Again

I swear that my life is happy one, filled with funny stories, inside jokes, sunshine, and gratitude.  I'm just so emo that I only feel like writing when I'm overwhelmed.  Sadness makes me overwhelmed. 

So, we had another miscarriage.  Like a traumatic insane situation that has left Jason and me in shock and dismay.  See, we had no luck with six months of trying after our last miscarriage.  My cycles never went back to normal.  My doctor recommended an HSG test, which is done by a radiologist by flushing dye through the uterus and fallopian tubes to check for scar tissue and blocked tubes.  It was not a fun test.  Then I was informed that I had significant scar tissue left from my two D&Cs and that my left fallopian tube was completely blocked.



I sat around sad about that for a week waiting to see my doctor and talk about it.  My radiologist sucked btw.  It seems they never talk to patients and let ultrasound techs click their tongues and make random comments then force patients to sit around in worry and dread while they wait to see their doctor.  My radiologist performed this test and didn't bother to read my chart beforehand, because he said, "Eew, it looks like there's just a bunch of scar tissue up at the top of your uterus, I don't know what that's from."  Then he wrung his hands and I told him I'd had two D&Cs.  "Oh, yep, that's probably what it's from!"  Then he flitted from the room like an evil little gnome. 



My doctor recommended a hysteroscopy with a fertility specialist to attempt removing the scar tissue, which may unblock the tube.  That was a Monday.  Tuesday afternoon, one week after the diagnostic test, I started bleeding.  I was talking to a co-worker and suddenly felt like I'd peed myself.  I ran to the bathroom to discover quite a bit of blood and decided to go on home because this was odd.  I left a message for my doctor and assumed that it was some complication of the test.  I sat at home waiting for a call back and took a nap.  When I woke up, I stood and gushed again, filling a pad, and I just decided to go to the ER.  It was just a matter of fact type of decision.  My doctor never called me, but I did get ahold of her nurse once I was in the ER and she affirmed my decision to go.  Jason met me there and I had a pelvic exam, blood test, urine test, etc.  Everyone kept asking me if I was pregnant, and I kept telling them no and trying to explain that this must have been caused by the HSG test.  Not many people, including the ER doc even knew that that was. 



Nope, the doctor pulled back the curtain and said, "Now, I know you said you aren't pregnant, but your urine test is showing positive for pregnancy."  I clapped my hand over my mouth and the tears just forced themselves out between muffled sobs.  What on earth?  How?  She gave us some time and I pulled out my phone searching my fertility app for all the dots and triangles that track every stupid spot, period, cramp, intercourse, negative pregnancy test, and cycle days.  There was only one possibility.  I was pregnant on the day of the dye test and I didn't know it.  They purposely schedule it right after your period ends.  I had a normal period and on day 8 of my cycle, I checked "No" on the little questionnaire that asked, "Are you or is there a possibility that you may be pregnant?"

Guilt and horror racked me.  Jason is a saint and held in his anger as best he could so that he could hold me and assure me that this wasn't my fault.  What kind of sick and twisted irony is it that I would go in for a test to find out why I can't get pregnant and end up endangering and possibly causing a miscarriage of a pregnancy I wasn't even aware of?  The absolute worst part, which I know sounds strange, was that an ultrasound showed a gestational sack and a yolk sack.  The bleeding stopped and I was sent home with the words "Threatened Miscarriage" printed in bold on fresh white hospital paper.  The ER doctor even smiled and gave me a thumbs up as if everything was going to be A-OK.  Even their billing person came to collect my deductible and encouraged me to be hopeful.  I don't do hopeful.  I can be hopeful for other people, but my realism is strong when it comes to gushing blood, radioactive dye, and barely four week embryos.  It still seeped in though, like a little infection spreading and multiplying to the point of a spark and little nagging thoughts of "when would I be due?"  Damn that spirit, but thank goodness it isn't completely dead.



We did more blood tests, another ultrasound with no heartbeat, no contact with my doctor, confusion, research, reading, crying, praying, raging, eating, and just trying to understand.

Exactly one week later (Tuesdays were becoming real winners at our house), I started bleeding again, at work.  It was so heavy that I bled through my pants and had to get a co-worker to help me to the bathroom.  Someone had to find me scrub pants, but I couldn't get off of the toilet.  My sweet Rachel drove to get me since Jason was in parent teacher conferences.  The clots were getting crazy.  I felt afraid.  My doctor got on the phone with me after I told one of the nurses that I was passing cheeseburger size clots.  Note to self: code word is cheeseburger sized.  She advised me to come to the ER if I couldn't get off the toilet and home.  There was no way.  I waddled out of the bathroom with a full sized towel rolled up between my legs and scrub pants on and could barely get myself into the van.  I wasn't in pain, just out of control and afraid.  Rachel drove me to the ER and I left the bathroom at work in quite a bit of disarray.  I need to write a thank you note to the sweet nurse who ended up having to take care of it.  It was a male nurse.  Poor guy. 



It got really scary.  I lost track of time.  Maybe it was two hours after I got there, but I lost myself.  Jason was on his way to meet us and I was on the phone with him.  I remember feeling sick and asking Rachel for something to puke in.  She left the room either to get someone or something to puke in, not sure which.  I drifted off and was in a complete daydream daze staring at the wall.  I was numb and nauseous and dizzy.  Then I saw her in front of me, snapping, but she just looked like a pretty blur.  Eventually, it occurred to me that I needed to respond.  When I did respond, I just begged her to find someone to help me.  I was terrified.  Three people rushed in and put two IVs in at once and flushed fluids through me to raise my blood pressure.  I think it was 45/50?  Scary.  The room was spinning and I was helpless.  I came back around with the fluids but then the air was just thick with panic.  My doctor was on her way, Jason got there and I guess Rachel filled him in.  Unfortunately, it happened one more time with him in the room.  He was so scared.  I needed another emergency D&C.  They wheeled me off with Jason at my side and I was so delirious and still feeling nauseous and like I could lose consciousness at any moment.  At least I could recognize that the anesthesiologist was really cute and I remember trying to glance at his left ring finger, for Rachel people, for Rachel!  Turns out that I lost four units of blood and my doctor was able to confirm "cheeseburger" sized clots.  I spent the night in some random room of the hospital on like an orthopedic surgery wing.  Seriously, when are hospitals going to have a women's unit specific to uteruses without babies in them?  If I have a friggin hysterectomy someday and end up in oncology, I am going to be upset. 


It's months past now.  I already posted on facebook, but the long and short of it is that I can't have anymore children biologically.  There's too much scar tissue and even a specialist says there's little to no chance of correcting it, even with multiple surgeries.  Forgive me if I don't line up for more uterine surgery.  We can't even really make a decision at this point because the hurt and shock are too fresh.  Our options are few anyway.  I'm 99% not going to try and get pregnant ever again.  Both of my fallopian tubes are blocked, but by the slim chance that I could conceive, we have to be so careful.  If I were to get pregnant with this scar tissue still in place, it could be another life threatening miscarriage hemorrhaging situation.  I am not willing to put my body, my husband, my friends or family through that kind of trauma again.  Decisions look like whether we are going to get Jason snipped, whether we will adopt, whether I will try this natural hippie fertility method of reducing scar tissue and then have another dye test in six months to see if it worked, you know, basics.  So, we are just sitting.  Making no decisions because we aren't trustworthy just yet of making good ones that aren't driven by grief, anger, fear or desperation. 


This was a really uplifting post.  It needed to happen though.  I'm not even going to put together a rally paragraph for you.  I've been typing and saving and waiting for months now, and it was time to post.  It's all to get you ready for my next post.  It's about how to start a conversation with someone when they need a wellness intervention.  Get ready!