Tubal ectopic pregnancy and how the ectopic pregnancy trust was a support

Me and my partner always knew we wanted more children so 2.5 years after our boy, we decided to try for our next child.

Similarly to the first, I fell pregnant quickly with prospective baby #2.

I had known I was pregnant for a couple of weeks and issues began after discovering some spotting. My previous pregnancy had been ‘spot’ free, so I was a little unsure.
I decided to contact my local GP (general practitioner) for some advice. I was told this can be a sign of implantation so not to worry but if I had accompanying cramps/pains to phone again.

The spotting subsided and I contacted my local midwife to register my positive pregnancy test and the countdown to that appointment began.

I work as a property project manager so travel all over the country but had made the decision to make a few people at work aware of my pregnancy so my workload could be planned.

With my previous pregnancy I had been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum and was extremely unwell with sickness and nausea for the entirety of the pregnancy, so I wanted to be prepared.

I was brought onto a new project committee for the company so was excited to begin this and had been called to an overnight meeting about 2 hrs from home.

I won’t lie, the spotting still stuck in my mind, I’m not sure why, but it did. It didn’t feel right. Again, it’s hard to explain but reflecting now, the pregnancy just felt ‘different’ so I was a bit apprehensive to stay away overnight.

I was convinced to stop over, something I bitterly regret now.

The morning of the meeting was stressful, motorway traffic, feeling bloated (I suffer from IBS – irritable bowel syndrome, so I wasn’t concerned) and severely constipated. Again, these are symptoms, as an IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) sufferer I am used to, so they didn’t worry me.

The day progressed and my bloating and constipation began to feel worse and worse, I even spoke to my mum at lunchtime who recommended orange juice for the constipation and maybe pop some more buscopan (pain relief).

Neither of us were aware, this was the beginning of things to come… I thought to myself ‘I wish I was at home’ I just wanted to be somewhere comfy and familiar.

That evening everything escalated. During dinner with my colleagues, I began to feel unwell. I excused myself and more-or-less stumbled back to my room which felt miles away.

I remember feeling incredibly hot and now pains and cramps had begun in my abdomen. I hesitated to look in my pants because in my heart I knew what was going to greet me – blood. A lot of blood.

Of course, I panicked and cried- phoning my mum and partner who both recommended I phone 111. They advised I stay put and ‘ride it out’ as it ‘sounds like a miscarriage’.

My pain was unreal, my temperature spiking and the bleeding getting worse- I’m not an expert but this didn’t seem like a miscarriage.

In my delirium I had recognised I needed some help here, so I phoned round my colleagues and finally one answered. He was unaware that I was even pregnant, so this caught him off guard.

He phoned an uber and we went to the nearest A&E (accident and emergency) where we waited….and waited….and waited. I was steadily getting worse, being sick in the toilets, in so much pain I was lying on the floor of the toilets wishing someone would come.

We had asked what was happening multiple times, but others were seen before me. Eventually I passed out on the A&E (accident and emergency) floor, in shock, grey faced and with a high fever.

The next part is very hazy as I was in and out of consciousness. I remember basic moments. But I was terrified. At some point my colleague and my partner swapped places, he had contacted my partner and my family to make them aware.

Eventually I was wheeled to the Gynae (gynaecology) ward where I underwent an internal examination by a consultant and then the ultrasound technician.

I remember ‘You are severely backed up, internal bleeding is severe, baby isn’t where it should be.’ No one actually muttered the words ‘ectopic pregnancy’ until the next day.

I was left on the gynae ward awaiting some kind of update, again very hazy, I was incredibly tired, in pain and shivering—the next thing I knew I was being prepped for surgery.

I signed all the documents- they could have said anything, I don’t remember what they were or said. I have copies of the consent forms and even I don’t recognise my signature. I managed a ‘K’ and a random line after.

Surgery happened. I came too extremely confused and dehydrated. I was notified that they’d sent my partner home, and all my belongings were locked in a side drawer next to the bed I would be stopping in.

I just remember feeling so alone and emotional. No one would tell me what had happened, they wanted to wait for the surgical consultant to do his rounds. That would either be later thar day or the following day.

All I wanted to do was speak to my partner, child, and parents which eventually I did once I was brought back to the ward and turned my phone on.

My curtain was pulled back the next day, after a rubbish sleep- no one sleeps in hospitals I swear it, and the on-duty nurse and surgical consultant came to speak to me.

He detailed everything that had been going on, an ectopic pregnancy, embryo implanted/stuck in my left Fallopian tube, full rupture, pints of blood, tube removal.

I was numb. In shock I suppose… and when people are in shock, they often say silly things, and even now I identify that what I said was silly… but in that moment because no one had spelt it out I felt the need to ask:

‘So, my baby has gone?’

He nodded in agreement and that’s when, finally, I realised. Of course, I broke down—waiting till after they’d gone, I don’t like crying in front of people.

The nurse, however, came back a little while later with a beautiful box decorated with a butterfly. ‘memories treasured’ etched on the side and a beautiful quote by Kevin Arnold:

‘Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love,
the things you are, the things you never want to lose.’

It’s a SiMBA box. A beautiful little box with small trinkets to symbolise the loss of life of my baby.

I still have this box- I haven’t opened it in a long time—the last time was to place the pregnancy test that confirmed I was pregnant again.

I needed to keep it- I needed to remember my baby. They were real. They did exist.

That box brought it all home to me yet again. But it was a small comfort; acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of my old life (a new baby) and my new life (without my new baby)

After 2 days I was allowed home but told I would need to return to have another scan to ensure all was ok – approx. 6 weeks post-op.

Recovery was slow. My wounds became infected, and my mental health began to deteriorate. I recognised this straight away, asked for help and not before long was referred for counselling.

My sessions were made up of trying to work out what had happened, addressing my PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and ensuring I knew, that no matter what, it was not my fault.

6 weeks post-op I was scanned and after the technician initially ‘put her foot in her mouth’ by declaring ‘now then, let’s see how far along you are…’ I was confirmed all was ok.

She apologised profusely and I assured her I was OK but advised her to maybe, check the patients notes before making such assumptions…

I still haunt myself with questions like ‘what if I hadn’t gone away’ or ‘should I have raised my concerns earlier’ but truth be told, everything I did was, I’m told, the right thing to do.

No matter where I was, this still would have happened.
No matter how much fuss I had made to my GP (general practitioner), this would have happened.

I became a statistic, and I began to channel my grief and trauma into wanting to do something—raise some awareness, raise some money.

I discovered the ectopic pregnancy trust!
I read others experiences, submitted forum questions and just read and read and read…

18 months after this trauma, I raised over £800 for the EPT participating in the ’80 in 1’ challenge. I shared my experience with friends and family and ran (over) 80 miles.

Achievement unlocked.

Proud moment.

A chance to make something good out of the bad.

So, that’s my story.
Its probably very similar to a lot of women who undergo experiencing an ectopic pregnancy.
But I have to admit, writing it all out has meant I’ve relived a lot of what I went through and it has been therapeutic.

I have cried, gasped even hugged myself. (If this had been a friend I would have clung onto them and not let go.)

 

 

Thank you to our contributor Katy 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.