The last few weeks have been some of the hardest I’ve ever faced. I’ve been hesitant to share the details of my experience publicly, and as I’ve searched for comfort in knowing that I’m not alone, I quickly realized that this isn’t a topic people share.
On July 30, 2022 I underwent an emergency surgery for a ruptured fallopian tube and ectopic pregnancy.
These battles are hidden in the darkest shadows of therapist sessions. They’re whispered underneath the breaths of loved ones. These battles are fought alone - by more people than you know. Miscarriages aren’t a topic that people typically feel comfortable discussing (for obvious reasons), but a conversation about an ectopic pregnancy adds another layer of complexity to an already extremely personal and difficult experience.
ec·top·ic preg·nan·cy : A pregnancy in which the fertilized egg implants outside the uterus. The fertilized egg can't survive outside the uterus. If left to grow, it may damage nearby organs and cause life-threatening loss of blood.
Healing shows itself in so many different avenues, and part of my journey will be bringing the honest pain and uncertainty into the light.
I took a pregnancy test on 7/13/22 - Jay and I were celebrating our 9th wedding anniversary in San Diego. We were fully expecting a negative test result but there it was staring back at me, a crystal clear, YES +
We had spent the last couple of years coming to terms with the fact that we would honestly never be “ready” to become parents. The fears, the doubts, the changes were all too overwhelming to process - so as we do in times of uncertainty - we agreed to let go of the reins. “If it happens, it happens.”
YES +
With racing hearts and tear soaked shirts, we walked down to sunset cliffs under a full moon. I never knew I could feel so many emotions at once. Shock, regret, excitement, worry, happiness, sadness, and more that we don’t even have words for. Jay nicknamed the new baby our hummingbird.
Once we got back home from our trip it took about 3 more days for my brain to shift from a spinning vortex into a state of, “we can do this.” Once that shift took place, the uneasiness transformed into full on butterflies…how are we going to tell our family? Where am I going to take my bump progress pictures? What color do we want the nursery? Is he/she going to look like him or me? I logged all of the information into my natural cycles app and read the words, “Congratulations! You are 6 weeks pregnant.”
I started spotting on 7/20
I thought to myself…
Don’t be one of those people that assumes everything is going wrong. This is normal. You’re just stressed, eat healthy and trust the process. This is normal.
I started bleeding on 7/24
This is normal. You’ve called your doctor and explained everything. They said, “We’ll see you at 8 weeks, if you start having pain, go to the ER.” The ER? Why would I need to go to the ER? This is normal.
Why isn’t the bleeding stopping?
7/26
You’re having a miscarriage.
That’s ok, miscarriages are common for people’s first pregnancies. You were only 7 weeks. This is normal. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop it, let your body naturally do what it’s designed to do. This is normal.
7/30
You’re being woken up by stabbing pain. You can’t stand up, you’re curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. Wake Jay up, you can’t wait it out any longer.
You’re doing exactly what they said to do, you feel pain so you’re going to the ER. Should you turn back? The pain is subsiding now, there’s still time to leave, they haven’t processed your information yet. Just go home and sleep it off.
“No,” Jay said. “We’re not leaving.”
Blood work, questions, an ultrasound, silence - extreme pain, “You’ll Be In My Heart” is playing in a dark room as tears gush from your eyes. You stay silent and clench the side of the bed.
More questions, an IV, “What’s your pain level at now?” “Sign these consent forms.” “We have the results from your ultrasound - you have an ectopic pregnancy and a ruptured fallopian tube. You are currently internally bleeding and going to require surgery.”
Why are there so many people in this room?
“We are going to remove your right fallopian tube during the procedure but this won’t keep you from being able to get pregnant again in the future. We’re going to take you upstairs to the operating room in 30 minutes. Do you have any questions?”
Tears.
Panic.
Deep breaths.
Jay holds my hands and says “you can do this.”
The prayers start.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of calm that I can’t explain. A peace from the prayers, like a warm blanket of comfort wrapped around me. I get dressed in the hospital gown and Jay and I go up to the operating room. The hospital is empty and the doctor begins to describe the procedure to us. They needed to remove the ruptured tube and “contents” within. “Contents.” Why won’t anyone say baby?
The oxygen mask covers my mouth and I wake up to Jay’s calm spirit. “You did it.” They showed me the pictures of the procedure and said the embryo didn’t have a heartbeat. No heartbeat. Did it ever have a heartbeat? Of course it did, it was growing. It was supposed to be the size of a blueberry. Everything was normal. Ectopic Pregnancy.
1 in 100.
Normal suddenly felt really far away.
Family and friends surround me, flowers and books on grief land on my doorstep. What am I grieving? What just happened?
“This breaking of you will be the making of you.”
Follow up appointment. “You look great! Most people are still limping at this stage.” They still won’t say baby. Was it a baby? What is pregnancy tissue? They print out the surgery report with a list of all the steps performed during the procedure. A portion of it reads:
“A ruptured ectopic pregnancy was visualized in the patient’s right fallopian tube. The ectopic pregnancy was then placed in an Endocatch bag and removed from the abdomen through the left lower quadrant port. The specimen was removed in pieces to allow the bag to fit through the 5 mm port.”
Pieces.
Our hummingbird was in pieces.
My heart was in p i e c e s .
I didn’t feel like Kirby. I felt numbness AND pain simultaneously (as opposing as that sounds). The days and nights to follow blended together and I feared that I lost myself throughout this process. Like I suddenly was no longer capable of feeling joy from the things I did before, like all of my fears and dreams had vanished. Every time I stand up or sit down I am reminded, every time I get dressed and see the 3 incisions and bruises, I am reminded… and then something miraculous happened.
I remembered that I am still me. That even though all of this is a part of my story now, it doesn’t replace everything else that has come before. I remembered that I’ll never not sing along to my favorite songs, that I’ll never not smile when I see golden sunlight cast shadows through the trees, that I’ll never not love a cup of coffee in a rainstorm.
So here we are. Putting the pieces back together.
There are moments where a glimpse of our past life peers through. A laugh with a friend during a movie or a forehead kiss before work. There are moments where the confusion and sadness can’t be stored away, and emotions billow out overflowing like a mighty force.
and even still…
I am grateful.
I am grateful for a God who never promised a life without suffering but walks with me through every step.
I am grateful to feel a sense of strength like I’ve never had before.
I am grateful to share my story.
I am not the person I was last month.
I am not the person I will be tomorrow.
Here’s to bringing light into the shadows of the unknown.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
