I would say it’s been a long hard year, but it’s only been 8 months since I last posted.
Towards the end of November Mr Goldfish’s results came back as fine. Apparently the extra vitamins and the loose boxer shorts made a huge impact on his morphology. And while this was good news, it meant I was back under scrutiny. With the stress of Christmas and also losing my Incapacity Benefit, I found I didn’t have the energy to open up and write about the weeks of waiting and stress. I was battening down the hatches, locking away the worries and pain.
We made it through Christmas and the last few tests, before being proscribed three months of Clomid. Four weeks later I crawled out of bed and took yet another pregnancy test. Groggy and half asleep, I waited the three minutes and then crawled back into bed disappointed. Ten minutes later, while I debated between indulging in a good sulk or plastering on another smile, Mr Goldfish calls in from the corridor “... You know there’s a line?” What???
I hadn't put my glasses on that morning, so I’d missed the very, very faint positive line. I was completely torn between guarding my heart and daring to hope. We took another test that day, just to see if it might be a mistake...but there it was, that slight hint of colour! The next morning we impatiently tried another test, but the line was still hard to see. Where was the really dark line you see on the commercials?? So we waited two more days, we knew we were pregnant - I just worried the faint line could mean it was ectopic or that we may miscarry. Four days after our first test the line was only slightly darker. Luckily we had an appointment booked with the doctor. She thought we were going to get the results of my thyroid test, so when I pulled out the four positive pregnancy tests she was a bit shocked.
With rather bad timing, my thyroid test showed it was hyperactive to such an extent that I had turned toxic in just a few months. While in the doctor’s office that day my pulse rate was about 142 bpm. Not a brilliant situation at the best of times, it certainly wasn’t good while pregnant. After some quick phone calls to the local hospital the GP sent us out with several sets of tablets and an urgent referral. Unfortunately, the urgent referral wasn’t exactly quick. It bounced from department to department at the local hospital before being rejected. They weren’t willing to treat the hyperthyroid condition if I was having my prenatal care at Liverpool Women's. So more referrals were made and I finally had an appointment booked for the 1st of March. I got my big plastic envelope full of pregnancy advice and had my big binder for appointments. This was really happening, I was 7 weeks pregnant.
March 11th I was home on my own when I felt the start of an IBS attack. I ran up the stairs to the bathroom, but nothing seemed amiss. I went and sat on my bed a while waiting. Another trip to the bathroom and I was starting to feel dizzy and ill, but my stomach wasn’t budging. I rang Mr Goldfish at work to tell him I wasn’t well. It felt a bit like the first (and very worst) kidney stone pain I’d had, so I tried curling up on the hall floor with my back in the air. That just made things worse. I went to the bathroom again, still hoping that it was just bad IBS. I wouldn’t be so lucky. On returning to the bedroom I remember bouncing into the wall; I awoke to find myself lying on the floor. I rolled over and felt around, finding my bedside table just inches from my head. I now knew where I was, but I was having some difficulty moving. I climbed on the bed and rang Mr Goldfish again, telling him to come home now! I was hot and clammy and the polyester Canadian Hockey jersey was making everything worse. I managed to pull the jersey off and then didn't move for the next hour or so till the Mr got home.
With Mr Goldfish there for support I headed for the bathroom once more, but collapsed again. We didn’t really know what to do. There was no bleeding, I was conscious and talking for most of the time...I just felt really rotten. He called the hospital for advice, and they told us to call the GP for a home visit. He called the GP and they said call an ambulance.
It’s probably a good thing we did. The pregnancy was ectopic and ruptured at 8 ½ weeks. I now have the equivalent of a caesarean scar; I also lost 4 litres of blood and my right tube. In the end I received 5 units of blood, 5 units of frozen plasma and another 2 units of blood in ICU.
That was 13 weeks ago, and for the most part I’m back to normal, though we can't try again for another 3 months.
So it's back, yet again, to waiting.