The Miscarriage – Part 2: Waiting to Move On

You can read about how this journey began here, The Miscarriage – Part 1: The Loss .

Prior to having the miscarriage, I had made an appointment with a midwife to begin my prenatal care. Steve and I had a lot of question about what had happened and what to expect in the coming weeks and months, so we kept the appointment. All I can say is, thank God we did.

The midwife was kind, informative and showed a lot of concern for us. She answered all of our questions and then some. She asked if we would like to have an ultra sound. We declined because we knew what had happened and didn’t feel that it was necessary. (NOTE: ALWAYS GET THE ULTRASOUND.) As we were about to leave, she said that I would need to have more blood drawn just to make sure that everything was progressing as it should after a miscarriage. My day turned really bad, really quickly. Have I told you yet how much I hate needles?

Two hours before the Labor Day weekend was about to start, I get a phone call from the midwife. “Your blood tests came back. We MIGHT have good news for you. Your HCG level has doubled in the past week.”

There was a moment of silence before I spatter off a lot of short sentences. “How is that “good” news? I had a miscarriage. I know what I saw. Is this a joke? Did the lab screw up? What am I supposed to do now? I’ve moved on. WHAT? ”

Turns out it could be one of about four things. 1: I had twins and lost one. 2: It’s an ectopic pregnancy (a pregnancy outside of the uterus). 3: It’s a molar pregnancy (you are carrying and empty sack, but your body thinks there is a baby). 4: The HCG spiked and are now dropping.

In order to find out which one it is, I needed to have an ultra sound, and more blood drawn (yay). The best news is that this news came as the doctor’s office was about to close for a long weekend. AND, they couldn’t see me until Wednesday because they were overbooked on Tuesday due to the short work week. OH, AND, if I felt any pain at all, I needed to go to the nearest ER because if it’s ectopic and it ruptures, it’s life threatening.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Not only do I learn that I might be pregnant, or that my insides might explode, I have to wait five days to find out which it is. I think it is appropriate to panic at this time.

To spite mother nature, after the miscarriage, I did the following. I stopped taking all vitamins. I took some really good sleeping and pain pills. I horked down some feta cheese, rare beef, blue cheese and a deli sandwich. I also seriously considered drinking a bottle of wine. I refrained, but man it would have been delicious. I am now seriously regretting all of those slightly immature actions.

So for the next several days, I waited. Do you have any idea what that was like? I read into every-little-thing. Am I moody because I’m pregnant, or freaked the crap out? Does my stomach hurt because my insides are about to detonate or because I need to use the bathroom? Do I need to take a nap  because someone is growing inside me or because I was up all night wondering if someone was growing inside me?

I waited for five days to have these questions answered. For those days I did not sleep well, eat well, laugh well, live well. It felt as though someone had pushed the pause button on my life. The rest of the world was moving at a normal clip, but I was stuck waiting. I seriously could not move any part of my life forward without knowing.

Just when I thought life couldn’t move any slower, we arrived at the doctor’s office and they were running 30 minutes behind. I have waited five days, FIVE days, and now you’re telling me I have to wait longer?

We finally make it to the ultrasound with the doctor. He informs me that it will be trans vaginal (yay). He checks the uterus. No baby. We are OK with that because we dealt with our loss last week. He checks the left ovary. Normal. He checks the right ovary. He starts to take a lot of pictures. He measures. He takes more pictures. He measures some more.

It turns out my right ovary is enlarged. This could be because of the recent pregnancy or an ectopic pregnancy. The only way to find out, is to have more blood taken, and I can’t eat in case I need to have emergency surgery.

Great. More waiting. Waiting and starving. At least I know I’m not with child.

We get the blood drawn and return to waiting. Steve and I are both edgy and nervous. Steve’s job is not happy that he will be late to work while we wait to find out of I need surgery.

Two hours later we get the results. The HCG is continuing to rise. That along with the ultrasound confirms the worst. It’s an ectopic pregnancy. The “good” news is that I’m still in the safe range to get a shot of methotrexate (better known as chemo) that will help my body absorb the pregnancy and attempt to preserve the tube. There is always a chance that even with the shot it will rupture.

The doctor leaves so we can talk. I melt into tears. I want to puke. Steve holds me. We talk. We call someone we know who has been through this before. We pray. We decide on the shot.

The doctor says that it is safe for me to get the shot alone (I won’t feel any effects of the drugs for a few days), but after that I must return home and be watched 24/7. If my tube ruptures, it is life or death. I must be rushed to the ER for emergency surgery.

Steve leaves to go to work. Trust me, he had no other choice. I go to the cancer center for a shot in the butt. Alone.

As they are preparing my shot, they inform me they are taking more of my blood. This time it’s multiple tubes of blood. I try to tell them that they have already taken all of my blood, and I have nothing left. They don’t buy it. I then tell them that I’ve not eaten all day (It’s 3:00PM), and that I may pass out. They give me a soda.

I’m crying. I’m freaking out. I’m about to get a shot. A shot of chemo. A shot of chemo in my butt.

As the nurse is shooting this neon green drug into my right cheek, she tells me that it is going to feel like a bolling ball has been shoved in my butt.

Within seconds of getting the shot, the room starts to spin. I start to get very hot. I want to puke. I need to sit down. I start to shake. The nurse informs me that if I pass out, I have to go to the ER. I inform her that I will stay awake if she gets me more soda, and a cold towel. When she leaves, I rip all of the sheets off the hospital bed so I can lay on the cold plastic mattress. I would have ripped off all my clothes, but that may have warranted a trip to the mental ward. I thought you all said that I wouldn’t feel the effects of the drug right away?

My body calms down, and I make it home. I drove on my left butt cheek. I cried all the way home. I called Steve, and told him all about it. I told him I thought I was going to die when they gave me the shot. I may have told him that I hated him for having to leave me, and for not being able to stay home with me while I wait for my insides to not explode.

After I got home, I slept. I slept the rest of the day, and into the next. Waiting is exhausting.

I thought that I would be able to move on with my life after this appointment, but no. I waited five days to be told that I would now have to wait and see if the shot worked. I’d have to do nearly nothing for a week while I waited. No driving, no being home alone, no lifting, no long periods on my feet. I’d have to wait another week to see if I would need surgery, and in the mean time, pray my tube didn’t rupture. I was again waiting on Wednesday to come.

My mom stayed with me until Friday night when Steve returned home from his business trip. She cooked. She took my temperature.  She did dishes. She took my temperature. She cleaned. She took my temperature. She was bored. She took my temperature. She joined our game of waiting. She took my temperature. PS, she’s a nurse.

I spent the week watching awful TV and sleeping. Yes, and waiting.

By Friday my right side was getting tender. I bled a little more than I did before. I was exhausted. I was getting to a very low point. Tearful. Uncomfortable. Helpless. Steve called some of the men in our church to give me a blessing. Of all the things I had been waiting on, I don’t know why I waited so long to ask for help from God. I felt so much better after the blessing.

Sunday I went to church, and to get my blood checked. It was beginning to go down. Finally, a ray of good news.

Monday I experienced the worst lower back pain I have ever known. I imagine it was similar to back labor. When I thought my back muscles were tearing in two, I made Steve call the doctor. The doctor on call felt that it was safe for me to stay home based on my description of the pain and the HCG levels beginning to drop. She asked me what pain killers I had in the house, and told me to take one of each. Not really. She told me which ones were safe to take and at what times to take them.

With the back pain in check, it was back to waiting on Wednesday. Would this Wednesday release me from the prison of my home? Would I finally be able to start seeing my future again? Would I need surgery? Another shot of chemo? Would I be told to keep waiting?

In the coming days I will write about what happens on Wednesday (September 16) in the posts…
The Miscarriage – Part 3: From the ER
The Miscarriage – Part 4: To The OR
The Miscarriage – Part 5: The Post Op
The Miscarriage – Part 6: It Stings a Little

Prev Post -> The Miscarriage – Part 1: The Loss Next Post -> The Miscarriage – Part 3: From the ER