I discovered I was pregnant just ten days prior. Although it was an unexpected surprise, we were filled with excitement. We had started sharing the news with family and close friends. My partner was busy browsing baby names the night before, while I was contemplating creative ways to announce it to our kids—what better time than Christmas, when we could use their Elf on the Shelf for the reveal? We even considered finding out the sex of the baby, unlike with our previous children. We hoped for a boy, imagining him and his brother just 16 months apart, possibly bonding over football in the future.
Then, out of the blue, everything changed. I started bleeding—heavily. The next morning, I shared my concerns with my partner and promised to call the clinic as soon as they opened. When I did, tears streamed down my face as I conveyed the urgency to see a doctor. The car ride to the clinic was filled with silence until I broke down, whispering to him, “I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t want this enough; maybe that’s why this is happening.” Although I knew deep down it wasn’t my fault, self-blame consumed me at that moment.
After a blood test, my midwife informed us that my hCG levels were low, suggesting I was likely miscarrying. She scheduled me for another blood test later that week. Once home, I felt an overwhelming urge to shower, hoping to wash away the emotional pain. But as I stood there, I watched the blood swirl down the drain and sobbed at the thought: could that be my baby disappearing? I just wanted this nightmare to end, wishing it was all just a bad dream.
Two days later, I returned for another test, and to my surprise, my hCG levels had only risen slightly. This was unexpected, as a miscarriage would typically cause levels to drop. A glimmer of hope flickered—maybe I wasn’t losing the baby after all. The weekend passed in confusion, filled with thoughts of whether we had lost this child and if I should continue looking up baby names or announcements for our kids.
On Monday, another test showed my hCG levels had risen again, but not enough to reassure the doctors. They scheduled me for an ultrasound the following day to rule out an ectopic pregnancy. After the ultrasound, my midwife delivered the crushing news: there were no signs of an ectopic pregnancy, but there was also nothing in my uterus. “So, that means no baby?” I asked, my heart shattered as she confirmed, “Right, no baby. You probably miscarried as we discussed.”
Once again, tears flowed. I thought it was finally over. Yet, the next week, on my way to work, I experienced excruciating cramps that made it hard to walk or drive. A call to my nurse led me to the Emergency Room, where they conducted more tests and found a tennis-ball-sized mass in my left fallopian tube. Wait, what? Just last week, they had seen nothing. The doctor informed me I needed emergency surgery due to the mass’s size.
That day, in the ER with my partner, I faced the reality: on September 19th, at just over eight weeks pregnant, I lost my baby to an ectopic pregnancy. The agony of losing a child, coupled with the pain from surgery, has been unbearable. I long to cry and grieve, but the physical discomfort from my three-inch incision often makes it hard to do so. I wish I had someone who truly understood this nightmare. Despite the support from my closest friends, family, and my partner—who is also grieving—I often feel so alone in this struggle.
I just want to wake up and return to normalcy, but this is now my new normal. The scar serves as a constant reminder of that tragic day; every time I dress or shower, it stares back at me, reminding me of my loss. We never even got to know if it was a boy or girl. Our hearts are shattered as we wish we could have held you in our arms.
For those navigating similar experiences, I encourage you to seek out resources like this one from the NHS on IVF or explore options available for home insemination through this at-home insemination kit. For more insights on this difficult topic, visit this resource.
Summary:
This heartfelt recounting details the journey of a woman who experiences a miscarriage and subsequently an ectopic pregnancy. The emotional turmoil of losing a child is compounded by the physical pain of surgery. It highlights the isolation many feel after such a loss while emphasizing the importance of support and available resources for those facing similar struggles.