I nearly died last month. That sounds so dramatic. But it’s true, well, if not the truth pretty close to it.
We were talking about whether we might try again. Not IVF, those days were done. But just as though we were an ordinary couple hoping to get pregnant. After I had a period that seemed to last forever, exhaustion and sore boobs that would not go away, I took a pregnancy test. I was shocked to see a strong positive line. I didn’t have much, if any, excitement. I’d basically had a period and had spotting for weeks with my history I knew that this was an almost certain failure. So I pretended it wasn’t happening.
It was at about six and a half weeks that I told my husband while we were sitting on the couch one evening. I hadn’t wanted to tell him earlier after seeing his face the last time I told him I had a pregnant test. It was hell for him to hear that news over and over again only for the pregnancy to fail.
I’m glad I did tell him though. Two days later I woke up feeling fine and took a shower. As I got out of the shower the kids were ready to head off to school and my husband was due to hop into his Uber and travel to the airport where he would be flying out of town for the night. It was at that moment that it happened. I suddenly felt a massive pain in my lower abdomen. I had to lie down on the bed. It got worse in a matter of seconds, and I thought I was going to throw up. I crawled to the bathroom in nothing but a towel and lay on the ground, sweating and nauseous, craving the cool tiles.
I remember having an awareness that the kids and my husband were standing in the doorway and watching me, but I couldn’t really acknowledge them or reassure them. I made my husband get a bottle of my daughter’s liquid ibuprofen and drank some, knowing pills would come straight back up. My husband’s Uber was waiting. “I can’t get up” I said “I just can’t”.
The Uber left. After I tried to say that I just needed to lie down in bed, my husband convinced me that he was taking me to hospital. We agreed that it was best to drop the kids at school first. He placed a duvet over the top of me. I was in a bad way. We made it to ED at 9am and I tried to check in saying “I think I’m having a miscarriage”, but I couldn’t think to answer their questions, and I was in so much pain and nausea they popped me in a wheelchair and I sat, head lolling, waiting.
I was given priority at triage. There were a variety of tests done, it was confirmed I was pregnant, and a portable scanner was wheeled into the room. The person that scanned me did not find any issue that might indicate an ectopic (something that concerns me in hindsight), and I was scheduled for a scan at 1pm. That was about an hour and a half away from recollection, but apparently it was the first slot available. The time passed very quickly for me, I lay there simply trying to focus on breathing. I had significant pain despite having pain relief and a feeling of my chest feeling constricted, like it was full and being pressed.
When I was finally wheeled to the radiologist I was extremely nauseous. I asked if I could go back to the room for some anti nausea meds as I felt so unwell. The radiologist firmly but gently said “no, you need to stay. It won’t take much longer.” He said that something wasn’t right and after a few more minutes I was wheeled back to the ward.
Very quickly after that the gynaecology team busted into the ward, dismissing the doctor with me bluntly. I needed emergency surgery. I had an ectopic pregnancy. It had ruptured. I had a lot of internal bleeding. My husband looked terrified and swore. I felt scared, but overwhelmingly I just wanted the pain gone and I was glad it was being dealt with, as I knew I could not be sent home like I was. I was asked when I last ate, was I a smoker, do I have allergies, and the processes around all my previous surgeries came flooding back.
So there I was, being wheeled quickly to surgery. The gynae team being cross that the priority button on the lifts didn’t seem to be working. A woman in scrubs looking at me in the lift and saying “I know exactly how you feel” and me responding “I very much doubt that”, before my husband ripped into her being a medical professional with terrible bedside manner. Then, a laminated sign on the wall ONLY PATIENTS PAST THIS POINT. That was it, my husband said goodbye with tears in his eyes and off I went. In theatre I was asked to wriggle onto the operating table. The anaesthetist said she would be holding my throat as I went under the general in case my food came back up. I didn’t care, I was happy that it was all nearly over. I felt myself drift off and I was glad.
3littlebirds 