16 Jan My Ectopic Pregnancy Part 2/3
An hour later, I awoke in recovery feeling woozy and absolutely bombed from the anaesthetic drugs. Forcing my eyes opened with all my might, I remember a voice telling me the positives; I’d had keyhole surgery and still had my left Fallopian tube. This information brought me much relief, so with that in my dazed state, I chose to surrender to the sleep my body and mind was so desperately craving. Up on the ward, I dozed through regular upper arm squeezes from the BP cuff, pad changes, inspections of my abdominal dressings and constant alarms from my occluded IV pump, while the distinct smell of oxygen was delivered through my nostrils. Thankfully the analgesia I had on board covered me well and the sleep I did have felt amazing, yet I craved so much more. Come breaky time I was rested enough to sit up and eat some stone-cold, raspberry jam covered, burnt toast but unfortunately the toast (and every other meal I ate that day) came straight back up a short while later.
My darling hubby came in around 9am and not long after the OB/GYN team came to review me and explain the ins and outs of my surgery. First came the good news. My internal bleeding was easily managed and the surgery was all performed laparoscopically. My left Ovary and Fallopian tube were healthy, the tube itself patent and therefore was left well alone. I was told this while I followed along through the photo series the Consultant promised and watched in awe at seeing my phenomenal anatomy from the inside. The next image however ignited a very different feeling in me, which didn’t fully register until several days later. It was my baby. Our baby. There it was… Shaped like a neat jelly bean, inside the bubble of the amniotic sac, with its wiggly cord connecting it to me. Time stood still as I learnt our beloved babe, of eight weeks gestation, was not inside my Fallopian tube per say, but was on the end. By Google definition, an ectopic pregnancy is when a fertilised egg implants itself outside of the womb, and most commonly this is in one of the Fallopian tubes, but like in my case it can be in many other places. Using the next photo, the doctor explained that half of my right Fallopian tube was blocked (the inner half, closest to my uterus) so the baby had no choice to attach itself at the opposing end and did so on the Fimbria (finger like projections) near my right Ovary (see image). This is where the not-so-good news came. I learnt the doctor was only able to remove half my right Fallopian tube (the outer half), because the inner half had adhered to my uterus and attempts to remove this section would have caused too much trauma. Consequently, the doctor could not unequivocally say they were able to remove all of the pregnancy. I was advised I would need my pregnancy hormone tracked via blood tests for several weeks, until it reached less than 2, but if this did not occur, I would need treatment using the drug Methotrexate. Processing all of this information at once was a lot and there felt no space for sorrow. Instead I remained impassive so I could also work my way through the extensive list of questions I had complied in my phone. Once all of this was finished and my three tummy incisions checked, I was given the all clear to be discharged that afternoon, when I was stable on my feet and after I did a wee, post catheter removal.
By 6pm that evening I was thankfully home. My heart was full of gratitude that I was okay and with my beloved family; especially my two dearest children. I wanted so much for this ordeal to be over and yet not knowing what my blood test results were going to reveal over the coming weeks, was a worry I couldn’t escape. I knew little about Methotrexate but what I did know brought me no comfort, nor did the information the doctor had mentioned, being a full week hospitalisation and administration of the drug using a strict regime. I enjoy maintaining a healthy lifestyle and truly think of my body as my temple. Conscious living, clean eating and endorphin-packed exercise are all part of my day to day, so the notion of a chemotherapy drug in my body was especially troubling. The other thing I found troubling was 48 hours after my surgery I still hadn’t cried. Not one tear. I realised I had been unintentionally suppressing all emotion in order to just get through the experience, but I knew the grief would surface soon and gosh would it hit hard…