By It’s been almost a year and I’m still trying to process what happened. I know my story is hard, but I just hope I can help someone, because if you’ve also experienced an “ectopic pregnancy” you know that there is no more devastating physical and emotional pain than this.
“Your time will pass.” This is the phrase I heard most often in my family since I turned 30. My sister had her first child right after finishing university and everyone was looking at me hoping I would follow the same path. But I, despite being the oldest, was always the least traditional, the one whose relationships didn’t last long, the one who never had a steady job and preferred to travel from here to there.
My idea of being a nomad and travelling around the world in a van completely disappeared when I met Pablo in Cardiff . I was on holiday in Wales with some friends when, while staying at a hotel, we met a receptionist with the bluest eyes I have ever seen. He was Spanish, a professor of fine arts and had emigrated to the United Kingdom. He was kind, funny and when he laughed, two dimples appeared on his cheeks.
He captivated me, he fell in love with me and what came next was the most beautiful story of my life. I no longer wanted to travel around the world, he was my center and he did not hesitate to leave his world to join mine, in Spain. The beginnings were difficult, economic stability was not available, and sometimes we lived on the salary of only one. Other times, our parents helped us with the rent. Until, at 36, the situation improved and we decided to take a further step: to be parents.
I have suffered an ectopic pregnancy. I refuse to be just another statistic. My story is unique, like that of thousands of women who have gone through the same thing.
A pain and an empty uterus
“Your time has passed.” My father never had much sense or empathy; he is the type of person who always says the first thing that comes to mind and does not hesitate to let you know. Two years went by and, sure enough, the baby never came. We did not get pregnant . Finally, we accepted that ours was going to be a life without children and that it was okay . We were fine.
It was at the height of the pandemic when it happened. The world seemed to be falling apart outside, and yet we were jumping for joy. I took a pregnancy test and two very faint lines came out. I knew it was positive, but I took two more tests just in case. All to make sure that what we dreamed of had finally come true. And yes, it was true. We were going to have a baby.
The next two weeks were the sweetest, the most exciting. We spent the nights talking about what our life would be like, what name we would choose, and how we would raise our little padawan, or little padawan, as Pablo called him. We announced it to the family, and my sister couldn’t be happier . We were going to be mothers in the same year. She was already expecting her third; she was four months pregnant.
What I never thought would happen to me
One morning, when I went to the bathroom, I noticed some small blood stains on my underwear. They were very light, but they were there. I told myself that, as I had read, bleeding can occur in the first trimester. I tried hard to tell myself that it was normal – when, in fact, I knew it wasn’t – and that it was better not to give it any importance and not to mention anything to Pablo.
But when I went into the kitchen and made breakfast, something suddenly happened that I still have trouble explaining. I felt the worst pain of my life. It was as if a very hot awl was stabbing me inside over and over again. It was as if my insides were being torn out mercilessly. I broke out in a cold sweat and then I don’t remember anything else. I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was lying on a hospital gurney, Pablo was next to me, and I was being taken to have an ultrasound. It was then that the doctor, completely coldly, said a few words to the nurse. As if we weren’t there. “ The uterus is empty. There’s nothing here.”
If you experience any bleeding or strange sensation during pregnancy, it is advisable to consult your doctor immediately.
An ectopic pregnancy and my miscarriage
A second ultrasound showed that the uterus was empty because the embryo was lodged in my left fallopian tube. It measured 12 millimeters and was alive. If you don’t know anything about ectopic pregnancies (as I did), let me tell you that it happens when an embryo develops outside the uterus. It happens in only 2% of cases and they are not viable. They are doomed to die.
Our little padawan was alive, but he was killing me. There was no choice and the doctors then informed me what was going to happen. The “ectopic” – that’s what they called our son – had to die and to do so he was going to receive methotrexate . This is a chemotherapy drug that is injected into the bloodstream to slow or stop the production of rapidly growing cells.
A few weeks would pass, I would experience some pain and some bleeding, and it would all be over. My unintended pregnancy, something I never thought would happen to me, had just begun. Coming home from the hospital was the saddest moment of our lives . Everything we had dreamed of, everything we had planned, was breaking down into pieces of flesh, blood, and fluid.
However, our story did not end there. Because twelve days later, the hot punch pierced my abdomen and my viscera again. Something was wrong, our ectopic had died, but it had grown. So I had to undergo emergency surgery to remove the fallopian tube in which it was hidden, refusing to detach itself from me, split, tied to my insides in the form of indescribable suffering.
Ectopic pregnancy is the main cause of maternal death in the first trimester of pregnancy.
My days of mourning for the girl I never met
I know that my ectopic was a girl. I know that the embryo that was alive for a few weeks and that almost took me away was a little girl with sky blue eyes and a beautiful smile. I can’t say why, call it instinct, call it intuition . But since they ripped it out of me, leaving a scar on my abdomen, I can’t stop imagining what its life would have been like.
I also know that I shouldn’t reinforce this thought, but I often find it comforting to imagine her in my mind, playing and laughing like her Pablo. With those two dimples marked on her cheeks. “You’ll have more,” my father tells me with his usual lack of tact. And now I think of all those women who have also experienced their own involuntary pregnancy.
I remembered that co-worker at a nursery school who was on sick leave after a miscarriage and when she returned, no one knew what to say to her. I thought of my best friend, who had a miscarriage in the fourth trimester and who I know has not recovered from yet. I also think of my aunt, who had eight miscarriages and finally, after adopting a girl, had two more naturally.
A scar that connects me to her
I know that my grief, like that of many other women (and also fathers), is unique and cannot be compared. But we all have something in common: the emptiness, the story that was not and the silent sadness that will stay with us forever. That does not mean that we cannot lead a normal life, because we do. Because we smile again, dream, make plans.
However, when no one is looking, we caress our external or internal scars in silence to mourn that miscarriage. And that is okay, because what is loved is remembered and is lodged forever in a little corner of our heart. Now, I am an aunt again.
My sister had her baby, and although for a few days I couldn’t look at her pregnant belly without feeling a certain amount of anger, envy and sadness, everything is fine now. My life is fine, I’m still healing little by little. Just like Pablo.
I only hope that my testimony is helpful, because if you have also gone through the same thing, you should know that you are not alone. Talk about it with your loved ones, let yourself be supported, loved, seek help . Let us make our grief, our stories of blood and scars visible.