It’s Hard to Put Infertility Trauma and Pregnancy Loss Into Words, but I’m Going to Try
We started Assisted Reproductive Technologies (ART) services after a year of trying naturally. After months of tests, mild male factor ended up being the main reason for our infertility struggles. We tried two IUIs that both failed. We felt scared, but ready to take the next step and try IVF.
Our first retrieval resulted in 4 embryos, one of which we utilized for a fresh transfer right before the holidays. I started bleeding 5 days after my transfer and lightly bled consistently for several days. I was absolutely devastated and convinced something was wrong. We found out on December 29th that we were pregnant! 18 months of trying and it was the first positive pregnancy test we’d seen. We were shocked and elated. Our first transfer worked?! How could we possibly be so lucky?
My HCG numbers were initially low, and that along with the consistent bleeding, made me very hesitant about being excited. My doctor tried to remain optimistic. “Bleeding can be normal in the first trimester” and “let’s see how your HCG looks in a few days,” they kept saying. I kept trying to believe them.
As my numbers continued to double and the bleeding stopped, we had begun to feel cautiously optimistic and had started talking more at home about our hopes, dreams, and plans for our growing family. We shared the news with close family & friends. We waited impatiently for our first ultrasound at 6 weeks and 5 days.
“Madison, I’ve got bad news,” my doctor said as he squeezed my foot. “There is no embryo in your uterus.”
I laid there in utter shock as the doctor proceeded to search my body for my missing embryo. I won’t ever forget the noise that escaped my mouth as what was said to me began to sink in. I will never forget the look on the resident’s face as he watched me experience the very worst moment of our lives. I won’t ever forget the hug my nurse gave me as I left the clinic. The trauma of this moment replays in my mind on my best and worst days.
Little did we know at the time, but the trauma would continue for weeks. After being unable to locate the pregnancy after the first scan, we were scheduled for a second ultrasound a few days later. Closer examination of the ultrasound determined my embryo had implanted in my left fallopian tube. Being over 7 weeks pregnant with my HCG continuing to rise, my doctors, my husband and I were all very concerned about the possibility of a tubal rupture. It was determined that medication management of the ectopic pregnancy would be the best route of treatment.
I started methotrexate injections 4 days after the worst day of my life. I sat for hours at an outpatient cancer treatment clinic, waiting for the nurse to inject me with methotrexate and end my pregnancy. Four days went by, and my HCG doubled. Seven days later, my HCG had tripled. The thing I was so elated, excited, and proud of was something that instantly turned into my worst nightmare. I felt like I was living in fear that at any moment my tube would rupture, and I would be pulled away from my life and loved ones.
My first methotrexate injection was considered a failure, so we did a second. The second dose had been considered successful and my HCG began dropping appropriately. I felt a huge sense of relief but also incredible sadness. A week after my second Methotrexate dose, I began experiencing severe hip joint pain. Two days later, I found myself on the floor of my bathroom in the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my life. I was doubled over with severe abdominal pain, and was experiencing dizziness, nausea, sweating, and difficulty breathing. The ambulance came and I spent the next 12 hours in the emergency department.
My ectopic pregnancy had ruptured my left fallopian tube and I was bleeding into my pelvis.
With the blood pooling in my pelvis, it triggered the most severe shoulder pain of my life. I was taken to the closest emergency department so they could stabilize me and was then transferred to another hospital to have the surgery. I had laparoscopic surgery to remove the ectopic pregnancy along my left fallopian tube and over a liter of blood from my pelvis. A week into recovery and I am feeling good physically. Emotionally, I’m lost.
The last 2.5 months have been filled with the absolute highest of highs and lowest of lows. When people talk about life being a rollercoaster, I now truly know how that feels. Writing about my experience has been a way for me to begin emotionally processing what we’ve been through.
It’s hard to put infertility trauma and pregnancy loss into words, but I’m going to try.
I feel isolated and alone. It’s been hard to talk about my experience with family and friends, as many of them don’t have experience with infertility, let alone with ectopic pregnancies. Finding connection within the infertility community has been helpful and comforting, yet I don’t always feel like I have a place there or see my experience reflected back to me in a way that feels connecting and validating. I feel angry and resentful. The phrase “why did this have to happen to me?” replays in my mind on a loop. It painfully reminds me that life isn’t fair or predictable.
Beneath the anger is this overwhelming fear of life’s uncertainties. The uncertainties that life has brought me have been pretty awful lately, so my fear feels justified. However, this fear is also incredibly paralyzing. I feel stuck in it and unable to move. Do we try again? We have an increased risk of ectopic pregnancies now that we’ve had one – will I survive this, emotionally and physically, if it were to happen again? What if … this list of what ifs is miles long. I’m heartbroken and grieving.
The pregnancy we so desperately wanted ended in a traumatic way. A pregnancy that I got attached to, had hopes and dreams for, and cherished was not viable and ended up being life-threatening. The nuanced complexities of loving something that could have kill me fill my head. No one really talks about that part of ectopic pregnancies – the part where the thing you love becomes the thing you fear.
Infertility and pregnancy loss have taken so much from me including the last 18 months of my life, my innate optimism, the joy I feel when celebrating other’s pregnancies, my left fallopian tube, and my sense of control over my own life. Infertility and pregnancy loss have changed me so deeply. Before, I was young, naïve, and full of unabashed optimism. Now, I am worn out, grieving, resentful, and scared. It has also changed me in ways I could have never imagined. Now, I am courageous, strong, and more resilient that I ever dreamed I could be. That’s the thing about infertility – it gives a little and takes a lot. I try to remind myself to look at the aspects that it has given me every once in a while. Doing so allows me to stay hopeful that one day the tides will shift, and it will be our turn for a rainbow.
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The information provided in this blog is intended for general informational purposes only and should not be considered as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your healthcare provider or qualified medical professional with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read in this blog.