I never imagined that the words “ectopic pregnancy” would become a permanent part of my life story. I had heard the term before—maybe in passing, or on social media—but I never truly understood the weight it carried until it happened to me. Not once, but twice. Within ten months.
Ectopic pregnancies are more common than we talk about.
Yet for something so medically urgent, they often live in silence.
That silence is dangerous. Because I didn’t know how serious it was.
I didn’t know what to look for. I didn’t know that my own body would be the one to teach me through trauma and loss.
The first time, I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I had no clue my body was already carrying life—and losing it—all at once. I brushed off the pain at first. I thought it was something else. But then it escalated quickly. Sharp, unbearable pain, dizziness, confusion. And then suddenly, I was in A&E (accident and emergency).
My Fallopian tube had ruptured. I was losing blood fast. I was rushed to theatre for emergency surgery.
One moment I was pregnant without even knowing it—and the next, I was being rushed into theatre for life-saving surgery.
The physical pain was intense. But it was nothing compared to the heartbreak of losing a baby I never got to see or hear. The world moved on, but mine stopped. I grieved for something that barely existed to anyone else, but to me, it was real. It was mine.
I told myself it was a one-time tragedy. Lightning couldn’t strike twice. But ten months later, it did. Again, that quiet whisper from my body: something’s not right. Again, I went in. Again, another ectopic pregnancy. This time, it took my remaining Fallopian tube. Just like that, my ability to conceive naturally was gone. In less than a year, I went from hope to heartbreak, from a dream of extending my family to infertility.
No one talks about how deeply it changes you. Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually. Losing something you never even got to hold…it’s a unique kind of grief. One that sits quietly in your chest and echoes in your dreams. People say, “You’ll be okay,” or “There’s always IVF,” but they don’t see the invisible scars. They don’t understand that I’m mourning not just two pregnancies, but the entire future I had envisioned.
What I’ve learned—what I need to share—is this: trust your body. If something doesn’t feel right, listen. Speak up. Don’t let anyone dismiss your pain or your intuition. You know yourself better than anyone. Your gut is powerful. It might just save your life.
And to anyone who has been through this: you are not alone. Your pain is valid. Your story matters. Whether your loss was known to others or held in silence, it was real. I see you. I grieve with you.
This experience has changed me forever. It’s reshaped my path, my identity, my future. But it’s also given me a voice—a voice I intend to use to break the silence around ectopic pregnancy, to help others feel seen, and to remind every woman that her body’s voice is always worth listening to.
If I could say one thing: If there's one thing I want you to know, it's that you're not alone. You'll discover an incredible strength within yourself to get through this.
Thank you to our contributor Kayleigh Bowen 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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