Pregnancy of Unknown Location

I’ve written blogs for seven years now (although admittedly my toddler has meant I haven’t posted for over two of them) and I’ve regurgitated my life to anyone that will listen after each operation; I’ve always found it therapeutic. 

However, there’s one operation I haven’t shared or spoken about to anyone that isn’t close to me, the one to remove pregnancy tissue following a miscarriage. 

I’ve always been very open about my life and encouraged others to talk, to confide in one another and connect with people that are going through the same experiences you are. 

But recently, I haven’t followed my own advice, until now. I hope the following will help someone to feel less alone. I know I certainly felt that way. 

As women, we grow up and fly our way through school believing that one day we may have babies. And those babies may be unplanned or planned but it will be our decision to have them and nonetheless, it’ll be easy. No one at school ever talked about or prepared us for the gut wrenching pain when it doesn’t work out all ‘fairytale’. We were only ever taught how to prevent pregnancies, like it was a given it would happen with ease. Don’t look at that boy, you might get pregnant! Ok, maybe we weren’t taught that. 

Even as an adult, having had one child, I had never in my life heard the medical term ‘pregnancy of unknown location’ until the words were gently whispered to me by a sonographer on 20th December 2024 - happy f*cking Christmas. Cheers, Santa. 

In short, it means you are pregnant, have a pregnancy sac and all the life altering pregnancy hormones but the embryo stops developing or is located elsewhere. 

For me, somewhere around the 5-6 week mark my body absorbed the ‘faulty’ embryo. This is called a blighted ovum or an anembryonic pregnancy. They don’t know why this happens and apparently it’s just pot luck in most cases but the sense of guilt, shame and self loathing hits you like a train despite that being completely and unequivocally irrational. 

At that stage, it might seem like something minor to others and I’ve had the patronising “at least it was early” or the ridiculous “you can try again” straight out the gate but the truth is, the minute you see that positive test, your brain has that little life all mapped out from birth right up to their first pint in the local. He/she existed beyond words.  

Unfortunately I had to be scanned three times over two weeks to confirm it wasn’t ectopic (in the tubes) and indeed wasn’t developing further. 

Christmas was very bleak. The only silver linings were the copious amounts of brie, pate and Bucks Fizz that were no longer off limits and I divulged like they would cease to exist beyond the New Year. 

Unfortunately, despite nothing developing, my hormone levels were still climbing and my little happy life growing uterus had absolutely no idea anything was wrong.  

I mean, I am in awe of it and love it for creating and bringing my beautiful son into the world but I’m also allowed to think my uterus is a massive prick. It just delayed and prolonged the agony. 

I eventually, three weeks later, opted for the surgical management route to naively get it ‘over and done with’. I was of course no stranger to a general anaesthetic. It was like popping to the shops for me now at this point. 

However, I didn’t envisage I’d be waiting 7:30am to 7:00pm nil by mouth only to find out it wasn’t going ahead. I felt completely humiliated but was thankfully allowed to go home to then return the next day to go through the whole thing again, only this time it really was all over by midday. 

I don’t believe the trauma of that experience will ever leave me. 

The last couple of months have been horrendous but I have been supported by family, friends, my amazing husband and the wonderful charity, The Worst Girl Gang Ever. The various Podcasts and Facebook groups that they run and provide have really been a lifeline. 

You know how common it is, and you probably know someone who’s gone through it, even if you don’t know it. You never think it’s going to happen to you though. 

So I’m breaking my silence in an attempt to show support to those that are going through, have been through it or are likely to. I am right here with you.