I’m currently undergoing treatment for an ectopic pregnancy and just hoping that getting my story out will help me, because I’m really struggling.
My partner and I have been trying to conceive since January this year, and then on the 15th of October, a Friday, I got my first positive result. That would have made me 4+2. We were so happy. That lasted all of 48 hours.
I was getting a lot of brown discharge that I mistook for implantation bleeding, but I saw the first fresh blood on the Sunday. I thought I’d miscarried. I looked everywhere for help, but my local EPAC told me that until I’m at 6 weeks they can’t help, and that some bleeding early pregnancy can be completely normal. I took a pregnancy test every day, in the evening - they seemed to be stronger than in the morning. The positive lines were getting darker. I started experiencing symptoms like breast tenderness and that metallic taste. I was definitely pregnant. Maybe it was just a haematoma like that midwife I spoke to said.
I bled for 14 days. On and off. Two days were particularly awful. I grieved a miscarriage. I got my first ultrasound at 6+6. My blood hCG was at 3011, so I was definitely still pregnant. The doctor said at levels above 1,500 something should show on an internal ultrasound. Butt they couldn’t find anything in my uterus.
Two days later, when my hCG should have roughly doubled, my blood test results showed a hormone level of 3883 - just 29%. I was admitted to hospital the next day, and again there was no sign of anything on an internal ultrasound. I was told I have an ectopic pregnancy, and was told I’d be given methotrexate.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard in my life. I’d already grieved after a miscarriage. Then when I realised I was still pregnant, we’d made our dreams. We’ve just bought a house and had started plans for the nursery. We’d started discussing names and when and how we’d tell our parents. And that was just gone. And now, after grieving a miscarriage, I was having to grieve a termination. Not any termination, but one that means I’m not allowed to conceive for 3 months. I’m already 32. I’ve been feeling my clock ticking for years. I always knew an older pregnancy carried more risks.
I didn’t want to do it. I kept asking - myself, my boyfriend, the doctors and nurses - what if there’s still a a chance? The numbers are high and I’m not in any pain, what if they just can’t see it? What if they’ve made a mistake? But I was told that if I didn’t take the injection, I could experience a rupture that might kill me. I almost didn’t care.
My day 4 post-injection bloods - and 4 days after my 3,883 hCG result - my hormones were at 5,252. I was told that there may be an increase but this seemed extreme. It had nearly doubled since my last hormone level check, so this had to be a mistake. I know it’s not - by this point a normal pregnancy should have been around 15,000 since my second blood test. Or 24,000 since my first. But it really knocked me. Luckily my boyfriend was there to bring me back down from my hysterics that I’d just killed my baby, my healthy baby.
I’m on day 7 after the injection now. I’ve just had my bloods taken, I’m waiting on the results. If they don’t see that 15% decrease, I’ll need to go in for a second dose, and I don’t know if I can. That extends my conception parole by 6 months. I’ll be 33 before I’m even allowed to try again, and we had enough difficulty getting the first pregnancy. I almost don’t want to try again. Almost.
I’m really struggling. I’m angry, and I’m sad. I keep blaming myself, that I did something wrong, and no matter how much everyone tells me I didn’t do anything wrong, that it’s not my fault, I can’t accept it. I’ve been taking folic acid supplements for months, I have one glass of wine a month when I start my period. Is it because I had that ibuprofen before I realised I was pregnant? Am I being punished for something?
Then I blame my boyfriend. He wants kids even more than I do, somehow. But did he not want it after all? Was his face when I told him, of sheer joy, a front? After all, when we were in the hospital and I kept saying I didn’t want to get the injection, he talked me into it. So this is his fault.
Except it’s not, and I know it’s not, it’s just one of those things. But what I know and what I feel haven’t been lining up terribly well lately.
In the same breath, I worry he blames me. That it’s my body that killed his child. That I’m at fault. That I’m broken. He says he doesn’t, not at all, but what if what he knows and what he feels aren’t lining up either?
I hate this. I’ve been fighting depression for a long time, but it’s winning at the moment. I really want to kill myself. But it’s fine because I’m not brave enough to. I hate this. I need to talk to someone. I don’t know what to do.