I am a healthy, fit and young-at-heart woman in her early fifties and have been on a journey to motherhood for the past fourteen years.
On 2nd December, alongside my loving partner, we went for our second embryo transfer (donor egg) with a well-known fertility clinic in London. Our first transfer in 2022 was not successful and it took us two years to come back and try again as we had endured the sudden loss of his mother and moving through bereavement.
I have always wanted children but put my career (as a professional dancer) first for the best of my fertile years and, timing-wise, I was never with the right partner at the right time…until now.
My current and life-long partner lovingly came on board with my fertility journey three years ago saying, “I love you and this is what you love and want” and forward we went. I am now 53, he is 55. I have no known fertility issues other than my advanced fertility age. I still have regular periods.
After day nine and eleven, post embryo transfer, we tested negative for pregnancy. I was not surprised as, although the transfer had gone well, I unexpectedly had to have injections of progesterone, and I had a sense that support came too late. As expected, I had a period bleed five days after our eleventh day test, although it was a short two day bleed, not my usual five day bleed.
On 27th December, while traveling back from Germany from a Christmas visit to England by train, I called my GP (general practitioner) as I had been having light bleeding while urinating, lasting several days, and then discomfort in my lower abdomen. I had some odd instinct that it could be an ectopic pregnancy, but rationally, I did not know how that would be possible as I had tested negative and had a, although short, period bleed. Despite my questioning, the GP instructed me to go to the hospital’s emergency department immediately. We were halfway to Brussels on our way back to London.
Not wanting to panic and not believing I was having a medical emergency; my partner and I continued our train journey – although nearly missing our connections due to late trains which caused a lot of stress – back to London. Arriving at the station, we then walked with suitcases to the nearest Accident & Emergency (A&E) hospital in London, a few blocks away.
After a three and a half hour wait, I was seen, and a urine sample was taken. I remember thinking, “this is half urine and half blood”, starting to fear I had some incurable disease. I was later called in by a nurse, on my own, as she did not invite my partner in. She asked me
what had happened. I explained my situation and then she looked at me with gentle brown eyes and said, ‘you have tested positive for pregnancy’. She said, based on the date of my previous periods, that I was six and a half weeks along. I could not believe what I heard. My feelings went from excitement to dread as she explained that I was either pregnant with a viral infection, having a miscarriage, or experiencing an ectopic pregnancy. It was the first time in my life that I had tested positive for pregnancy, something I have wanted so long for and now to find out like this, in A&E, alone, and informed by a stranger, however sweet, after two negative tests and a period, was not only unexpected but surreal. I then had to walk out to tell my partner this news who had been asked to wait in the waiting room. I wish he could have been with me at the time, but the nurse said that she wanted me to be in a safe space to hear the news. I suppose, not knowing our experience, that was their way of safeguarding.
I asked if he could join me to return to see a gynaecologist, which they agreed to. Several questions about my condition, blood tests, and an examination by a very gentle and empathetic doctor followed. We were not offered an ultrasound scan as they did not have a specialist in house at that late hour. Due to my bloodwork being normal and feeling overall out of pain, we were told to schedule a scan the next morning and were discharged at 1am. We took an Uber to a nearby hotel, slept a few hours and then got up first thing, called our local hospital in Cambridge and, luckily, were given the last appointment available and in time for us to travel there to make it. We took the train and bus, still with suitcases in tow, to that hospital and arrived, exhausted. I broke down in tears as we walked up to the maternity hospital – a place I had always imagined going to have our baby. My partner held me in silence outside the door, I wiped my tears, and we went in.
The scan was, at first, not conclusive but it was likely an ectopic pregnancy in my right Fallopian tube, one inch in diameter (which they said was small), no heartbeat (which would have been difficult to see), and I was given the choice to stay in hospital or come back for a blood test the next day. I chose to stay and was given my own room and felt, for the first time, safe and at ease.
The following day it was confirmed an ectopic pregnancy when fluid was found in my abdominal cavity. I felt broken and suddenly let out what felt like an unlocking of a deep, long sadness that pierced the room during the scan, legs in stirrups, partner by my side, doctors in front of me. I had enough of not knowing what was going on in my body, of the disappointment, confusion and unknown. Everyone was kind but I had reached a breaking point. I was exhausted, confused, sad and scared.
We also felt a need to inform our family members in the US and Germany – whom we had not talked to about our fertility treatments. We decided to tell them what happened from finding out we were pregnant (surprise, which it was to us!) but not ‘the back story’ as it just felt too much. A wise choice as I look back. Both of my sisters, and my mom (who died in 2021) had miscarriages. So, there was empathy. My dad, when I told him, asked (to my surprise) if it could be a viable pregnancy, some excitement in his voice, which was both surprising and emotional for me.
On day three in hospital my hCG levels (a hormone produced during pregnancy) were continuing to drop and I could go to once a week testing. I was discharged at 6pm on 31st December on the condition we had a ‘back up plan’ for getting back to hospital should I feel unwell or have signs of rupture. Given we live in the countryside, 40 minutes away and do not own a car (by choice), we made the decision to rent a car and an AirBnB for two weeks until my blood tests showed I was out of the clear for possible emergencies. My New Year’s Eve (meant to be spent in the Lake District with my partner) was now spent in an AirBnB close to the hospital in a new development three floors up, with a view of the campus around the hospital. And, yet, I was never so relieved to be near a hospital.
The fear I felt in those two weeks of possible rupture was larger and more intense than anything I have had to experience in my life. I knew there was disappointment about the loss of a pregnancy, but the fear dominated. As a former dancer and someone very connected with my body it felt like a time bomb might go off in me at any moment. I was afraid to move too quickly, the discomfort in my lower abdomen was unfamiliar and a hot water bottle and warm bath were my main comforts. I also did not feel I could be alone and felt dependent on my partner.
I started journaling about my experience on 22nd January. I went into hospital on 28th December, almost a month earlier. I am slowly processing it all and am grateful for support around me, grief counselling, the comfort of talking with women who have been through it and this platform to share my story on.
I still felt, a month on, twinges, pinches, and dull aches that come and go in my lower abdomen.
On the day I started my journal it would have been my final blood test. I felt so cared for in the A&E and hospital in England. I start to miss the hospital, actually – a place where I felt connection, care and safety. I keep having images, like a film, play out in my head. The nurses checking my vitals every two hours through the night 10pm, 2am, 4am, 6am (when they also took blood samples). These visits marked the night with regularity, making it all somehow gentler through caring. Having a door open, even with the sticky sound my door made in room 1, and the quiet wheeling in of the machine, footfall behind it. The sense that each nurse (a different one every night) was doing their best to be very quiet, not to disturb me. First, the wrapping and Velcro sound of the upper arm pulse blood pressure monitor, then the small plastic clip around my first finger, ever so slight a pinch and then the probe in the ear which they sometimes, in the dark, could not easily find – apologies all around.
I am deeply grateful for the National Health Service in the UK and for my body. For being able to access such care and for my body’s ability to support the potential growth of a human – despite the odds and unviability of it all. For my body signaling to me that something was not right, for the wisdom to seek help and, in the end, for my body stepping up and doing what it needed to do to manage the ectopic pregnancy and, therefore, avoiding heavy medication and surgical intervention. There may have been fear in the managed care route, but the physical invasiveness was avoided and recovery time was less.
I suppose I would be feeling more grief had the pregnancy been viable then miscarried. The ectopic pregnancy was not viable, it was a threat. So, I struggle with how to perceive this growth in my body as a possible good thing, even though that was the intention going in. I have purchased a special candle from The Ectopic Pregnancy Trust, and it is lit next to me as I write this and a reminder of the potential life that was in me and, now absorbed, offers me something else – a sense of gratitude for life.
In our follow up with our fertility clinic the doctor was utterly perplexed as to how my ectopic pregnancy could have occurred from the transfer given two negative tests, a period and the overall level of my hCG in hospital. She believes it may have been from ‘natural conception’ which, came out of the blue but, also, and in reflection on timing perhaps, could have been true. But we are also not that convinced given our age. Although after what we have been through, anything seems possible and not much surprises me.
I am scared, now, about going for a next transfer (we have one frozen embryo left) and I am taking two to three months to get back to my life before considering this, with my partner, again. Now it has become our wish to have a child but, also, our experience of having gone through the trauma of an ectopic pregnancy and the stress we endured of a medicated embryo transfer cause us to pause. It will, in the future, be both of us that decide what, if anything, to do next. I realise how much my partner endured alongside me and the potential loss of my life. I realise, as never before, how valuable my life, health and body -along this beautiful relationship with my partner – are the most important things to me now. They are golden. A child, should we be blessed with one in our future, would be a bonus. For now, I want to enjoy what I do have and the gifts of life, health and love.
If I could say one thing...
There is hope in knowing that our female bodies are resilient, strong, sensitive, and wise – wanting us well and recovering one moment at a time. There are still days of pleasure, joy, and fulfilment ahead, unfolding in ways beyond what we can imagine today.
Image of film still from Pipolotti Rist’s work ‘Ever is Over All’ (1997)
Thank you to Sara for sharing her experience. If you would like to share your experience of ectopic pregnancy, please visit our guide for more information.
Please remember our support services are available at any time.