An Ectopic Pregnancy Turned My Life Upside Down, and I’m Still Healing

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I’ve always been a bit of an introvert, keeping my feelings close to my chest. But a recent event knocked me off my feet (literally) and left me yearning for understanding from others who might have faced something similar. Unfortunately, all I found online was a panicked self-diagnosis that I was on the brink of disaster. In my search for solace, I realized that the community I had built could be a source of strength not just for me but for others too.

So, what happened? Life, in all its unpredictable glory.

On an ordinary October day, I discovered I was expecting our third child. We were overjoyed (and admittedly a bit anxious) since this pregnancy was something we had hoped and prayed for. Just three days post-positive test, I began spotting. Unlike many, I remained calm. After all, during one of my previous pregnancies, I had dealt with a subchorionic hemorrhage and made it through that scare, so I thought this spotting was no big deal.

My first prenatal appointment was set for mid-November, at the seven-week mark. To reassure myself amidst the spotting, I took pregnancy tests every few days. When I suspected a miscarriage, I reached out to my doctor’s nurse after Halloween. They requested blood tests to check my HCG levels, but the night before my appointment, I experienced dull pain on my left side that made me suspect an ectopic pregnancy.

The on-call doctor reassured me I had no risk factors but still wanted me to get an ultrasound in the morning to investigate the bleeding. I entered the clinic the next day seeking clarity. After two healthy pregnancies, I expected to hear the reassuring sound of a heartbeat. Instead, I was met with uncertainty.

“Adrianne, based on your dates, you should be about six weeks along, but I’m not seeing what I expect,” the doctor said. “Your tubes are healthy, but I can’t confirm anything right now. You might be earlier than you think.”

That was a hard no for me. We had been actively trying to conceive, and I knew my body well enough to trust my timing. I had even had an ominous feeling before trying for this baby that things might not go as planned, a premonition I shared with my husband one night. Deep down, I feared this was an ectopic pregnancy, and those fears only intensified as I waited for answers.

Days dragged on in uncertainty. Then came a call on a Friday afternoon, just before my son’s second birthday party. I had noticed my light bleeding had increased, which led me to believe I was miscarrying. The nurse informed me that my HCG levels had barely risen, a sign that something was indeed wrong. She prepared me for the worst, even suggesting I mentally brace myself for a miscarriage.

That Wednesday would be my first official prenatal visit. I should have been exhilarated to hear my baby’s heartbeat, but something felt off. My nerves were palpable as I entered the ultrasound room. The technician’s silence as she conducted the scan felt deafening.

Then, the doctor entered with the news: “We have an ectopic pregnancy.” I lost it. It felt as if someone had declared both my baby and my own life were at risk. What followed was a painful biopsy and a hurried discussion about treatment options, including methotrexate shots, which I would need for this situation.

Left to navigate this alone—my husband was out of town, and my parents were stranded with car troubles—I drove to the pharmacy to pick up the medication that would ultimately save one life while putting another on hold. The emotional weight I carried was immense, a feeling of failure that I couldn’t shake.

I knew many women faced similar losses, but this felt different. It was as if my body had betrayed me. Almost four months later, I’m still grappling with the aftermath, physically and emotionally. The bleeding has persisted, but the pain has subsided. Each day is a reminder of what could have been, and unlike a straightforward miscarriage, the complications of an ectopic pregnancy introduced a layer of constant anxiety until my HCG levels finally dropped to under 10.

Methotrexate is a powerful drug—initially used for cancer treatment, it halts the growth of rapidly dividing cells. The first thing I read about it made me cringe: “Methotrexate may cause serious, life-threatening side effects.” I never thought I’d be using it for a tubal pregnancy, and the toll it took on my body was hard to bear.

Now, nine weeks have passed since my treatment, and my due date would have been July 4. I’ve become adept at scrolling past pregnancy announcements and gender reveals, especially those due in July. It’s not bitterness; it’s just a fragile heart that needs time. I genuinely rejoice for everyone who is expecting, yet I can’t help but wish for a straightforward, uneventful pregnancy when we try again.

Not many know about my experience. It’s not something you casually share. When I was in the thick of it, I longed to confide in a friend, but how does one broach such a delicate subject? People’s responses can be surprising and illuminating. This ordeal has taught me about relationships, myself, and the medical nuances surrounding conception and loss.

As for when we’ll try again, I’m unsure. The risks are higher now, but I hold onto gratitude for what I do have and the little angel watching over me. A song that played while I wrote this encapsulates my feelings well:

“Let it go
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don’t you know
The hardest part is over?
Let it in
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels”

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In summary, my experience with an ectopic pregnancy has been a profound journey of loss, learning, and resilience. Through the pain, I’ve gained a deeper understanding of myself and the strength of the community around me.