Never mind nevermind.
Nope. Not a miscarriage. Something much worse. M and I spent the night in the hospital last Thursday night, and M had surgery Friday morning. She's through it and for the past few days she's been resting comfortably at home.
So what happened? Well, she had an ectopic pregnancy, which means, in this case, that a fertilized egg implanted in her left fallopian tube instead of in her uterus. We think this is because of a chemical or structural fault resulting from a ruptured ovarian cyst ten years ago. Anyway, an embryo implanted there and started growing.
On Tuesday night, M woke up with a heavy blood flow, and we were very sad about this, but assumed that it was a usual miscarriage, the kind that's very common for early pregnancy. The plan was to rest up and try again in a few weeks; we though the worst was over.
Thursday night, she left a dinner party at our friends' house complaining of nausea and terrible cramping, and we got her home and into a bath, gave her some painkillers and started worrying. I got ready for bed. In the night, M got up to go to the bathroom and passed out very violently, hit her head and turned stiff and blue. I started panicking, but she came to and said she felt much better. We called up our friends and asked them to come over, and they stayed with us for a while as M continued hurting and occasionally losing consciousness. She was by this time pale yellow in the face. Eventually, she said she needed to go to the ER. This is, for someone who hates doctors as much as M does, the nuclear option. We knew it was serious. I'm very VERY grateful that we went to the hospital instead of just trying to sleep it off, because if we'd done that, the doctors said, I might have woken up Friday morning without her.
At the ER registration desk, M had some more unconsciousness and vomiting, and we spent many worrisome hours in the ER room waiting for her vital signs to stabilize, waiting for the results of blood test, waiting for some pain medication, and waiting for an ultrasound, which was very painful and invasive, and revealed not very much because her whole abdominal cavity was full of blood. The ER doctor (after more waiting, but also, blessedly, some morphine) explained that M was likely to need surgery, and fairly quickly, because she was bleeding out into her belly. When the on-call ER gynecologist showed up to explain, he turned out serendipitously to be the OBGYN who we'd already arranged to use for the pregnancy, so he already sort of knew the situation -- and now he's clearly the best choice for our reproductive needs from now on. He explained the ectopic pregnancy situation and the plan for the surgery: he'd go in and clean out the blood, assess the situation and quite probably have to remove the damaged fallopian tube. And that's what he did. I called important people and they prepped Emilie for surgery. She had, being her, quizzed the doctor as to her rough chances of something going horribly wrong and of her not surviving, so when I kissed her goodbye and sent her to surgery, it was hard not to consider the possibility. I was really glad that our friends were there to distract me by playing twenty questions.
In about an hour, we got the post-surgery report from the doctor, so we went and had a happy breakfast, and returned to find M feeling as well as she could be expected to feel. For the rest of Friday, we stayed home stoking the fireplace, with friends taking turns looking after M (and me), and repeatedly explaining everything to her through the haze of anesthesia and pain medication. People have brought food, loaned us the use of heating pads, made coffee, fed the dog, and made us feel very loved. We're in good shape now.
It's funny how people assume that we're very sad about losing the "baby" -- which, at the time it became a tubal suicide bomber, had neither a heartbeat nor an anus. I'm just happy that my wife is still alive and healthy, maybe even healthier. She's getting her color back, getting frustrated at being stuck in the house, forcing me to leave her alone for a few hours at a time.
M being alive is the best possible Christmas present. And in a year when I think I'm getting snowshoes, even!
So what happened? Well, she had an ectopic pregnancy, which means, in this case, that a fertilized egg implanted in her left fallopian tube instead of in her uterus. We think this is because of a chemical or structural fault resulting from a ruptured ovarian cyst ten years ago. Anyway, an embryo implanted there and started growing.
On Tuesday night, M woke up with a heavy blood flow, and we were very sad about this, but assumed that it was a usual miscarriage, the kind that's very common for early pregnancy. The plan was to rest up and try again in a few weeks; we though the worst was over.
Thursday night, she left a dinner party at our friends' house complaining of nausea and terrible cramping, and we got her home and into a bath, gave her some painkillers and started worrying. I got ready for bed. In the night, M got up to go to the bathroom and passed out very violently, hit her head and turned stiff and blue. I started panicking, but she came to and said she felt much better. We called up our friends and asked them to come over, and they stayed with us for a while as M continued hurting and occasionally losing consciousness. She was by this time pale yellow in the face. Eventually, she said she needed to go to the ER. This is, for someone who hates doctors as much as M does, the nuclear option. We knew it was serious. I'm very VERY grateful that we went to the hospital instead of just trying to sleep it off, because if we'd done that, the doctors said, I might have woken up Friday morning without her.
At the ER registration desk, M had some more unconsciousness and vomiting, and we spent many worrisome hours in the ER room waiting for her vital signs to stabilize, waiting for the results of blood test, waiting for some pain medication, and waiting for an ultrasound, which was very painful and invasive, and revealed not very much because her whole abdominal cavity was full of blood. The ER doctor (after more waiting, but also, blessedly, some morphine) explained that M was likely to need surgery, and fairly quickly, because she was bleeding out into her belly. When the on-call ER gynecologist showed up to explain, he turned out serendipitously to be the OBGYN who we'd already arranged to use for the pregnancy, so he already sort of knew the situation -- and now he's clearly the best choice for our reproductive needs from now on. He explained the ectopic pregnancy situation and the plan for the surgery: he'd go in and clean out the blood, assess the situation and quite probably have to remove the damaged fallopian tube. And that's what he did. I called important people and they prepped Emilie for surgery. She had, being her, quizzed the doctor as to her rough chances of something going horribly wrong and of her not surviving, so when I kissed her goodbye and sent her to surgery, it was hard not to consider the possibility. I was really glad that our friends were there to distract me by playing twenty questions.
In about an hour, we got the post-surgery report from the doctor, so we went and had a happy breakfast, and returned to find M feeling as well as she could be expected to feel. For the rest of Friday, we stayed home stoking the fireplace, with friends taking turns looking after M (and me), and repeatedly explaining everything to her through the haze of anesthesia and pain medication. People have brought food, loaned us the use of heating pads, made coffee, fed the dog, and made us feel very loved. We're in good shape now.
It's funny how people assume that we're very sad about losing the "baby" -- which, at the time it became a tubal suicide bomber, had neither a heartbeat nor an anus. I'm just happy that my wife is still alive and healthy, maybe even healthier. She's getting her color back, getting frustrated at being stuck in the house, forcing me to leave her alone for a few hours at a time.
M being alive is the best possible Christmas present. And in a year when I think I'm getting snowshoes, even!
Labels: reproduction
posted by James at 1:18 PM
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