Ectopic Pregnancy: My Story, Part III

Because this story is long, I’m sharing it in several stages. This is Part III.

Click here to read Part I.

Click here to read Part II.

“What do you mean, inconclusive? I don’t get it.” (I resisted the strong urge to remind this nurse that she had used the phrase “not a viable pregnancy” eight times earlier today. What had changed since then??)

“Basically, your blood work came back too low. We just don’t know.”

WE DON’T KNOW WHAT?

“We don’t know if it’s a miscarriage or not. It could be a healthy pregnancy, and that thing on the ultrasound could just be a cyst. Or it could be ectopic. We just don’t know.”

I looked at Todd, and he was just as confused as I was.

But there it was…that devil, hope. I tried to push it down, but it was there. She had put it there.

Of course it was “most likely” ectopic. My symptoms, my cramping, the timing… But it didn’t matter.

There was hope.

I had hope, and I had to wait with the stupid hope for two days, until I could test my levels again on Saturday morning at the hospital. They’d call me back, and we’d know then if it was a real, viable pregnancy, or a miscarriage.

So we waited.

Those two days were hard. It was very weird to think that either, there was something about to rupture in my abdomen, or I’d be holding a precious little bundle in February. It was just weird.

But we all hung in there, the fear, the hope, and me. We were doing pretty well until four hours after the test, and the doctor was calling any minute with the results. I was sick to my stomach.

I have a reputation (earned and deserved) for being, always, prepared for the worst. To a fault. But this time – I blame the hormones, the fatigue, the confusion… I was not prepared. I was swept, completely by his words. They made no sense, and I could not believe that what he was saying was true.

“Jessica, here’s the situation. Yesterday your pregnancy hormone measured at a 900. Today, it’s at a 700. So one thing we know: this pregnancy is not progressing as a normal, healthy pregnancy.”

I was standing outside. I lowered myself to the ground. I nodded; it was all I could do.

“But the thing is, we don’t know where this pregnancy is. So we have to find it, and get it out.”

I should have thought this through. I should have anticipated this. But instead, every word overwhelmed me.

Surgery. A “D and C” first. Then a scope. Maybe removal of a tube. Maybe shots, and more testing…

It all sounded so indefinite, and so scary, and so long. I wanted it over already, and suddenly every cramp and twinge seemed to foretell something horrible happening, right now, in my body.

Unfortunately, I had just eaten, and they couldn’t perform surgery today. So. Again. We waited.

And this is where I snapped.

It wasn’t fair. Of course bad things happen. It was my turn. But why did it have to be extra hard, extra convoluted, extra undecided? God knew I hated waiting, and unknowns. Why the unnecessary challenge? I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it.

I had a few angry hours where it all seemed really unbearable. I got a text during this time from a friend, and I cried as I read these words:

“…allow yourself to be honest with God about your pain, and even your anger with Him…Yes, God will bring healing and Yes it won’t always feel this badly…but right now I can’t imagine how heartbroken you are. I’m so sorry.”

Somehow she gave me permission to be mad, and once being angry at God wasn’t so naughty, the wind fell out of my sails. I relaxed.

I was mad, I was hurt. And that was okay.

Another huge blessing was that I began to realize my diagnosis was the exact same a friend had five years ago. We had a long conversation on the phone, and I felt so much better.

She’d had the same exact symptoms, the same scary procedure. Suddenly tomorrow didn’t seem so horrible. Ashley had done this; I could do it, too. She was okay; I’d be okay, too.

It was really meaningful to me that the Lord had provided a friend for me who had the same one-in-a-million diagnosis so I didn’t feel so alone. Even in the midst of the mess, God’s goodness.

Before I knew it, Todd and I were driving to the hospital, still-dark in the morning. It was a Sunday morning, quiet, and peaceful the hospital.

I held the doctor’s hand as he told me what they’d do. He was such a kind man. He looked tired, but in a good way, like a seasoned, experienced old doctor should look.

I closed my eyes as they rolled me away.

Click here to read Part IV.

 

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