To be completely truthful, growing up I never dreamed about becoming a mother. My dreams consisted of building my career, traveling, falling in love and living for the moment. When my husband and I got married we didn’t try to prevent a pregnancy but we weren’t actively trying either. We were married 3 years before I became pregnant.
My initial reaction was disbelief. Ready or not, we were going to be parents.
Disbelief soon morphed into excitement, I was going to be a mom! Our excitement was short lived. The same day that I bought my first maternity outfit was the day that the bottom fell out.
I woke up in the middle of the night and saw that I was bleeding. I had read that some bleeding was normal and while it didn’t seem like a lot, it still didn’t feel normal. I woke up my husband and told him what was going on. We weighed our options and decided to go to the ER, rather be safe than sorry.
While my blood tests were showing that I was pregnant, they couldn’t see anything from the ultrasound. I was sent home with instructions to follow up with my OB/GYN. Thus began the longest weeks of our lives.
After multiple tests and a misdiagnosis of a miscarriage I was told that the pregnancy was ectopic. The baby was growing in my right fallopian tube rather than in the uterus. I was given methotrexate, a drug to “break up the cells”, which works in 90% of cases. I was told I would need to come back for HCG tests to make sure my levels were lowering. They were not. The drug had not worked.
My doctor called me in on a Friday afternoon, stating that I needed to get to her office as soon as possible. My husband and I went into the exam room where we saw our child’s heartbeat for the first time. It should have been a joyous moment, yet it was the worst moment of our lives.
We were told I needed to go to the ER for emergency surgery to remove my fallopian tube and, along with it, our baby. I remember asking if I could think things over during the weekend. I just couldn’t process what I was being told. I received an emphatic “No” in response. It was imperative that we go immediately, I could die over the weekend.
It took me about 2 weeks to recover from the surgery but much longer to actually come to grips with what happened. I was a mess for months.
We then got the all clear to start trying again and after 3 months of failed attempts were referred to a fertility specialist. It was then that we received the news that we had approximately a 3% chance of conceiving naturally. Fertility treatments were our next step.
After weighing our options, we proceeded with IUI (intrauterine insemination) treatments. The first month was hell on my body. I’ve always been super sensitive to drugs and this was no exception. I suffered through every side effect that came along with the pills and injections. And it didn’t work.
We forged along and did another round. This time when we got the call with the results from the pregnancy test we were told it was positive, albeit a low positive (HCG level wise). I would have to follow up with another blood test in a few days.
It was then that we were told it was a chemical pregnancy, an early miscarriage. I was devastated. Even though we had our hopes up for only a few days, it didn’t make the news any more bearable.
I remember laying on the floor in our bedroom just staring at the ceiling for hours. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. In my mind I was finally 100% confident that I wanted to be a mother, yet my body wasn’t cooperating.
A much needed break was in order. The rest of the summer we traveled, enjoyed some well deserved cocktails and stopped obsessing over trying. In early fall we attended a weekend long adoption seminar to gather more information on the the process. This is where our proverbial fork came, continue with fertility treatments or pursue adoption.