I cannot explain why, but this has been the hardest entry to write. Maybe because it feels like it happened to someone else, or possibly because it significantly reduced our ability to hope. It could be because I was incapacitated for the majority of the event, or maybe because I cannot comprehend how dire the situation became towards the end. I think, more than anything else, it is difficult because I will never forget the emotions I saw in my husband's face that day.
Judging by the blood work, the Methotrexate shots were working. My numbers doubled again but then dropped by 25 percent. This is exactly what should happen. My body does not really conform to "normal" functioning, so I guess we should have expected the unexpected.
The two weeks following the shots were torturous. I was a wreak emotionally, oscillating between rage and despair. The injections induced nausea, dizziness, and extreme fatigue. My bones ached, and my hair fell out in clumps. I still had pregnancy symptoms.
One morning, I got up to get ready for work. In addition to teaching, I have a part-time job that becomes more consistent during the summer. This was my first day back after being out for so long. I got dressed, but I felt kind of off. I attributed it to the stress of trying to get back into the swing of things. When I walked downstairs, I became so dizzy I had to sit down. Richie tried to take me outside for some fresh air, but I sank to the ground at the front door. My legs felt like lead but were too weak to hold me up. With Richie's help I got back to the couch. I said, "Something's wrong. This is bad."
We talked to the on-call nurse who told us to go to the hospital immediately. After intake, we waited in an exam room. We did more ultrasounds, and lots of blood was taken. They checked my vital signs, but I cannot remember specific details. It was all a blur. I do remember the doctor coming in and giving the diagnosis. "You have an ectopic pregnancy in your right Fallopian tube. There is free-floating fluid in your abdomen, and you are hemorrhaging. We need to take you in to surgery."
There were more doctors. So many that I joked, "It's a party in here." Everyone kept saying I was handling the situation well, but I was in shock. Richie and I resigned ourselves to what had to be done. My parents came, we talked to some family and close friends, and I was prepped for emergency surgery. My R.E. showed up and said he would go in and remove the mass, and the procedure should take about 25 minutes.
I obviously do not remember the surgery, but I recall being wheeled into the operating room and noticing they were playing a Katy Perry song. This made me laugh, but it could have been the drugs. Then, I was out. I woke up two hours later, and Richie was holding my hand. "Is it really almost 10:00? What happened?" I asked.
Words cannot describe the look on my husband's face. In all of the years I have know him this was the only time I have ever seen him look scared. "It was bad, Sarah. You were in surgery for almost 2 hours." The R.E. came in then and told me that my right tube had to be removed because the mass was so big. There was a lot of blood in my abdomen, and things had been much worse than they originally thought. If we had waited an hour, I probably would have died.
How could things have become so serious without any warning? Ectopic pregnancy is the leading cause of maternal mortality in the first trimester. An ectopic pregnancy causes excruciating pain, and I had noticed only slight cramping. It came as quite a shock to realize that fetal tissue had continued to grow for eight weeks. I was, technically, eight weeks pregnant.
They say time heals all wounds, and some days are better than others. It is hard to believe that the empty space inside me will ever feel full. I give thanks every day that I survived, and I believe that I am still needed to complete life's plan for me. Although we have lost much, we have gained more.
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