Closure

Everything comes to an end. On Friday night my pregnancy came to an abrupt end and today my blog comes to an end. Not quite so abrupt but an end all the same.

I reached 6 weeks pregnant last weekend and for anyone following my story, that means I finally got my GP referral to enable me to go for an early ultrasound scan.

I was still bleeding on and off, pretty much light though, and I’d convinced myself through internet research it was fairly normal spotting. I thought when I went for my scan I’d see a little bean and be told there was nothing to worry about.

How wrong I was.

I went for my first scan last Saturday afternoon. I was told there wasn’t any evidence of an embryo in the uterus but there was a 2cm mass near my left ovary. I had probably miscarried but was advised to go to A&E for blood tests that day just to check it out.

Facing up to the reality I had miscarried, I then spent seven hours at the grotty NHS hospital. My scan had been private, through my corporate health insurance, but being the weekend I had no choice but to go back on the NHS trail as I couldn’t wait until the private system woke up again on Monday.

Finally at midnight my first blood test was taken. I was told to return on Monday for a second test and results for both would be known on Tuesday. A second ultrasound scan was booked for Friday just as standard follow up.

Tuesday came and went; Wednesday came and went; finally in the evening of Thursday I found out my blood test results. Over the telephone, the doctor told me it wasn’t an active pregnancy and that I had most likely miscarried. Apparently my HCG levels were dropping but not as dramatically as he would expect. I asked if I should come in for my scan the next day and he agreed, and that a third blood test may also be needed.

On Thursday night I went to bed believing I had miscarried and my scan was merely to check that the mass was a cyst, or Corpus Luteum, as I had been told at the hospital earlier in the week.

How wrong they all were.

My scan on Friday revealed my baby had tripled in size in one week and was now much more identifiable. The scan showed a developing embryo - a baby - in my fallopian tube. I was instantly told not to eat or drink and that I needed surgery. That day.

I was on my own. Husband was at work and I’d dropped Peanut at a friend’s house for a few hours. I was alone, devastated and very scared.

Suddenly my knight in shining armour arrived in the form of a top gynaecology surgeon who happened to specialise in laparoscopy. He made me feel safe; that he would fix me and make everything better. I switched back to a private hospital and he operated on me that very evening.

I came home yesterday. I hurt like hell. The carbon dioxide gas they pump inside you is excruciating, my belly is swollen up like a balloon. I don’t think I’ve had the head space to dwell on what’s happened yet, it comes into my head now and again that I didn’t lose my baby, it was taken out of me. I don’t honestly know how I’ll deal with it all yet, only time will tell.

We can’t try to make another baby for a couple of months, that’s if I’m not too scared to try. There’s nothing like losing one of your fallopian tubes to make you a little averse to running the same risk again!

Right now I want to enjoy Peanut. Savour every ounce of her. Enjoy what I’ve got. Reconnect with my friends. Soak in everyone’s support and care. Realise there are people out there who worry about me. That I’m not all alone. That I don’t have to be brave all the time.

Then maybe one day after all that, I’ll get lucky with another pregnancy. One that hopefully will have a happier ending.

Until then, I wish each and every one of you happiness. And thank each and every one of you for reading my ups and downs over the past few months.

Much love, Agnes. x