Bad things are happening to my body.
I returned to the hospital yesterday after my tantrum a few days earlier. After some searching they discovered a small embryo growing on my right fallopian tube.
On the screen I could see something pumping furiously. I was reassured it was not a heartbeat but yet my heart broke.
Bad things are happening to my body.
My poor little bean. Finding herself in the wrong place, furiously clinging to life, putting the life of her mother in peril.
As yet another doctor held my hand and delivered more bad news I felt as though I was leaving my body. Watching from outside of myself.
A broken, empty shell lay on the table, trying to make sense of it all, her loyal and loving partner stroked her hair softly.
It was our anniversary yesterday. 6 years to the day of our first kiss.
When I met him I knew he would have a profound impact, change my life in so many ways. He would be my defender, my one and only.
As he lay his head beside me on the bed in the hospital room, I looked at his sleeping, exhausted face. How did we end up here? And why?
There is no point trying to make sense of this, I reason, it is what it is and it is no doubt sent to test us.
With all due respect to the administrator, I think I’ll sit this one out.
I am given two options – surgery or an injection to abort my fetus.
Abort my fetus.
In life we make many decisions; chocolate or vanilla, paper or plastic, surgery or injection.
We were left alone with a couple of pamphlets and told to make a decision. We quizzed the doctor – which option did she recommend? What were the risks? Would I conceive again?
She could give me no answers. Surgery would remove ‘the problem’ and my tube. I would be operated on immediately and go home the following morning and get on with my life.
An injection was the less invasive option but came with its own risks and would draw out the process for much longer than I was prepared for.
Methotrexate. It is used in cancer treatments and kills rapidly dividing cells.
I would keep my tube but there are no guarantees it would take care of ‘the problem’. It would mean monitoring for the next month or so until my levels went back to normal – but if it worked, I would get to keep my tube.
I am told that it works in most cases, sometimes you need a second shot and there are a small number of people who end up having to go on and have surgery.
I immediately recall another statistic, the one from an earlier pamphlet I received about ectopic pregnancies – only 1% of all pregnancies implant outside of the uterus.
I couldn’t help but feel like the numbers were not on my side at this point.
In a way surgery, while more drastic, seemed the more appealing option. At least it would be over with. I would lose my tube but, as the doctor said, if it is not working as it should then there is a chance this could just happen all over again – so maybe getting rid of it was the path of least resistance.
But still. I would lose my tube. Was I ready for that?
I was torn. I didn’t want to make a decision. I wanted to crawl into a small hole and stay there for a while.
I looked at my partner. He looked so sad, so worried, so afraid. He didn’thave to say anything, I could almost read his mind. He didn’t want me to have the surgery, not yet, we had to try the less risky option – ‘just in case’.
He told me it was my decision, that he just wanted me to be ok. That was his priority.
So that’s what we went with.
I lay down on the bed and they shot me full of awful drugs and now I lie here waiting, hoping that this will all soon be over.
Please work. I don’t know how much more I can take.