August 2025 started as the happiest time of my life and within weeks, it became the most heart breaking.
I’m sharing my story not for sympathy, but for anyone who’s gone through early pregnancy loss, especially ectopic pregnancy, and felt alone, confused, or broken. You’re not alone and your feelings are valid.
On August 6th, my partner and I found out I was pregnant, and we were absolutely over the moon. After nearly ten years on the contraceptive implant, I’d quietly worried I might struggle to conceive. So, to see those two pink lines only two months after having it removed felt surreal. A blessing. We were completely overjoyed.
Even though it was still very early (around 4–5 weeks), we shared the news with our closest family. The joy on our parents’ faces, the hugs and the tears are memories etched into my heart.
For a few days, everything felt light and full of hope.
But, everything changed and fast.
Less than 24 hours after starting to tell our family, I began to bleed. It wasn’t heavy, and I wasn’t in much pain. But I knew something was wrong. A sense of dread settled in. I felt confused, frightened, and overwhelmingly guilty as if my body had failed me and everyone who we had just made so happy.
How could something so beautiful turn into something so terrifying, so quickly?
At urgent care, we were told it could be implantation bleeding, and that maybe things would be okay. I held onto that sliver of hope. But I bled for seven long days, and deep down, I felt my baby dying.
The scans, the blood tests and the long waits between them pointed to uncertainty. I was diagnosed with a PUL (Pregnancy of Unknown Location). My hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels weren’t behaving typically, and the pregnancy didn’t appear on scans. Then, the cramps started on my left side, raising fears of an ectopic pregnancy. I was offered methotrexate, but I chose to give my body the chance to process it naturally, if it could.
A month later, on 8th September, I had sudden, severe pain in my left abdomen and right shoulder. I couldn’t walk, stand, or breathe deeply. Curled up on the kitchen floor, I was taken to hospital by my partner and dad.
As we waited to be seen, the pain only intensified. I was given paracetamol, codeine, oramorph, gas & air, but nothing touched it. Eventually, I needed an internal exam to check for a cervical blockage, but I couldn’t even lie down. My body was in full fight-or-flight. I remember crying, shaking, and needing three doctors and my partner just to help me lie flat. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so out of control. Every part of me was screaming that something was very, very wrong.
I was admitted for 48 hours. Only IV morphine brought relief. I started bleeding again. One scan showed fluid in my left abdomen and an enlarged right ovary. Doctors told me I’d experienced a tubal miscarriage, a form of ectopic pregnancy where the fertilised egg implants in the Fallopian tube. In my case, the tube had contracted and pushed the pregnancy back through itself. They prepared me for emergency surgery, if the fluid was internal bleeding or if the tube had ruptured.
I was absolutely terrified.
Somehow, miraculously, the fluid was considered a normal trauma response. As the pain eased, they discharged me. I’d avoided both methotrexate and surgery. My body had managed the loss through expectant management.
Two weeks later, I experienced another sharp pain in my shoulder and started bleeding again. My heart dropped. Was it starting all over again? But the EPAC (Early pregnancy assessment clinic) nurses saw me urgently. They were calm, compassionate, and supportive. I’ll never forget their kindness. My hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels were still dropping, slowly but steadily. And once again, my body began to heal.
It’s strange how six weeks can hold so much. So much joy. So much hope. So much grief. Losing a baby even early on, is real, deep, and personal. I’ve had days where I didn’t recognise myself. Days where I felt I’d never recover. I don’t know where I’d be now without the support of my friends, family and loving partner.
Now, I’m learning to grieve for our baby and the life we were already imagining. I’m slowly rebuilding trust with my body the same body that carried our baby, that endured so much pain and somehow protected me through it all.
Reconnecting with it gently has been essential to my emotional and physical healing.
If I could say one thing: It would be to take it one day at a time. Don’t rush your grief. Don’t compare your journey to anyone else’s. There are so many scary stories out there, and it’s easy to fear the worst. But our bodies, even when they feel like they’ve failed us, are capable of astonishing things. You are not alone. And you are stronger than you think.
Thank you to our contributor for sharing their experience. If you would like to share your experience of ectopic pregnancy, please visit our guide for more information.
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