy was.
I learned about something called hCG levels. On Monday, mine was 176. On Wednesday, it was 198. If you’re not pregnant, the level is less than 2. And it’s supposed to double every 48 hours, so doc told me it was likely a tubal pregnancy that wouldn’t survive.
Still, I held on to that sliver of hope.
Thursday: Stayed home all day and dwelled on all of this. The baby had become a part of my life, something I never knew I wanted.
Friday: More blood work. This time my hCG level was at 256. My hope grew. Doc wanted me back Tuesday.
I was sure the level would be where it should be. I was hoping for 800, even though doc told me 2,000 was where it should be for a healthy uterine pregnancy.
Saturday, Sunday, Monday: I did nothing.
Tuesday: Back to the doc for more blood work. My prayers had been rampant all weekend. I wanted this baby. I wanted to hold this baby I never knew I wanted and love it just like I had all the ones before it. God had other plans. My hCG level was 87. There would be no baby.
We didn’t want another child. We already have six between us. But when presented with the blessing, we fell in love with the baby we never knew we wanted. The little Lucky/Miracle whose eyes we’ll never know the color of, whose fragile little fingers will never wrap around ours.
It’s been hard for us. It seems storms keep raging in our lives these past few months. Sometimes we feel like were stranded after a hurricane: We just want to find a way out and wished we’d been better prepared. But how do you prepare for something like this?
I’m not sure you can.
Comments
Post a Comment