As my husband and I walked into the crowded church for Christmas mass, my heart sank. We had arrived early, but we clearly underestimated the tidal wave of fellow holiday worshippers.
I approached an usher and politely asked if I could snag a chair since I had just undergone surgery the week prior. Without a moment’s hesitation, she graciously offered me her seat.
Settling down next to a couple, the woman leaned over and said, “That seat is reserved for the usher.”
I explained my situation, mentioning I was recovering from surgery and that the usher had kindly given me her seat. To my astonishment, her husband chimed in, “I don’t see any stitches. Let me see your stitches.”
Suddenly, tears began to stream down my face.
In that instant, it was impossible to convey how those harsh words pierced me. You saw a woman looking relatively put together in a cute dress and cardigan, but beneath that exterior was a different story.
Here’s what you couldn’t see:
You weren’t aware that I had just ventured out into the world for the first time since my surgery. It was the very first time I had bothered to wash or even brush my hair.
You didn’t know that the outfit I had chosen was the fourth one I tried on, hoping to find something that didn’t tug at my incisions.
You had no idea that my makeup was applied hastily to conceal the dark circles under my eyes, which were a result of crying just before heading to church.
You weren’t aware that my first ultrasound appointment was supposed to happen just two days prior. That was the day my husband and I were meant to hear our baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
You didn’t know that four weeks earlier, I had started bleeding and rushed to the ER, where the staff assured me everything was fine. The nurse who gave me the discharge paperwork saw the worry on my face as I read “ectopic pregnancy” and told me not to fret because the odds of that happening were so slim.
You didn’t know that the very next week, my OB-GYN delivered the devastating news that I had miscarried, only for me to receive a call the following day stating my HCG levels were still rising, prompting more tests.
After four ultrasounds, it was concluded that I was indeed experiencing an ectopic pregnancy. We were advised to take methotrexate shots to “break up the cells” before the situation became more dangerous.
You didn’t witness the tears my husband and I shed or hear my anguished cries over the unfairness of it all. After years of trying to conceive, this was our reality.
A week later, I received the call at work informing me that the shots hadn’t worked. You weren’t there to see my coworker holding me as I sobbed, waiting until I could call my husband.
You didn’t sit with us in the ultrasound room for the fifth time, where we finally did see our baby’s heartbeat—located in my right fallopian tube.
You missed the moment my doctor announced she was calling the ER for emergency surgery, and we needed to head there immediately.
You didn’t see the shared look between my husband and me just before I was wheeled away for surgery—a procedure that would remove my baby along with my right fallopian tube.
You didn’t realize I was part of the 2%, to be precise, 1.9%, of pregnant women who experience an ectopic pregnancy without any risk factors. Or that methotrexate shots are successful 90% of the time, yet I found myself in that unwelcome 10%.
Of course, I couldn’t articulate any of that in the moment. All I managed to say when you asked to see my stitches was, “I lost my baby,” my husband standing behind me, unaware of our conversation but clearly seeing my tears.
You awkwardly apologized and turned to your wife, who noticed my tear-streaked face. I’m not sure if your apology was for my loss or for your insensitive request, but either way, I forgive you—you simply didn’t know.
This experience has taught me that many people are unaware of what an ectopic pregnancy entails. And while I don’t blame anyone for their ignorance, it’s a heartbreaking experience that many, thankfully, will never endure.
For those who do face this pain, you are not alone. I, along with many others, understand that while physical wounds may heal quickly, emotional scars take longer.
And to the man who asked about my stitches, remember: just because you can’t see a wound doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
If you’re interested in learning more about topics like this one, check out one of our other blog posts here, as well as resources from IVF Babble for additional support.
In summary, an ectopic pregnancy is a heartbreaking experience that many may not understand. While the physical scars may heal, the emotional weight can linger. For those going through similar struggles, it’s important to remember you’re not alone, and your feelings are valid.