My Ectopic Poem
The 7th of January was the beginning of the end;
It was what, unfortunately, Mother Nature had planned.
I went in for the scan alone and unaware,
That, in fact, my womb lay bare.
“Ectopic,” she said, my brain was in a spin,
Little did I know it could have been a twin.
“It’s in your right fallopian tube, and you have a cyst on the left ovary.
Quick—it’s time for surgery; let’s get you there in a hurry.”
James rushed to the hospital and managed to see me before I went.
I just wanted to shout and scream and vent.
But calmly, I stayed and took a deep breath.
I had to be strong, though I felt out of my depth.
The surgeon came to see me and explain it was a mess.
“The left side,” he told me, “we have to remove it fast.”
A few hours later, I was discharged,
Feeling battered, bruised, and confused.
I have two children—how fortunate are we?
How dare I feel sad about this loss? We are luckier than most, aren’t we?
But my body knew something was wrong;
I was getting worse, not better, as time dragged along.
I kept reading and re-reading the discharge letter.
Take a pregnancy test, it said—three weeks later, to be precise.
So, I waited and waited, then followed their advice.
I weed on the stick, and to my disbelief,
Two lines appeared. Pregnant? I felt a sense of relief.
I knew I wasn’t going crazy—I knew my body too well.
I got my hopes up, thinking, “There’s a baby in there after all.”
But that evening, the pain and terror came.
Oh no—I have to go through this all again.
I phoned an ambulance, dialled 999,
But, to my disbelief, my ambulance was denied.
So, off to the hospital I went, alone, scared, and in pain.
“Oh no,” they said, “you can’t be pregnant again.”
“You had your pregnancy removed; it says left side.
So, on your way—have some pain relief and call another day.”
Two days I waited, in pain and afraid for my life.
Eventually, they gave in and put things right.
I went for a scan. The lady confidently said,
“Oh, the right fallopian tube you had out? Lie down on the bed.”
My brain went into a spin—it all came rushing back.
I’d been told it was my right fallopian tube, but it was my left they’d hacked.
Had they taken the wrong tube? I lay there in horror.
“One second, love,” she said, “I’ll get the consultant to make sure.”
When she left the room, I jumped up to look at the screen.
Oh my God—there was our baby, as clear as can be.
Still growing despite all odds,
Heart beating there, defying the gods.
But our baby wasn’t in a safe place to grow.
My life was in danger, but I didn’t want to let go.
Going to theatre, knowing you must say goodbye—
To your baby or you could die—
That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I’m so sorry, baby, that I couldn’t save you.
The surgeon, you see, hadn’t read my first scan findings.
She just went along,
And gave my left fallopian tube the chop.
They didn’t listen to me when I said something was wrong.
They just shunned me away and left me to pick up the pieces.
So broken but determined, in my hospital bed,
I thought, “I’m now infertile,” and tears were shed.
I got my complaint going—writing to the chief exec—
So no woman feels the same as I did in that hospital bed.
My case was partially upheld.
If my scan findings had been read,
I’d still have my left fallopian tube,
And a glimmer of hope—
Of another baby Spenner to love and hold.
A year on, I feel brave enough to share my story.
Not for a pat on the back or glory.
Not for sympathy or any such thing.
It’s for the women who walk next to me—
The ones before me and the ones after—
To know that your body and reproductive organs matter.
Fight for yourself—you know your own body.
I’ve also felt guilt—
I have two beautiful children; how dare I feel sad?
But loss doesn’t matter whether you’re already a mum or dad.
Loss consumes you, whoever you are.
I hope being so open and raw
Will open the baby loss door.
So we can talk to one another, no matter how hard.
There’s always someone who’s been dealt the same card,
And will be there with open arms.
If I could say one thing to someone, or their loved one experiencing an ectopic pregnancy...
Be kind to yourself—you’ve experienced a double loss: a part of you and your unborn baby. Don’t rush back to everyday life or pretend you’re okay. Instead, ride the wave and give yourself permission to feel everything.
Thank you to Natalie for sharing her experience. If you would like to share your experience of ectopic pregnancy, please visit our guide for more information.
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