Guess who almost died??

Yeah, in typical Angel-fashion I have once again pushed the boundaries of medical science and decided to acquire myself a rare condition. Eight weeks ago I became pregnant and whilst this was an exciting time for both myself and my husband, it was also tinged with worry as I had been bleeding for a couple of weeks and had some pain. The doctor said to rest for two weeks and come in for a viability scan (the scan that confirms there is a heartbeat) - sadly I miscarried before this could happen and when I went in, I was told the baby had been lost and to try again in two months or so. Took a little while to come to terms with the news and I was upset but determined to keep trying in the future - but the miscarriage was the tip of a very nasty iceberg which would turn out to be just as deadly as the one which introduced itself to the Titanic (yes, I tend to be rather dramatic - why not?).

Two weeks later I was still getting intermittent pain in the right hand side of my abdomen and just dosed myself up on painkillers and slept a lot, putting it all down to just being unwell after the miscarriage. Then one Sunday night I had a sudden attack of searing pain, sickness, shaking and fever. I curled up in a ball in the bathroom and after an hour the pain hadn't subsided and I called NHS Direct who in turn rang for an ambulance. My daughter was sent to the neighbour's house and my husband and I went off in the ambulance with me throwing up every so often and trying not to scream every time we went over a speed bump.

Once in hospital I found myself in a queue of sick people and I couldn't handle the pain anymore so I got my husband to ask if I could have some pain relief whilst I was waiting. Before I knew it, I was being whisked to the front of the queue and being injected with all kinds of drugs. Various doctors examined me - inside and out - and decided it was possibly either my appendix or a gynaecological problem so I was taken to the Emergency Assessment Unit to await investigative surgery. My husband stayed all night with me - stealing the blankets, I might add - and my blood pressure and temperature started fluctuating so they got me to sign a consent form for a laparoscopy, which is where they stick little cameras in your abdomen and have a look around. I was pretty freaked by this point and hated it when they had to send my husband home.

In the morning, a doctor by the name of Anthony Madu came to see me and told me he wanted to hold off the surgery until they knew for sure what they were going to be looking for - by this point all the morphine had kicked in and I was pretty comfortable so I agreed and settled during the day, expecting to be let home later on. Things were going fine - no real pain, nice co-patients and friendly staff; I was ready to go home anytime they said I could leave. But it was not to be - the following morning I was suddenly hit by the worst pain I had experienced up to that point and begged the nurses for another injection of something strong. Unfortunately, as I had been doing so well up to that point, the doctors had taken off my prescription for morphine and all I could have was some low strength Co-Codamol (paracetamol and codeine) and a glass of water. I remember saying "This isn't going to work - this isn't going to help" but their hands were tied, pretty much.

So I took the drugs and about twenty minutes later I threw them straight back up - I'm not a quiet nor elegant vomiter, as it were, and was apologising to the other patients for all the noise and mess. They were great though, reassuring me and getting me tissues, bowls, holding back my hair and asking if I was ok. I remember their names - Pat, Denise, and Sue - they were amazing people even for such a short time and I'm glad I was on the same ward as them. So yeah, I stopped hurling and decided to go to the bathroom to clean up and see if I felt any better afterwards - clutching my drip stand, I made my way slowly to the bathroom and went in. Wasn't long before I felt really very dizzy and couldn't breathe well; I walked out of the bathroom, made it about halfway to my bed and Denise asked me if I was ok. I remember my vision clouding over, my ears ringing and hearing my own voice say "Yeah, just a bit dizzy that's all" before dropping to the floor. All the other patients jumped up to help me and called for a nurse - about eight doctors and nurses came running up and somehow got me onto my bed, hooked me up to some oxygen and stuck all kinds of needles in all kinds of places before telling me I needed emergency surgery to find out the problem.

It wasn't until later that I was told Anthony Madu, my doctor and surgeon, came and sat by my bed until I went into surgery and then sat with me until I came around afterwards - he even would visit me on his days off from surgery so I had a pretty dedicated surgeon! Once I was feeling more with it, I was told that whilst I had indeed miscarried a couple of weeks back, what no one had seen was that I was still carrying another baby but in my Fallopian tube - something called a heterotopic pregnancy which happens to every 1 in 30,000 people. Basically, it is when an egg is released by both ovaries at the same time and both are fertilised to make fraternal twins - one travels to the womb but the other gets stuck elsewhere (ectopic) and because the condition is so very rare, no one thought it was the cause of my problems. Mercifully, my surgeon is the specialist in heterotopic pregnancies and had even recently written a paper on the condition, so to have him do my surgery was exciting for him and life-saving for me. Apparently when they opened me up, my entire abdomen was full of blood as the embryo in the tube had literally ripped me apart inside and I needed two blood transfusions afterwards to replace all the fluid lost. They had to remove the tube and ovary on the right side so I now only have one set left, but have been told they are healthy and I can still conceive again one day.

All the blood was slowly drowning me, hence the dizziness and breathlessness, so that was all a bit dramatic too - and a number of doctors informed me of how close I came to dying. Had I been any older or left it any longer they would not have been able to save me, so whilst the whole experience has been horrible, I'm glad I went into hospital when I did.

My surgery was done cosmetically - that is to say, my surgeon ensured that rather than opening me up fully, everything was done via keyhole surgery and all my stitches will dissolve within 6 weeks. No scars, no anything - he said it wasn't fair that I should lose twins and be scarred for life too. Can't agree more! I have to go back in 6 weeks to discuss the whole thing and ensure that everything is ok but in the meantime I have to rest, relax and not overdo things...my husband even brought the entire double bed downstairs so I don't have to try and make it up to bed each night. I also have arthritis in my spine so walking is difficult - goodness knows how I would have managed carrying twins!

All in all, I'm glad to be alive and I'm glad things have been sorted out, but the emotional aspect is going to take a hell of a lot longer. I'm devastated to lose both my babies and they were much-wanted babies too...the thought of trying for another frightens me because the risk of another ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage is higher now and I'm scared of going through all of that again. But I want another baby and one day I'll be ready...