The Roller Coaster of Life

Waking up in recovery after surgery, I was groggy, yet incredibly grateful my partner was there waiting as requested. I had just had a laparoscopy to remove an ectopic pregnancy that had embedded itself in the end of my right tube, blocked by an ovarian cyst. A surgery that should have taken an hour took 3. In the process I’d lost a litre of blood. My trip to the hospital was the end of a long 8 weeks intertwined with several servings of life’s lessons.

Twelve months ago I discovered I was pregnant again. I was ecstatic. Secretly I’d prayed for another chance at motherhood. Finally, I had sorted myself out and was in a place where I felt I could have another crack and be okay this time around with what came my way. Although whenever people asked me when the next one was coming, I would joke that the one was more than enough for me. My outsides and my insides weren’t matching.

A few days after my positive test, I was at work and had started to spot. I left immediately and went to the doctor. There I was told I had a 30% chance I would miscarry. I went home to prepare for the worst; except it didn’t come soon.

Over the next few weeks I was sent for blood tests and scans as the spotting continued. The scans showed nothing. Nothing in my uterus and nothing in my tubes. I had begun to wonder if I had concocted the pregnancy in my mind. I secretly hoped that everything would be okay and we would get our baby. My little girl kept asking about the baby in mummy’s tummy, even though we hadn’t told her what was happening. Kids always know.

By now I had a great community around me with the coaching school, so I put it a post out on Facebook to see if anyone had dealt with threatened miscarriage (yet another label I could attach to the collection). I eventually received a message from one of the trainers asking if anyone had responded. I ended up phoning her and we spent 45 minutes together in a coaching session. After that time together, I knew that no matter what happened, it was well outside of my control and either way I would get an outcome.

I was due in Melbourne early October for a week-long training course. My symptoms remained the same. No changes. After consulting with my GP, she advised I should go and do my training. It would be a great opportunity to take my mind off things. And for reassurance she would write a letter and give me all of my reports to take with me in case anything happened while I was away.

The training in Melbourne was incredible. I am forever grateful I took the time to learn and develop my knowledge of NLP. It’s been an invaluable tool for me personally, for my relationship, my bond with my daughter and my ability to help others.

Once I returned home, it was back to the doctor who referred me to the obstetrician at the hospital, as there had been no change while I was away. Writing this now, the whole experience seems surreal. It still feels as though it happened to someone else and I just witnessed the event. Maybe that’s because I had my emotions in check this time and I had a support network like I’d never had before.

At the hospital we saw an Indian obstetrician who was difficult to understand. She delivered her verdict so cut and dry, without any emotion. I guess these guys see this every day. It doesn’t make it any easier though. Her options were to go for surgery straight away or to have an injection to stop the growth and for it to pass naturally. I was not the only one being given bad news that day; the girl in the cubicle beside me was being told she was miscarrying. My heart broke for her. This kind of loss is so common and yet it’s barely spoken about.

The fear of being cut open was still fresh in my mind; anyhow they didn’t even know where this thing was located. There was no way I was being cut unnecessarily.  I opted for the injection. This meant I could go home that night and needed blood tests every 3 days for 2 weeks to ensure the levels of the growth hormone were coming down.

Two weeks later and my levels were back at zero. I thought I had gotten through unscathed. However a couple of afternoons later, I went to get off the bed and was doubled over by a sharp pain surging up my right side. It didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t get comfortable. In the end I took some panadol and went to bed, hoping it would go away. By the morning I could barely move.

Somehow I managed to get my daughter picked up, as my partner was at work and organised for my mum to take me to hospital. The whole time I just had this feeling that everything would be okay. It was constantly chanting away in the back of my mind. I was incredibly calm.

The doctor at the hospital pressed on my stomach and I almost flew through the ceiling. She ordered an ambulance and some morphine stat. The pain was unbearable. You know what came next.

Back on the ward later that night, I was under constant observation as my blood pressure was dangerously low. I felt wonderful. I was so happy and so grateful to be alive. I was even more grateful for the blood donor who took the time to go and donate the blood that ultimately kept me here on this earth. One of the doctors was ready to send me to ICU, but I wouldn’t have a bar of it. I felt fantastic. I was coherent and communicating. He and the nurse were shocked!

In moments of reflection, I’ve wondered where my strength came from. I keep getting the same answer. It’s all from within you.  This amazes me. To see myself as strong, capable and able to control my thoughts and outlook on a situation is a true testament of how far I had come.  Years ago it would have torn me to pieces. Now it’s a notch in my timeline.

Not long after this had happened, I was in the shopping centre one day and a friend of a friend, who I didn’t know very well, came up to me and told me she was sorry for my loss. I thanked her for her concern and walked away incredibly embarrassed. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me. This was private and not something I wanted to be the source for local town gossip. Especially when the meaning I had given my situation was more of gratitude, appreciation and a realisation that I have been put her on this earth to make a difference.  

And I guess that’s what happens all the time – people go through stuff and we instinctively feel sorry for them, but they don’t necessarily need or want you to. Sometimes it’s just about being there, lending an ear if they need to talk and just general support. The only person who will ever know what an experience feels like is the person who has had the experience – food for thought!