March 8th 2017 – The Day I Hate The Most
The morning of the day I knew my pregnancy was going to officially end.
I can never explain the feelings and thoughts that were running through my mind this day, it was extremely difficult trying to understand why this was happening to me. Why it would happen to anyone. For me I felt like it was all my fault, there was nothing wrong with my baby, it was my body that was the problem, my fallopian tube that was damaged. Knowing that and being told this by a doctor was fucking hard. They obviously didn’t explain it in those words, but they used all the medical terms they could to confuse the shit out of me, but all I heard was that it was my fault.
I was originally given two options for treatment that I had to decide in a split second. Methotrexate injection, or surgery. I didn’t want either, I wanted my baby. At this point I think I just went numb as everything I had been feeling since I found out just faded away into nothing, I was empty. The injection had loads of side effects and if it wasn’t successful, I’d have to have surgery anyway. I asked some questions about both options, mainly which one I would be in hospital the longest for, I just wanted to be in the comfort of my own home especially as my husband was out of the country. As I made my decision another doctor came in and wanted to check me over again, he asked a bunch of questions, pressed on my lower stomach which hurt like a bitch. In the end he said my only option was surgery as I was already bleeding into my abdomen. So that was that. I had been nil by mouth since midnight I was starving, I wasn’t allowed to drink anything either, so I felt even worse. It was more difficult as the other patients on my ward could eat. Which just pissed me off. I feel like they should separate people who are nil by mouth, to make it a little easier.
My mum was finally able to join me around midday, so I wasn’t alone, the nurse in charge let her come in a little earlier than normal due to the circumstances. I’ll forever be grateful for that, as sitting alone waiting was awful. Eventually it’s finally time for the anaesthetist to come and talk me through what he will be doing to put me to sleep, as me being a control freak, I needed to know everything. Also, they must check how wide you can open your mouth which was an odd experience.
So, we’re sat there waiting for him to turn up and I shit you not the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in real life, in front of my eyeballs, opens the curtain and all I can do is stare at him! How mortifying, if you were to look at the definition of a hot mess in the dictionary it would be a photo of me next to it! Hadn’t showered, hair was something resembling a bird’s nest, hadn’t brushed my teeth yet as I just didn’t want to do anything! My mum was just as shocked as I was, but she didn’t need to talk to him! I imagine I looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing my mouth. I’m surprised I didn’t drool if I’m honest.
After all is sorted, I had to get dressed in my hospital gown, completely naked underneath even though I’m bleeding. I was so self-conscious as I had to keep a sanitary towel in between my legs. Never knew how difficult it could be trying to manoeuvre onto a hospital bed whilst trying to clench my thighs together, so I didn’t drop it on the floor in front of everyone. The nurse that helped me was lovely, she kept reassuring me and telling me not to feel uncomfortable. I’m wheeled down to theatre, my mum could come just outside the operating room until I had to go in. I was scared shitless; I was shaking all over uncontrollably. My mum kissed me on the forehead and told me she would see me after. We get into the operating room and there’s around 15 people in there, which caused a panic attack.
They didn’t tell me how many people would be in there until we were inside then they started to explain and tell me not to pay attention to them. But we all know being told not to do something makes us do it even more. I have to admit I was so embarrassed to be naked in front of so many people, especially when they said my bed was broken so I had to stand up and climb up onto the operating table, but making sure the back of my gown was wide open so they could take it off me. *queue the face palm and red face*. As I opened my gown to climb up I finally looked up properly and would you believe the hot anaesthetist was right behind me and I basically had given the guy a full moony! I was horrified! All said and done they were amazing and were laughing and joking with me whilst they knocked me out. They explained what I would feel and when they were giving the injections, the lovely lady was rubbing my arms up and down to help relax me.
All I remember from being in recovery was asking the nurse what her name was because she was nice and for lip balm! Also, another rude nurse who wouldn’t believe that I need to pee, so I told her I was about to pee my pants, so she needed to do something. I realise now I was just as rude as she was, but a girl has to pee, with as much dignity as she can! On a bed pan like an oldie, but hey I’d rather that then pee all over the bed.
I finally got to see a familiar face, my mum. I just kept crying randomly in between my cat naps. I also asked for a burger apparently. I was absolutely starving but I couldn’t bring myself to eat. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do anything but cry for what I’d lost. Who I’d lost. I felt so disappointed in myself that I couldn’t do what women are supposed to be able to do. It was my fault my baby didn’t have the chance to grow. I can’t even begin to explain the amount of guilt I had and still carry to this day. I hated myself. I hated that everyone was so excited and now they had to have that taken away. I hated that all the plans my husband and I had spoken about would never happen with that baby.
I will always remember the excitement we shared when we found out we were pregnant, but I’ll always remember what I had to go through in the end. I will never forget the pain. Emotionally and physically.