About 3 years, and counting, we’ve been trying to have child #4. (I think I’ve been ‘trying’ more than my husband, in a manner of speaking.) After finally visiting the Ob for a check up, I asked my fertility questions. I was recommended clomid for a 3 month trial which I started in November 09. December came, not pregnant. January 2010, nothing yet. February, I wasn’t really thinking about it and anticipating on whether I was going to miss my period or not like I had during the previous 2 months.
Then about February 23rd, I realized I should of had my period by now but since my menstruation is so irregular, I dismissed it as maybe another change in my menstruation cycle. On February 24th, I went to the Dollartree, yes Dollartree, and bought 3 pregnancy tests. On Feb. 25th, I used 2 pregnancy test, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, just to be sure. And to my delight, it was positive both times! I waited until the second results before telling my husband. Man, it was so hard to contain my excitement and act like this day was no different than any other. So after the 2nd results proved positive, I put the results in a box and presented it to my husband that afternoon, who was working from home on his computer that day. He was probably wondering what the gift was for. He opened the box and was a bit surprised, and nervous. He asked “what’s this?” I said, “open the paper?” He was like, “well, I can see it.” I didn’t know the test strip has slipped out of the tissue paper I had loosely wrapped it in. He added, “well, I know what it is, but what does it mean?” I think he knew, otherwise, why would I go through all that to present him with a negative pregnancy test result, right? So, he answered himself. We exchanged some other thoughts, hugs and wonderment. He really didn’t know what to say. Then, I suggested, “we need to think about health-care.” Oh yeah, that issue.
Well, that weekend, Sunday to be exact, which was only a few days later, I had some spotting (light bleeding) and cramps that started in the evening. I thought it might of been gas and bloating, and in denial that anything else could possibly be wrong with the pregnancy, I blew it off. The cramping and bleeding stopped a few hours later so I just tried to forget about it. All the while, the incident nagged at me. In the back of my mind, I knew something was wrong but no way, it couldn’t be!
The next week went by with no repeated signs of concern until…the following Sunday. I woke up in the middle of the night around 4am with cramping pains again. My 3 year old had also just come into our room and had to go potty. So I took her, sent her to bed, and visited the potty myself, only to find more spotting. I couldn’t escape it now. The pain continued throughout the rest of the morning except for about an hour or 2. Don’t exactly remember but I was able to rest for that time frame until I got woken up again by the pain. I was exhausted and did not make it to church that morning. The bleeding got worse. The cramping continued. I called the Ob while my family was at church. He confirmed to me the dreaded conclusion I had already wished was not true. I was still gleaming for a shadow of hope as I asked him what I could take for the pain that wouldn’t hurt the baby and when I could get into the office to be seen, if for some reason, the baby was still alive. He assured me the possibility was pretty slim to none that my wish were so but I held out. Then he said to call in the office in the morning to be seen. Monday morning couldn’t come soon enough.
I carried on that whole Sunday and into the night in physical and emotional agony. I thought I was going to die that night. I could hardly breathe, stand, walk, eat… I was starving and painfully managed to put down a cup of yogurt late that night to hold me over. I struggled to rest as I awaited 9am when the Ob office would be open to call. I was beyond exhausted. I desperately wanted to go to the ER but feared the financial obligations it would create. I know I shouldn’t have put that issue above risking my own life but I couldn’t help it. I just wanted to scream for my husband to take me to the hospital but it was the middle of the night, the kids and husband all asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb all that. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t even have enough energy to cry. I just prayed and prayed through the night. The Lord kept me alive that night because I was on the verge of blackout. I was sweating without sweat and felt my body go limp and I remember thinking “Oh Lord, NO, PLEASE.” And I was jerked back awake. No one was able to feel my pain with me. It was completely awful and I felt so alone that night.
As I intermittently checked my cell phone throughout the night for 9am to hit (as if I could make it come any faster by doing do so), it finally came and I was quick to make the call. It took me almost an hour to get ready and to the office. I could barely stand up straight and walk. I was on my last string.
The van ride was not the slightest comfortable, bumps and all. Finally, we get to the doctor’s office, have an ultrasound to confirm the tragic reality…miscarriage. It was so surreal when the Ob said, “there’s your uterus and there’s no baby.” “WHAT?” “really?” How weird is that? “Are you sure?” As if an Ob would make such a joke. But, come on! My denial was real. Then she showed me the fluids outside the uterus and the abnormal bubble…and other stuff. Then she said I needed to get admitted into the hospital right away. “HUH?” I was just expecting medicine, some pill to swallow, and poof!, let the miracle of medicine take away the pain. No. Doctor: “Yes, we need to get you prepped for surgery right away. I’ll go make the calls.” (as best as I recall what she actually said) I was still like, “right now??” Seriously? My denial had no sense through this. The baby never made it to the uterus. It was stuck in the tube (ectopic pregnancy) where it has no room to grow and thus died. My tube started to erupt, which is where the all the pain and blood was coming from.
I’ve never had surgery, unless you want to count ‘child birth’. Fortunately, the hospital was just across the street, with more bumps. Ouch. As I was getting prepped, I just couldn’t believe this was happening to me. And when the anesthesiologist asked me if I wanted pain medication, you better believe I jumped on that with a quick yes! They put one of those masks on me and the last thing I remember was someone saying, “you’ll be okay soon”, or something to that effect. 
One of my tubes had to be removed, leaving me with one.
I’m in my 5th week of recovery and doing well. It took much longer to recover than the 2 weeks the hospital staff suggested. When week 2 arrived, I knew it was going to be longer. It just varies so much for everyone and depending on the state of physical health one was in before surgery and how your body responds.
God has given me peace quickly, thankfully. The first week home was full of recapping in my mind of all that had just happened and sobbing over the loss of our baby. I was comforted by the Great Comforter, and that of many friends and family. I’m thankful for my church body who was very supportive through that time. I’m also trust the the Lord has the life of that child in His hands. Thankfully, I serve a Mighty, Trustworthy, good God. Where would we be without His grace? He gives and takes a way. I may not understand it all but Praise be to Him who gives life at all.
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