Most people who know me, know I work pretty hard. I am reliable. If I have a job to do, it gets done. I take my work very seriously and while I love to have fun at work it would never be at the expense of actually performing my role to the highest standard.
This year I've had two unexpected lengthy drop outs of the office for ectopic pregnancy surgery and recovery and one shorter planned drop out for my gallbladder surgery. I am grateful that because I have been a hard worker with the one employer for a long time I have a large sick leave balance, that even now (after 50 sick days since February) has a few weeks left in it. So I'm not on sick leave stressing about getting back to work for the money, I'm stressing about letting people down and not getting to complete things for which I was responsible.
With the curette confirmed I decide to meet with work and ask if I could return to work part-time. I feel so distressed about the idea of returning full-time to the same role. I just don't have the same stamina to manage the pressure of the day-to-day work load. I'm so lucky because I know just in my asking that my workplace will do practically anything to help me out. The Acting CEO is more than happy to arrange a 3-day week for me and to have me oversee a few smaller, special projects instead of the state-wide role I'd been performing.
Phew. It is a massive release to know for at least 3-months I will return to work only 3-days a week. More days off than in the office. Excellent.
The next day is curette day. It is uneventful, fast and painless when compared to every other surgery I've had in 2011. It is also sad. I remember my first one of these procedures I had back in 2009 when we lost our first pregnancy and I know I'm nowhere near as sad and that I'm emotionally dealing with this better. I guess so much has happened since then.
The following week I finally get to have a follow up appointment with my fertility specialist. It feels like months since I've seen him, but it only a few weeks. When he sees me waiting in his rooms he looks sheepish and says "I don't think I want to see you." I tell him too bad, that I have a massive list of questions so he is just going to have to suck it up. As we walk down the corridor he puts his arm around my shoulders and says "I'm so sorry".
I wasn't joking about my list - I had written one as I was worried when I got in there I would forget everything. The first thing he answers is the result of the curette. They test the products of conception to find out if there is a reason the baby miscarried. Like our first miscarriage there was a chromosomal problem, the fetus had two extra chromosomes. So it wasn't the drugs, or the surgeries, or the infections that caused the miscarriage, it was nature.
The rest of the list is pretty straight forward, except for my belly button wound - which is STILL OOZING! Not as badly as the initial infection, but just not healed. My specialist takes another swab and armed with the results of my blood cultures from when I was in hospital he send it off to be tested. He gives me a new antibiotics prescription that I am only to fill if he rings me with the result of the swab.
It turned out I was still infected, so I needed to go back on the antibiotics.
Now it is a waiting game where only my emotional health will determine when we get back in the IVF saddle. Thankfully there are eight little frozen embryos ready and waiting to be transferred, when I think I'm ready for another go. Initially I was thinking 3 months off, but we'll see... with no chance of natural conception, I think I will find myself wanting to get back into it sooner, especially while I'm able to take a step back at work and focus on myself for a while.
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sand, sunburn, infection
On the drive down to the coast I tell Matt that I'm feeling pretty tired and that perhaps I've over done it in getting packed up to head to the beach house. Don't get me wrong - I haven't done much. Matt has done all the heavy lifting and I have just packed a few grocery items and my own clothes, Matt has then transferred everything to the car. Just quietly - I wish it was like this all the time. My lazy side loves it! Matt and I agree I should take it really easy on the weekend just resting inside. I'll get to the beach during the week.
Matt's sister and her family are already at the beach house when we arrive. They help Matt unload the car and have got things set up for us, so all I need to do when I get there is heat up the pre-made dinners we bought in advance (knowing that I wouldn't be my usual self in the kitchen this holiday) and settle into the couch.
The following day is a Saturday. The weather is AMAZING! But I stick to the plan. Matt and everyone else head off to the beach and I settle in at the house. My belly button wound is annoying me because it is still oozing. After my other surgeries I didn't have any ooze. This one was oozing while I was at the hospital and hasn't stopped. My sister in law and I decide it would be a good idea to get some sun on it to try and dry it out a bit. So I sit on the deck with my belly slightly exposed to try to get some sun on the belly button.
I'm not here long before Matt comes back to the house and says he thinks I would like it the beach. He will carry a camp chair down for me and walk slowly with me (the full 100 metres) to the beach. I think this sounds completely manageable and quickly apply some sunscreen to all my exposed limbs and face.
The beach is beautiful. It is a really warm day for spring. My nephews are having a great time in the surf, digging in the sand and playing beach soccer. Our dog, Rocky, loves the beach. He is greeting all the other dogs on the beach and then running back to sit under my camp chair in the shade. I'm still trying to get some sun on my belly button and other wounds to try and dry them out a bit.
After an hour we head home and I head to bed. I need about two hours rest before I'm up again. That afternoon Matt's Dad and his partner arrive too. I'm grateful everyone else is taking care of meals. I'm able to take it very easy.
The following day, based on the success of the earlier beach trip, Matt convinces me to join the family in a trip to the nature reserve, where everyone can fish, swim and play in the sand (except Rocky - no dogs allowed). It is only 300 - 400 metres into the reserve. I'm slow moving, but get there. In my attempts to dry out my belly button wound I've managed to get a ridiculous sunburn on a portion of my belly - making me even stiffer when getting in and out of chairs. After a couple of hours sitting in my camp chair enjoying the view, I need to get home. I feel so tired. This time, after we are home I sleep for three hours.
That night I say to Matt "I feel like I'm going backwards". I pull out my discharge information forms and look at the things that might happen and require further medical attention. The only thing I have is a sore abdomen - but I can't figure out if it just recovering normal sore, or extra sore.
Overnight, this changes when I wake up and feel wetness around me in the bed. At first I think I'm bleeding, but then the smell hits me. My belly button has started super oozing and it is super disgusting. In what is now a Paterson~Prior family classic I ask Matt to "smell my fingers" that are covered in ooze. He is suitably grossed out.
Offensive ooze from wounds is definitely on the seek medical attention list. During the day I had looked up the hospitals - just in case we needed them. I ring the Byron Bay emergency number and explain my symptoms and my surgery. They tell me I should come in. I then tell them that I'm still pregnant. With this information they recommend I go to the Tweed Hospital instead as they have ultrasound equipment. I then ring the Tweed Hospital emergency to see if they think Byron would be able to handle it, or if I'll need the ultrasound. The triage nurse tells me I should just see a doctor tomorrow. I decide to ring 13 HEALTH. The nurse strongly recommends I get to the Tweed Hospital and says if the pain is too much in a car, we should call an ambulance.
At 2am ish Matt and I head off on a 40 minute drive to Tweed Heads. As I hobble into emergency the triage nurse is up on her feet and asking if I'm okay. As I get closer her I explain the situation and she says "I remember you from the phone". I'm through to her little office, she is taking my temp - it is high. I'm literally oozing. It really is disgusting. Within minutes I'm in an emergency room bed. I can't believe it, only an hour ago this same nurse told me I could just see a doctor the next day.
From this point it is a bit of blur. There is again needles in and blood out. This time they have these two weird glass bottles. I say to the doctor "I've been in hospital a bit lately and had a lot of blood tests, but those bottles are a bit different, what are they for?" The doctor tells me the that the bottles are for blood cultures. They will literally put those bottle in ovens and see what they grow. Gross.
Physical inspection of the infected area, that is my belly button, is a problem. The best indicators of infection (other than ooze) are hot areas and redness. Of course my sunburn has meant neither of these symptoms are detectible as the whole area is red and hot. It is a bit of laughing point for the medical staff. They are all curious as to how I sunburned just that one area.
The emergency room doctor has arranged for some pain relief (more morphine) and is searching for IV antibiotics that are safe to give during early pregnancy. Because I am worried about all the drugs I'm being administered she explains that some drugs that are okay when the baby is developing in early pregnancy are not ideal in late pregnancy - morphine being an example (apparently you can suck that stuff down in early pregnancy, but at the end the baby gets the same effect, so basically comes out asleep - that can be a problem). Matt is convinced to go back to the beach house as I'm going to be in emergency until the gynaecologist can see me. The doctor thinks I'll be in for a couple of days. At one point the doctor tells me I may even need another surgery to wash out my abdomen depending on the extent of the infection.
My belly button is pouring out this stinky fluid and I keep folding up my hospital gown to absorb it. I'm running out of gown. The nurses change over and I ask my new nurse if I can new gown and perhaps a dressing to absorb the ooze. Once this is taken care of I can rest.
I'm eventually wheeled out to ultrasound. I am disappointed that the sonographer only has instructions to look for the infection collection and not to see if the baby is still okay. He finds a collection, deep under the belly button, but it isn't too big. He thinks now that the ooze has found a way out that I should improve.
Back in emergency it is a few more hours before the gynaecologist comes in to see me. He takes a look at my wound and cleans it up again. He asks me all the questions about the other symptoms. Since I woke up with the infection I've started bleeding more heavily again, including some small clots. The gynaecologist advises he is going to have me admitted to the women's ward so that I can have more IV antibiotics and see a surgeon consultant.
Matt arrives back at the hospital just in time to come with me up to the women's ward. I meet my new nurse and ask her about changing my dressing. I ask her if there is possibly a way we can dress it with something with a little less stickiness. My damn sunburn is killing me every time the dressing needs to be changed! She immediately understands and provides me with my very own supply of not so sticky tape and sterile bandages that are just big enough that the tape doesn't need to touch the sunburn! Brilliant!
Matt hangs with me for a few hours and then head back to the beach house. I settle in for the night.
Matt's sister and her family are already at the beach house when we arrive. They help Matt unload the car and have got things set up for us, so all I need to do when I get there is heat up the pre-made dinners we bought in advance (knowing that I wouldn't be my usual self in the kitchen this holiday) and settle into the couch.
The following day is a Saturday. The weather is AMAZING! But I stick to the plan. Matt and everyone else head off to the beach and I settle in at the house. My belly button wound is annoying me because it is still oozing. After my other surgeries I didn't have any ooze. This one was oozing while I was at the hospital and hasn't stopped. My sister in law and I decide it would be a good idea to get some sun on it to try and dry it out a bit. So I sit on the deck with my belly slightly exposed to try to get some sun on the belly button.
I'm not here long before Matt comes back to the house and says he thinks I would like it the beach. He will carry a camp chair down for me and walk slowly with me (the full 100 metres) to the beach. I think this sounds completely manageable and quickly apply some sunscreen to all my exposed limbs and face.
The beach is beautiful. It is a really warm day for spring. My nephews are having a great time in the surf, digging in the sand and playing beach soccer. Our dog, Rocky, loves the beach. He is greeting all the other dogs on the beach and then running back to sit under my camp chair in the shade. I'm still trying to get some sun on my belly button and other wounds to try and dry them out a bit.
After an hour we head home and I head to bed. I need about two hours rest before I'm up again. That afternoon Matt's Dad and his partner arrive too. I'm grateful everyone else is taking care of meals. I'm able to take it very easy.
The following day, based on the success of the earlier beach trip, Matt convinces me to join the family in a trip to the nature reserve, where everyone can fish, swim and play in the sand (except Rocky - no dogs allowed). It is only 300 - 400 metres into the reserve. I'm slow moving, but get there. In my attempts to dry out my belly button wound I've managed to get a ridiculous sunburn on a portion of my belly - making me even stiffer when getting in and out of chairs. After a couple of hours sitting in my camp chair enjoying the view, I need to get home. I feel so tired. This time, after we are home I sleep for three hours.
That night I say to Matt "I feel like I'm going backwards". I pull out my discharge information forms and look at the things that might happen and require further medical attention. The only thing I have is a sore abdomen - but I can't figure out if it just recovering normal sore, or extra sore.
Overnight, this changes when I wake up and feel wetness around me in the bed. At first I think I'm bleeding, but then the smell hits me. My belly button has started super oozing and it is super disgusting. In what is now a Paterson~Prior family classic I ask Matt to "smell my fingers" that are covered in ooze. He is suitably grossed out.
Offensive ooze from wounds is definitely on the seek medical attention list. During the day I had looked up the hospitals - just in case we needed them. I ring the Byron Bay emergency number and explain my symptoms and my surgery. They tell me I should come in. I then tell them that I'm still pregnant. With this information they recommend I go to the Tweed Hospital instead as they have ultrasound equipment. I then ring the Tweed Hospital emergency to see if they think Byron would be able to handle it, or if I'll need the ultrasound. The triage nurse tells me I should just see a doctor tomorrow. I decide to ring 13 HEALTH. The nurse strongly recommends I get to the Tweed Hospital and says if the pain is too much in a car, we should call an ambulance.
At 2am ish Matt and I head off on a 40 minute drive to Tweed Heads. As I hobble into emergency the triage nurse is up on her feet and asking if I'm okay. As I get closer her I explain the situation and she says "I remember you from the phone". I'm through to her little office, she is taking my temp - it is high. I'm literally oozing. It really is disgusting. Within minutes I'm in an emergency room bed. I can't believe it, only an hour ago this same nurse told me I could just see a doctor the next day.
From this point it is a bit of blur. There is again needles in and blood out. This time they have these two weird glass bottles. I say to the doctor "I've been in hospital a bit lately and had a lot of blood tests, but those bottles are a bit different, what are they for?" The doctor tells me the that the bottles are for blood cultures. They will literally put those bottle in ovens and see what they grow. Gross.
Physical inspection of the infected area, that is my belly button, is a problem. The best indicators of infection (other than ooze) are hot areas and redness. Of course my sunburn has meant neither of these symptoms are detectible as the whole area is red and hot. It is a bit of laughing point for the medical staff. They are all curious as to how I sunburned just that one area.
The emergency room doctor has arranged for some pain relief (more morphine) and is searching for IV antibiotics that are safe to give during early pregnancy. Because I am worried about all the drugs I'm being administered she explains that some drugs that are okay when the baby is developing in early pregnancy are not ideal in late pregnancy - morphine being an example (apparently you can suck that stuff down in early pregnancy, but at the end the baby gets the same effect, so basically comes out asleep - that can be a problem). Matt is convinced to go back to the beach house as I'm going to be in emergency until the gynaecologist can see me. The doctor thinks I'll be in for a couple of days. At one point the doctor tells me I may even need another surgery to wash out my abdomen depending on the extent of the infection.
My belly button is pouring out this stinky fluid and I keep folding up my hospital gown to absorb it. I'm running out of gown. The nurses change over and I ask my new nurse if I can new gown and perhaps a dressing to absorb the ooze. Once this is taken care of I can rest.
I'm eventually wheeled out to ultrasound. I am disappointed that the sonographer only has instructions to look for the infection collection and not to see if the baby is still okay. He finds a collection, deep under the belly button, but it isn't too big. He thinks now that the ooze has found a way out that I should improve.
Back in emergency it is a few more hours before the gynaecologist comes in to see me. He takes a look at my wound and cleans it up again. He asks me all the questions about the other symptoms. Since I woke up with the infection I've started bleeding more heavily again, including some small clots. The gynaecologist advises he is going to have me admitted to the women's ward so that I can have more IV antibiotics and see a surgeon consultant.
Matt arrives back at the hospital just in time to come with me up to the women's ward. I meet my new nurse and ask her about changing my dressing. I ask her if there is possibly a way we can dress it with something with a little less stickiness. My damn sunburn is killing me every time the dressing needs to be changed! She immediately understands and provides me with my very own supply of not so sticky tape and sterile bandages that are just big enough that the tape doesn't need to touch the sunburn! Brilliant!
Matt hangs with me for a few hours and then head back to the beach house. I settle in for the night.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Truly, irreversibly infertile
Within a couple of hours I am awake in the Mater Mother's ward, Women's Health Unit. They seem to have two floors, one for the mothers with new arrivals, and one for women with all the other gynaecological problems. I'm in a shared room, with another girl who was also admitted to emergency during the night. It seems she also has an ectopic, but is waiting a lot longer for her surgery.
When I wake up I learn I have a catheter - something I haven't had the previous two laparoscopic surgeries. I'm not sure why the doctor's decided I needed one this time. It is a bit weird and I still feel like I need to pee, even with it in. The nurses relocate the bag that my bladder is emptying into and I feel a bit better. It is still weird. The nurses convince me I'm better off keeping it in overnight. I remember how much it hurts to get up and move around after surgery - and that I need to go to the loo every hour because of the drip continually adding fluid to the system - I decide being able to rest would be better.
It is at times like these I appreciate how lucky I am to have such a caring, loving and supportive family. My husband is of course back by my side. My sister comes in to visit soon after. And my aunt and uncle who have lived through the same heart ache visit later in the evening. I'm pretty much exhausted (as is Matt). We have barely slept the night before and I've been pumped full of a range of serious medications. Once Matt knows I'm okay and that I'm basically in need of sleep he decides to head home and get some rest.
Late in the night my room mate is wheeled off to surgery. I have asked the nurses to open the curtains and I snoozily look at the view of the inner city suburb as I drift in and out of sleep.
In the morning the surgical crew is in to visit me. They have images to show me of my insides. It is a little surreal. My urterus looks like a smooth, round, red balloon. My fallopian tube on the other hand looks like an angry black sausage that is about to burst (of course it had burst!). They explain I needed an extra port for the surgery, so instead of three I have four wounds. The extra port was needed to help protect the uterus. I had lost some blood into the abdomen, but not too much. The tube is now gone. My wounds are glued not stitched. I can't really remember much else.
There is no doubt, I am now truly, irreversibly infertile. Still processing that. I'm also still pregnant. Infertile and pregnant. I've been a little paranoid about all the drugs, pain killers and so forth, but what can I do? I ask the ob/gyn that performed the surgery whether it is a problem that the gestation sack is measuring a bit small for my dates. He firmly believes it is too early to tell and that while it is still there, that is a good thing. He agrees that the best thing I can do is wait the additional week and day and get the diagnostic scan my fertility specialist recommended.
I'm discharged late in the day after being checked to see if I have a urinary tract infection (UTI). I'm running a bit of a temperature so that is what made them think it could be a UTI. I'm cleared of the UTI and pleased to be home. My fertility specialist rings me. He is again so sympathetic. He is on his holiday and ringing me to discuss how it all went. He is really sorry he missed the ectopic on the scan in his rooms and he is sorry he wasn't there when I needed surgery. He asks what has happened to the pregnancy that is intrauterine. I tell him it is still there, but that the gestation sack is only measuring 5 weeks and 1 day. He seems so surprised that the fallopian tube ruptured given how small the pregnancy is. He tells me he will look up my file as soon as he gets back from holiday to check on the progress of the remaining pregnancy.
I physically start to recover very quickly. I'm surprised by how well I'm moving and how little pain I have. I was really sore after my first ectopic pregnancy laparoscopic back in February. Only two days after I'm discharged we are leaving for the beach. The holiday has been planned for a while, so even though I'm going to be a bit steady, if you have to rest, where better than by the beach.
When I wake up I learn I have a catheter - something I haven't had the previous two laparoscopic surgeries. I'm not sure why the doctor's decided I needed one this time. It is a bit weird and I still feel like I need to pee, even with it in. The nurses relocate the bag that my bladder is emptying into and I feel a bit better. It is still weird. The nurses convince me I'm better off keeping it in overnight. I remember how much it hurts to get up and move around after surgery - and that I need to go to the loo every hour because of the drip continually adding fluid to the system - I decide being able to rest would be better.
It is at times like these I appreciate how lucky I am to have such a caring, loving and supportive family. My husband is of course back by my side. My sister comes in to visit soon after. And my aunt and uncle who have lived through the same heart ache visit later in the evening. I'm pretty much exhausted (as is Matt). We have barely slept the night before and I've been pumped full of a range of serious medications. Once Matt knows I'm okay and that I'm basically in need of sleep he decides to head home and get some rest.
Late in the night my room mate is wheeled off to surgery. I have asked the nurses to open the curtains and I snoozily look at the view of the inner city suburb as I drift in and out of sleep.
In the morning the surgical crew is in to visit me. They have images to show me of my insides. It is a little surreal. My urterus looks like a smooth, round, red balloon. My fallopian tube on the other hand looks like an angry black sausage that is about to burst (of course it had burst!). They explain I needed an extra port for the surgery, so instead of three I have four wounds. The extra port was needed to help protect the uterus. I had lost some blood into the abdomen, but not too much. The tube is now gone. My wounds are glued not stitched. I can't really remember much else.
There is no doubt, I am now truly, irreversibly infertile. Still processing that. I'm also still pregnant. Infertile and pregnant. I've been a little paranoid about all the drugs, pain killers and so forth, but what can I do? I ask the ob/gyn that performed the surgery whether it is a problem that the gestation sack is measuring a bit small for my dates. He firmly believes it is too early to tell and that while it is still there, that is a good thing. He agrees that the best thing I can do is wait the additional week and day and get the diagnostic scan my fertility specialist recommended.
I'm discharged late in the day after being checked to see if I have a urinary tract infection (UTI). I'm running a bit of a temperature so that is what made them think it could be a UTI. I'm cleared of the UTI and pleased to be home. My fertility specialist rings me. He is again so sympathetic. He is on his holiday and ringing me to discuss how it all went. He is really sorry he missed the ectopic on the scan in his rooms and he is sorry he wasn't there when I needed surgery. He asks what has happened to the pregnancy that is intrauterine. I tell him it is still there, but that the gestation sack is only measuring 5 weeks and 1 day. He seems so surprised that the fallopian tube ruptured given how small the pregnancy is. He tells me he will look up my file as soon as he gets back from holiday to check on the progress of the remaining pregnancy.
I physically start to recover very quickly. I'm surprised by how well I'm moving and how little pain I have. I was really sore after my first ectopic pregnancy laparoscopic back in February. Only two days after I'm discharged we are leaving for the beach. The holiday has been planned for a while, so even though I'm going to be a bit steady, if you have to rest, where better than by the beach.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Baby 1 and Baby 2?
My scan appointment is for late in the day so that Matt can be there too. Waiting, waiting, waiting all day. I've come down with a terrible cold so I've had the day at home resting up and waiting, waiting, waiting.
Early scans like these are all done internally, so when I get into the ultrasound room I've given a few minutes to strip off the lower half and then recline on a funny half bed covered in a sheet. It is a lot more modest than the embryo transfer, so I don't mind too much.
In strides the doctor and he quickly gets to the scan. Within a minute he has ultrasound probe prepared, inserted as required and is showing us a gestation sack that is firmly in the middle of my uterus. Good news! He tells us it is little too early to see anything else. He takes a bit of a look around just to be sure the other embryo that is transfered hasn't taken up residence in my remaining fallopian tube. It looks all pretty good. The specialist leaves me to get dressed and asks me to come across to his consultation room.
Matt and I are really happy - one baby in the right spot. Really it is the best outcome. The safest for the baby and for me. Our best chance for a healthy baby.
We sit down with the specialist and I ask about the bleeding. It has been going on, just very lightly for nearly a week and a half. The specialist tells me (again!) that it is really, really, really common in early pregnancy. He goes on to say that placentas are very complex and that they are continuing to implant and establish for the first 10 or so weeks, so that is the most likely cause. I just have to hang in there.
As my specialist is about to head off on about three weeks leave he gives me a referral to have a diagnostic ultrasound done. He says I should get it done in about a week and a half. By this time we should definitely be able to see a heartbeat and the like if all is progressing well. The diagnostic scan timing falls for when we are on holidays too, but we won't be to far from a major regional centre, so we are confident we will be able to find a radiology clinic to do the scan.
Matt and I are super happy. It is only a few days until our holiday, we have a little baby growing in the right spot. And the bleeding is normal. My new mantra - the bleeding is normal.
That night I drift off to sleep happy and thinking about our one little baby.
At 10.45pm I'm awake and in pain. It is very localised on the right side of my lower abdomen. I wake Matt and tell him I'm in pain. I decide to ring the 13 HEALTH number - a new service introduced in Queensland where you can ring and speak to a nurse about your symptoms. I'm on hold, the pain is not improving, no matter what I do. I hang up and go into the bedroom and say "that's it we are going to emergency."
Matt quickly gets dressed and we are on our way. Really, I was only ringing 13 HEALTH to get permission to go to emergency. Why do I need permission? I'm in pain, I know I'm pregnant, I know I had two embryos implanted and only one is in the uterus, the pain is on the right side (and radiating down my right leg) where an ectopic would most likely be, or it could be a miscarriage. I should be in hospital.
We go straight to the Mater, because we know where that is, and they have a big mother's ward - so I assume obstetrics is in their specialty. I actually rang the Mater Private emergency to ask if I came there if I would be able to see a specialist of my choice, given I have a number of doctors who are involved in this pregnancy and a whole fertility specialist group that my specialist is a part of. They say no, so we figure we may as well go to the public hospital.
At the public hospital emergency I'm admitted to a bed immediately. They are asking what I give my pain out of ten. Now, only two months earlier I had the same question with the gallbladder and it was really high. I think my pain threshold was confused because this was so localised to one spot and I kept saying maybe three or four.
Once again I have the needles in (a cannula to be precise) and blood coming out.
I couldn't sit still. I was rocking on the bed, and then I was crouching on the floor, trying to sit in the seat beside the bed, pacing around. Nothing helped. The nurse kept suggesting I should take some pain relief, but I didn't want to, I was worried about the baby being affected. This went on for the hours. The nurse trying to convince me, me rejecting the offer.
I feel the bleeding is picking up. I panic that it is a miscarriage. I go to the bathroom to change my pad to a hospital issue surf board size pad and have to leave my old pad wrapped up for the nurse (a male nurse) to inspect. Again, modesty is not a helpful trait when needing medical treatments. The nurse assures me that it isn't too much loss, not really all that heavy at all. Really? This is like 100 times what I've been having everyday and has been sending me into a panic and they don't think it is too bad. Crazy. How much blood does there need to be for it to be bad?
A doctor comes in to see me and immediately asks the nurse to bring me some pain relief. She doesn't even ask if I want it, just tells me I need it. I swallow down the pill. We discuss all the things I know about the IVF cycle, the pregnancy, the dates and the pain. I cry because I tell her I think it is miscarriage. She says she will do an examination of cervix to determine if it is a miscarriage once they have my blood test results back.
I'm again rocking and rocking on the bed. The nurse comes over and says to me "you see, you don't look to me like you are not in pain. You look like you have a lot of pain. What do you say to me giving you something that will make it possible for you get comfortable and maybe get some rest." I finally agree. I get a shot of morphine straight into my IV. It hits me instantly and I say "whoa - I need to lie down".
It is a lot better without the pain. Matt is wide eyed beside the bed. I keep telling him how glad I am we came into the hospital.
The doctor comes back and has a tray of instruments to look at my cervix. Basically the duck beak thing they use for pap smears and some long skinny tong/tweezer things and dressings so she clean up the cervix (of the supposedly not too heavy bleeding) and have a good look. She tells me the cervix is still closed. If I was miscarrying this probably wouldn't be the case. In her opinion it is not a miscarriage. She also doesn't think it is an ectopic - just because of my symptoms and my pain. To her the pain I describe and exhibit seems more like stones, kidney stones. She is poking around my sides and back asking if I have any pain.
Once she goes Matt and I are kind of in disbelief - more stones! This is getting ridiculous. How many things can possibly go wrong with me. At least we are a little more at ease that it isn't likely we are miscarrying. Our one little baby is still tucked away in there.
Whenever I see my nurse I ask if my blood tests are back and if he can tell me my HCG number. I want to know it. I manage to snooze a little, but Matt is on guard by the bed. He gets no sleep at all and is looking weary. I ask my nurse again about the HCG and he looks it up. It is in the mid 7000s. The nurse doesn't know really what it means, just that it is in the normal range for how far along I am. I know it is okay based on my other HCG results I can quickly calculate that number is fine.
The morning shifts are changing over. We are meeting new nurses and doctors and I am advised we are waiting on an ultrasound to have a good look around my pelvis. I decide I'll let my sister know I'm in the hospital. She lives just up the road and will be a good place for Matt to have a rest, once we know what is going on.
Time flies in the hospital. There is so much going on and I'm half out of it on morphine. Around 10am I'm wheeled off to ultrasound. The external scan doesn't show anything, so we need to do an internal again. Pretty quickly the sonographer is onto the issue - there appears to be a second pregnancy and there is bleeding in my abdomen. A ruptured ectopic. The pregnancy that is in the uterus is measuring 5 weeks and 1 day by the gestation sack. This seems a little small to me. By my numbers gestation wise I should be around 6 weeks and 1 day, but this is not the issue right now.
The sonographer leaves to speak with the doctor for radiology. The doctor comes back with her and has a look at the scans. He tells me we have an heterotopic pregnancy and that even though they are more common with assisted fertility, they are still pretty unusual. He says unassisted heterotopic pregnancies occur only 1 in 30,000. With assisted reproduction (like IVF) heterotopic pregnancy occurs in about 1 in 3000 pregnancies, which is still reasonably unusual.
I'm wheeled back to emergency. The emergency doctor tells me the gynaecology registrar will be down to see me and discuss what needs to happen next. Within 15 minutes the gynaecology guy turns up at the end of my bed and tells me again, that I have an ectopic pregnancy. He asks a few questions about why we started doing IVF. I'm surprised by the question and respond "to try to get pregnant". After a couple more questions it turns out, what he is getting at is that this surgery is likely going to result in my losing my right fallopian tube. I've already lost my left fallopian tube. Losing the right tube means we no longer can conceive naturally at all. He is trying to ascertain how we feel about that and whether we would prefer to try to save the tube.
I'm still coming to terms with what our decision will mean for us. Matt and I quickly discuss it and decide we'd rather not have the chance of having another ectopic pregnancy and as we are firmly down the IVF path we tell the guy to just take the tube. My aunty had three ectopic pregnancies, all at around my age. In her case the tube that they removed the pregnancy from and stitched back up just caused her to have another ectopic and then they took the tube anyway. I don't want that to happen. I really don't want to be back in hospital for this again. See ya later fallopian tube and last chance at natural conception in the future.
Before midday I am being wheeled up to surgery. It really is happening very, very fast. Matt says goodbye just outside theatre. An orderly takes Matt up to the gynaecology ward, so he will know where to find me after the surgery. Thankfully Matt has arranged to go back to my sister's and get some rest while I'm in surgery and recovery.
I'm wheeled into theatre. A whole stack of new faces. The anaesthetist is asking me questions - my asthma is always the issue - I haven't taken my medication. A new ventolin inhaler appears and I'm inhaling puffs, just to be careful. The consulting gynaecologist introduces himself - he is doing the surgery. They will do everything they can to protect the baby that is intrauterine. I'm sliding across onto the table. It is some different bean bag thing, I'm rustling into position. I already have the cannula in my arm so the anaesthetist is injecting me with what ever and I'm out to it.
Early scans like these are all done internally, so when I get into the ultrasound room I've given a few minutes to strip off the lower half and then recline on a funny half bed covered in a sheet. It is a lot more modest than the embryo transfer, so I don't mind too much.
In strides the doctor and he quickly gets to the scan. Within a minute he has ultrasound probe prepared, inserted as required and is showing us a gestation sack that is firmly in the middle of my uterus. Good news! He tells us it is little too early to see anything else. He takes a bit of a look around just to be sure the other embryo that is transfered hasn't taken up residence in my remaining fallopian tube. It looks all pretty good. The specialist leaves me to get dressed and asks me to come across to his consultation room.
Matt and I are really happy - one baby in the right spot. Really it is the best outcome. The safest for the baby and for me. Our best chance for a healthy baby.
We sit down with the specialist and I ask about the bleeding. It has been going on, just very lightly for nearly a week and a half. The specialist tells me (again!) that it is really, really, really common in early pregnancy. He goes on to say that placentas are very complex and that they are continuing to implant and establish for the first 10 or so weeks, so that is the most likely cause. I just have to hang in there.
As my specialist is about to head off on about three weeks leave he gives me a referral to have a diagnostic ultrasound done. He says I should get it done in about a week and a half. By this time we should definitely be able to see a heartbeat and the like if all is progressing well. The diagnostic scan timing falls for when we are on holidays too, but we won't be to far from a major regional centre, so we are confident we will be able to find a radiology clinic to do the scan.
Matt and I are super happy. It is only a few days until our holiday, we have a little baby growing in the right spot. And the bleeding is normal. My new mantra - the bleeding is normal.
That night I drift off to sleep happy and thinking about our one little baby.
At 10.45pm I'm awake and in pain. It is very localised on the right side of my lower abdomen. I wake Matt and tell him I'm in pain. I decide to ring the 13 HEALTH number - a new service introduced in Queensland where you can ring and speak to a nurse about your symptoms. I'm on hold, the pain is not improving, no matter what I do. I hang up and go into the bedroom and say "that's it we are going to emergency."
Matt quickly gets dressed and we are on our way. Really, I was only ringing 13 HEALTH to get permission to go to emergency. Why do I need permission? I'm in pain, I know I'm pregnant, I know I had two embryos implanted and only one is in the uterus, the pain is on the right side (and radiating down my right leg) where an ectopic would most likely be, or it could be a miscarriage. I should be in hospital.
We go straight to the Mater, because we know where that is, and they have a big mother's ward - so I assume obstetrics is in their specialty. I actually rang the Mater Private emergency to ask if I came there if I would be able to see a specialist of my choice, given I have a number of doctors who are involved in this pregnancy and a whole fertility specialist group that my specialist is a part of. They say no, so we figure we may as well go to the public hospital.
At the public hospital emergency I'm admitted to a bed immediately. They are asking what I give my pain out of ten. Now, only two months earlier I had the same question with the gallbladder and it was really high. I think my pain threshold was confused because this was so localised to one spot and I kept saying maybe three or four.
Once again I have the needles in (a cannula to be precise) and blood coming out.
I couldn't sit still. I was rocking on the bed, and then I was crouching on the floor, trying to sit in the seat beside the bed, pacing around. Nothing helped. The nurse kept suggesting I should take some pain relief, but I didn't want to, I was worried about the baby being affected. This went on for the hours. The nurse trying to convince me, me rejecting the offer.
I feel the bleeding is picking up. I panic that it is a miscarriage. I go to the bathroom to change my pad to a hospital issue surf board size pad and have to leave my old pad wrapped up for the nurse (a male nurse) to inspect. Again, modesty is not a helpful trait when needing medical treatments. The nurse assures me that it isn't too much loss, not really all that heavy at all. Really? This is like 100 times what I've been having everyday and has been sending me into a panic and they don't think it is too bad. Crazy. How much blood does there need to be for it to be bad?
A doctor comes in to see me and immediately asks the nurse to bring me some pain relief. She doesn't even ask if I want it, just tells me I need it. I swallow down the pill. We discuss all the things I know about the IVF cycle, the pregnancy, the dates and the pain. I cry because I tell her I think it is miscarriage. She says she will do an examination of cervix to determine if it is a miscarriage once they have my blood test results back.
I'm again rocking and rocking on the bed. The nurse comes over and says to me "you see, you don't look to me like you are not in pain. You look like you have a lot of pain. What do you say to me giving you something that will make it possible for you get comfortable and maybe get some rest." I finally agree. I get a shot of morphine straight into my IV. It hits me instantly and I say "whoa - I need to lie down".
It is a lot better without the pain. Matt is wide eyed beside the bed. I keep telling him how glad I am we came into the hospital.
The doctor comes back and has a tray of instruments to look at my cervix. Basically the duck beak thing they use for pap smears and some long skinny tong/tweezer things and dressings so she clean up the cervix (of the supposedly not too heavy bleeding) and have a good look. She tells me the cervix is still closed. If I was miscarrying this probably wouldn't be the case. In her opinion it is not a miscarriage. She also doesn't think it is an ectopic - just because of my symptoms and my pain. To her the pain I describe and exhibit seems more like stones, kidney stones. She is poking around my sides and back asking if I have any pain.
Once she goes Matt and I are kind of in disbelief - more stones! This is getting ridiculous. How many things can possibly go wrong with me. At least we are a little more at ease that it isn't likely we are miscarrying. Our one little baby is still tucked away in there.
Whenever I see my nurse I ask if my blood tests are back and if he can tell me my HCG number. I want to know it. I manage to snooze a little, but Matt is on guard by the bed. He gets no sleep at all and is looking weary. I ask my nurse again about the HCG and he looks it up. It is in the mid 7000s. The nurse doesn't know really what it means, just that it is in the normal range for how far along I am. I know it is okay based on my other HCG results I can quickly calculate that number is fine.
The morning shifts are changing over. We are meeting new nurses and doctors and I am advised we are waiting on an ultrasound to have a good look around my pelvis. I decide I'll let my sister know I'm in the hospital. She lives just up the road and will be a good place for Matt to have a rest, once we know what is going on.
Time flies in the hospital. There is so much going on and I'm half out of it on morphine. Around 10am I'm wheeled off to ultrasound. The external scan doesn't show anything, so we need to do an internal again. Pretty quickly the sonographer is onto the issue - there appears to be a second pregnancy and there is bleeding in my abdomen. A ruptured ectopic. The pregnancy that is in the uterus is measuring 5 weeks and 1 day by the gestation sack. This seems a little small to me. By my numbers gestation wise I should be around 6 weeks and 1 day, but this is not the issue right now.
The sonographer leaves to speak with the doctor for radiology. The doctor comes back with her and has a look at the scans. He tells me we have an heterotopic pregnancy and that even though they are more common with assisted fertility, they are still pretty unusual. He says unassisted heterotopic pregnancies occur only 1 in 30,000. With assisted reproduction (like IVF) heterotopic pregnancy occurs in about 1 in 3000 pregnancies, which is still reasonably unusual.
I'm wheeled back to emergency. The emergency doctor tells me the gynaecology registrar will be down to see me and discuss what needs to happen next. Within 15 minutes the gynaecology guy turns up at the end of my bed and tells me again, that I have an ectopic pregnancy. He asks a few questions about why we started doing IVF. I'm surprised by the question and respond "to try to get pregnant". After a couple more questions it turns out, what he is getting at is that this surgery is likely going to result in my losing my right fallopian tube. I've already lost my left fallopian tube. Losing the right tube means we no longer can conceive naturally at all. He is trying to ascertain how we feel about that and whether we would prefer to try to save the tube.
I'm still coming to terms with what our decision will mean for us. Matt and I quickly discuss it and decide we'd rather not have the chance of having another ectopic pregnancy and as we are firmly down the IVF path we tell the guy to just take the tube. My aunty had three ectopic pregnancies, all at around my age. In her case the tube that they removed the pregnancy from and stitched back up just caused her to have another ectopic and then they took the tube anyway. I don't want that to happen. I really don't want to be back in hospital for this again. See ya later fallopian tube and last chance at natural conception in the future.
Before midday I am being wheeled up to surgery. It really is happening very, very fast. Matt says goodbye just outside theatre. An orderly takes Matt up to the gynaecology ward, so he will know where to find me after the surgery. Thankfully Matt has arranged to go back to my sister's and get some rest while I'm in surgery and recovery.
I'm wheeled into theatre. A whole stack of new faces. The anaesthetist is asking me questions - my asthma is always the issue - I haven't taken my medication. A new ventolin inhaler appears and I'm inhaling puffs, just to be careful. The consulting gynaecologist introduces himself - he is doing the surgery. They will do everything they can to protect the baby that is intrauterine. I'm sliding across onto the table. It is some different bean bag thing, I'm rustling into position. I already have the cannula in my arm so the anaesthetist is injecting me with what ever and I'm out to it.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Post surgery blues and brightness
It's been two and a half weeks since the surgery to remove my left fallopian tube, with ectopic pregnancy. I'm lucky they could perform the surgery laparoscopically, which means I don't have any big wounds. My doctor explained to me before I went in for surgery that because I have a little extra padding (yes, that's what he said) that it may not be possible for him to perform the surgery safely laparoscopically. If he couldn't it would have meant much more invasive surgery, a longer hospital stay and more painful recovery. So when I came out of surgery, I was pleased to find out laparoscopic surgery was possible.
I only had an overnight stay in hospital. By the time I got out of surgery and came to, it was late at night. Matt was waiting for me in the hospital room. The doctor had called him to let him know all had gone well through the surgery. I was zonked out, so Matt went home.
The whole process was very stressful him. My sister had visited in the hospital before the surgery and had organised for Matt to have dinner with her and wait at her place, which is only 1km from the hospital. Matt told me he was okay while he was with my sister and Aunty, but when he went on his own to pick up dinner, negative thoughts started to creep in. Surgery is inherently dangerous and Matt was worried something might happen to me.
Even with just three small wounds I did have a lot of pain for the week after the surgery. I had terrible bruising around my belly button (where the biggest cut is made) and on my arm from the anesthetist but by week two things were settling down. I still get a little twinge from time to time and I still have stitches. My anesthetist may have been rough with the needles, but he was also very generous with the post surgery drugs! He sent me home with the good gear which lead to a few zippy afternoons jumped up on prescription drugs.
As I entered the second week of my recovery I started to take less less pain killers and as I came out of the drug haze feelings of sadness overwhelmed me. I remember how devastated I was when we lost our first pregnancy and the sadness I am feeling this time around is very different. It is sadness about everything, I'm sad to still not have a child. I am sad about how hard it has all been. I am sad that I can't keep up with my work anymore and that for the first time in my life I've had to ask for some leniency as I step up my fertility treatments. I was just so sad.
Coming into week three the sadness is under control and I'm starting to get excited about the next step in our fertility treatments. I am hoping that having recently managed a natural pregnancy - that perhaps our chances will be better with a little medical assistance.
I only had an overnight stay in hospital. By the time I got out of surgery and came to, it was late at night. Matt was waiting for me in the hospital room. The doctor had called him to let him know all had gone well through the surgery. I was zonked out, so Matt went home.
The whole process was very stressful him. My sister had visited in the hospital before the surgery and had organised for Matt to have dinner with her and wait at her place, which is only 1km from the hospital. Matt told me he was okay while he was with my sister and Aunty, but when he went on his own to pick up dinner, negative thoughts started to creep in. Surgery is inherently dangerous and Matt was worried something might happen to me.
Even with just three small wounds I did have a lot of pain for the week after the surgery. I had terrible bruising around my belly button (where the biggest cut is made) and on my arm from the anesthetist but by week two things were settling down. I still get a little twinge from time to time and I still have stitches. My anesthetist may have been rough with the needles, but he was also very generous with the post surgery drugs! He sent me home with the good gear which lead to a few zippy afternoons jumped up on prescription drugs.
As I entered the second week of my recovery I started to take less less pain killers and as I came out of the drug haze feelings of sadness overwhelmed me. I remember how devastated I was when we lost our first pregnancy and the sadness I am feeling this time around is very different. It is sadness about everything, I'm sad to still not have a child. I am sad about how hard it has all been. I am sad that I can't keep up with my work anymore and that for the first time in my life I've had to ask for some leniency as I step up my fertility treatments. I was just so sad.
Coming into week three the sadness is under control and I'm starting to get excited about the next step in our fertility treatments. I am hoping that having recently managed a natural pregnancy - that perhaps our chances will be better with a little medical assistance.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Pregnancy prognosis - written about 25 February
On Friday morning I leap out of bed at 6am to swallow down a quick breakfast and then go back to bed for the 30 minute progesterone medication wait, now known in our household as tea and toast (despite Matthew never having prepared my tea and toast!)
My pelvic scan isn't until 10am, and I have to drink a litre of water from 8.30 - 9.00am. But before this I need to duck into town to get my blood test. Matt has taken the day off from work to drive me around and really, just in case I do need to go into surgery.
We run into town at 7.30am. Matt grabs a quick coffee while I race in for the blood test. We get home in time for me to start drinking my litre of water. It takes about half an hour and I need to pee....but I can't!! By the time we leave here at 9.20 to get to the hospital and find a park, I am in agony. I think I am going to pee my pants. It takes us a good five minutes to find the women's diagnostic centre. I tell the receptionist about my 1 litre consumption and that I don't think I can hold it. She tells me I can go to the loo, count to 10 and then stop. Oh my! That was the best 10 seconds I've ever spent on the loo. I was impressed with my restraint and just how much relief I got from the short pee.
When I get back to the counter Matt and the receptionist have figured out my appointment is with the regular Queensland Xray centre. We find our way there and wait. By 10.15 I was busting again. What can I do? I go to the new receptionist and ask permission to pee again! This time I've got a 5 second count limit.
Finally I get into the ultra sound room where the sonographer does an internal and external scan. As he is scanning he isn't saying too much. Eventually he finds the spot that lead to the referral. He explains it does look suspect and starts pushing and prodding in the area and it hurts! I get dressed and the sonographer tells me the result it isn't certain. He is going to have a radiographer take a look at the pictures and the report will be with my doctor in an hour or so.
Matt and I wait for images to be ready and head home to wait for a call from the doctor with the verdict. We figure we've got time to kill so we stop and rent a couple of videos to try and take our mind off everything. Once home we settle into the couch. It was only about 15 minutes into the movie when the phone rang. The doctor already has the report. He asks if the sonographer gave me the result, I explain he was sitting on the fence. The doctor tells me the report says I've got a highly suspect 2cm growth in the tube, which they believe in that clinical setting is an ectopic pregnancy.
Yesterday the doctor had explained to me that ectopic pregnancies can be life threatening. If they rupture they can cause you to bleed out into your stomach. Needless to say, the doctor is keen to prevent any of this and asks me to be at the hospital and checked in by 2pm for immediate surgery. I need to pack an overnight bag as it is likely that I'll be in hospital overnight to make sure I'm okay after surgery.
We decide it's time for us to ring our family and let them all know. I start getting a bag packed. I have to ring work and let them know that I will out of the office for a week or more. It is like a whirlwind and we are back in the car and headed back to the hospital.
I'm sad. Matt's sad too. But I'm also glad it's over. No more uncertainty.
My pelvic scan isn't until 10am, and I have to drink a litre of water from 8.30 - 9.00am. But before this I need to duck into town to get my blood test. Matt has taken the day off from work to drive me around and really, just in case I do need to go into surgery.
We run into town at 7.30am. Matt grabs a quick coffee while I race in for the blood test. We get home in time for me to start drinking my litre of water. It takes about half an hour and I need to pee....but I can't!! By the time we leave here at 9.20 to get to the hospital and find a park, I am in agony. I think I am going to pee my pants. It takes us a good five minutes to find the women's diagnostic centre. I tell the receptionist about my 1 litre consumption and that I don't think I can hold it. She tells me I can go to the loo, count to 10 and then stop. Oh my! That was the best 10 seconds I've ever spent on the loo. I was impressed with my restraint and just how much relief I got from the short pee.
When I get back to the counter Matt and the receptionist have figured out my appointment is with the regular Queensland Xray centre. We find our way there and wait. By 10.15 I was busting again. What can I do? I go to the new receptionist and ask permission to pee again! This time I've got a 5 second count limit.
Finally I get into the ultra sound room where the sonographer does an internal and external scan. As he is scanning he isn't saying too much. Eventually he finds the spot that lead to the referral. He explains it does look suspect and starts pushing and prodding in the area and it hurts! I get dressed and the sonographer tells me the result it isn't certain. He is going to have a radiographer take a look at the pictures and the report will be with my doctor in an hour or so.
Matt and I wait for images to be ready and head home to wait for a call from the doctor with the verdict. We figure we've got time to kill so we stop and rent a couple of videos to try and take our mind off everything. Once home we settle into the couch. It was only about 15 minutes into the movie when the phone rang. The doctor already has the report. He asks if the sonographer gave me the result, I explain he was sitting on the fence. The doctor tells me the report says I've got a highly suspect 2cm growth in the tube, which they believe in that clinical setting is an ectopic pregnancy.
Yesterday the doctor had explained to me that ectopic pregnancies can be life threatening. If they rupture they can cause you to bleed out into your stomach. Needless to say, the doctor is keen to prevent any of this and asks me to be at the hospital and checked in by 2pm for immediate surgery. I need to pack an overnight bag as it is likely that I'll be in hospital overnight to make sure I'm okay after surgery.
We decide it's time for us to ring our family and let them all know. I start getting a bag packed. I have to ring work and let them know that I will out of the office for a week or more. It is like a whirlwind and we are back in the car and headed back to the hospital.
I'm sad. Matt's sad too. But I'm also glad it's over. No more uncertainty.
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