The Long Version March 24, 2010
I sat down to write a post earlier today, and the words failed me. That doesn’t happen too often.
I haven’t cried since I left my RE’s office on Monday morning. I think I got all of my tears out between there and the ER the previous day. Mostly I’m just pissed. Really pissed.
I’m mad about how things went down at the ER. I just wanted a freaking ultrasound so I could tell whether I was in physical danger or not. I know places like that have policies for a reason, but I was not in a mood for policies.
They made me have a catheter to receive a damn ultrasound. I was in enough pain, and let me tell you that that did not help one bit. We all know that at 5.5 weeks a transvaginal ultrasound is the only way to go. Yet, the only way I was going to get one of those was to let them manually fill up my bladder in order to have an abdominal one first. I had to have an IV before I could get an ultrasound, too.
Man, I just wish it had all happened on a week day so I could have just waltzed in to my RE’s office for a five minute ultrasound. Instead I spent six freaking hours in the ER.
I was there alone because I insisted that Dan stay home and get Adam dinner and to bed. So, I ended up with no one to go find someone when I had been left laying there for an endless amount of time without an update.
In the end, one of my RE’s and the OB on call for the hospital were eventually, and I mean eventually, contacted. My RE wouldn’t authorize any treatment without having seen the ultrasound herself. Understood. The OB on call wouldn’t do anything because “since it was an IVF pregnancy things could just still be early.”
Um, there was no sac present in my uterus. My HCG was 2150 when taken at the hospital. There should have been one at that point regardless of my dates and regardless of my method of conception. And there was something seen in my right tube. Um, hello.
So, I was sent home with a prescription for four Vicodin. That’s it.
I was scared. I was sad. I felt alone. Sunday night was a long night.
My main RE saw me first thing Monday morning, and we went straight to the ultrasound. There was a sac in my right tube. Possibly something in my uterus, too, but doubtful and definitely non viable. My RE looked at my tube and said, “this is what we should see in the uterus.”
I was given two options: methotrexate or surgery. I didn’t know what to do. How does one choose between two evils? My RE recommended the methotrexate given my specific circumstances, and in the end I decided to go that way.
Little did I know that my clinic doesn’t have it on site, and I had to wait a good while for a specific pharmacy to open and go pick it up myself before going back to the clinic to have someone administer it. By that point I was fried, and it was too much. I did it, of course, but it just sucked.
And I think I took the brunt of my frustration out on the check out lady who attempted to charge me an additional $20 shot administration fee. I said through my tears, “Yay! I get to pay an extra $20 to have someone end my pregnancy.” I didn’t get charged the extra.
So after I finally got my methotrexate shots, I got to go home. Thankfully Dan was able to work from home Monday and Tuesday, because I felt like shit. Who knew that a drug they use for cancer patients could make you feel badly?
Now I’m just waiting for the wrath. I really hope the meds are doing the trick, because I do not want to have to go through a second dose of it.
I wanted this to work out, but now I just want it over. That’s the thing, though. It won’t be for a while. Even if the first dose works, I’m going to be going in for betas for goodness knows how long. I have to go in on Friday and again on Monday and then weekly until it’s negative.
And I do not want to even think about what’s in store for my body. I’ve already started bleeding, but I know the worst is yet to come.
So yeah, I’m mad. I’m mad it turned out this way. Why do I have to go through all of this shit? A negative would have been plenty. Plenty.
- Posted in : IVF Part 8: the 2nd time around
- Author : amanda
Comments»
I am so sorry. I don’t have much to offer except cyber hugs and a sympathetic ear. I hope it doesn’t end up as long and drawn out and painful as you expect.
No words just hugs. You’ve been in my thoughts.
I am so extremely sorry you’ve had to go through all of this. Hoping the next few days aren’t too awful–you are in my thoughts.
I am so sorry and that is not enough. I am thinking of you and wish I could take the pain (emotional and physical) away from you. I am sorry that it all is going to be drawn out so much and you are already so fried.
All I can offer is hugs and if you need to talk, vent, scream or anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I know we never met but I have been following your blog for a while now and feel close. You are in my thoughts. You’ve been through so much and I am not just talking about this cycle. I pray for a relatively quick end of this for the sake of your sanity. *HUGS*
I’m sorry. I was lucky in the ER.
I have so much to say about this – I’ve done this drug, I’ve had to do it twice because it didn’t work. I remember sobbing in the office about the second dose – I was so scared and it seemed like no one understood.
I wish you’d just gotten a negative, too. Me too.
I am so very sorry for everything you are going through. You are right, it’s far too much,…a negative would have been bad, but it would have been so much better than what you are having to suffer and deal with. I feel your anger, you deserve to be angry. I don’t know you, but my heart goes out to you. HUGS
I’m am so so sorry. No one should ever have to go through this, ever. It’s just wrong. I hope things go smooth and the worst is over so you can begin to heal. Take care.
I am mad on your behalf. Just…why? I’ve thought about you so much since I read your last post. An ectopic after all of this is just such an insult, you know? My first pregnancy was an ectopic and I’ll never forget the bitterness. I am just heartbroken for you. Truly.
What a nightmare. I am just so sorry (and mad too!) that you had to go through that (and are still). Thinking of you tons.
I wish I had words to comfort. More then anything I wish this didn’t happen. I’m so sorry.
What a horrible ending to it all Amanda. I am so sorry that this happened, but also that you wound up going through it alone and had to deal with cruddy hospital staff at the same time. There just doesn’t seem to be any step in the process where anyone reached out to you and tried to truly be of comfort. :( You’re right, a negative would have been so much easier.
I am so very very sorry. My heart is just breaking for all of you. I’m also angry for you as well. You are in my thoughts and prayers my friend.
I’m so sorry Amanda. Sounds like the ER staff were worthless and made a bad situation horrible. I don’t know what else to say except this sucks pond scum. I wish it hadn’t turned out this way. Hugs.
I am so sorry. It seems that IVF makes bad things even worse.
I hope it goes away soon and that you recover quickly.
I am so sorry you are dealing with this.
I have had methotrexate and my betas did go up before they started to drop, if your beta has increased tomorrow, try not to worry too much. I was told it would take a full week after the shot for things to start coming back down. I remember feeling pretty bad from the shot for a while, so please take care of yourself.
Wow – total suckage and yes, the drug blows AND you’re not supposed to drink alcohol – can you imagine? (note: I didn’t exactly comply and my liver is still hanging in).
I feel so bad that you were in the ER alone – when I had mine and I was there FOREVER by myself, I was actually crying on the phone with a friend and only then did one of those assholes come and update me.
I can’t believe they tried to charge you $20!! After you had to go and get the metho – wtf!?! Too much Amanda, too much. I’m so sorry.
I am so sorry this happened to you. I wish there was something else I could say to make you feel better. Lots of prayers coming your way
Big, big hugs. I am so sorry. This is just heart breaking. Please take it easy on yourself. Take good care of you. This is one of the worst things I could have ever imagined for you. Just awful. We’re sending you lots of cyber hugs. Thinking of you. xoxo
I’m sorry you’ had to deal with ignorance at the ER. I’m sorry you were there alone. And I’m sorry that this is happening at all.
I am so sorry. I rarely comment (anywhere) but I have been following you since before Adam and was really rooting for a positive outcome for you. The terrible care you received at the ER is frustrating and adding insult to injury.
Me too–so sorry on all counts. Big hugs and I hope you get some good rest.
(I don’t know if you remember that I also had an ectopic scare on my last IVF. Ugg. Also a cruddy hospital experience, though, thankfully no methotrexate. I didn’t even go in for the last betas–I will be hard-pressed to ever go back to that hospital, in fact. I am feeling so much empathy right now. I’m so-so-so sorry you went through this.)
You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.
So sorry to hear you’ve been put through all this agony. Life’s so damn unfair sometimes.
This is beyond horrible, and I am so sorry. So unfair and horrible. The methotrexate sucks and it made me feel very sick as well – also my betas didn’t go down right away…but they did a few days later. Hang in there, what can I say, this really really really sucks and I wish you didn’t have to go through such a sad nightmare.
And I say to the powers that be in the universe, “ENOUGH!” I’m so sorry Amanda.
This happened to me in September of last year. I’m sorry, Amanda. THIS SUCKS.
I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with all this. You’re a good woman and great mom who doesn’t deserve this pain! (I’ve been lurking since before Adam was born)
Sorry again. You were right to want the clean negative… I don’t know if this cycle could have ended any worse.
I’m super sorry to read all of this. I’ve been following you since I developed a DVT at 25 weeks a few years ago and I had to go on Lovenox. I was scared to death but I found your site and it made me feel better, I felt like I wasn’t the only one dealing with things beyond my control. Thank you for continuing to share with us the ups and downs of being a mom, and trying to be a mom again.
I am so sorry that this is the way it all ended up. I was so hopeful that this would be one of those miracle cycles that we all hope for. Ectopic pregnancies are extra scary, on top of everything else. My heart goes out to you as you try to process all of this. *hugs*