After Christmas, I was in a meeting at work when the floor was starting to spin. Thinking I had the dreaded Norovirus, I rushed home. After a working week of lying on the sofa I planned to get a pregnancy test. Anyhow, googled every doable disjunctive and had run out of ailments. The test was done in a supermarket loo on a Saturday forenoon, betwixt ‘mummy taxi’ runs. Now regarding the aforementioned reality. For some of the week I wandered round in shock. You should take it into account. This was not planned. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? As the news sank in and I calmed down, I need to start to worry about the strange pain in my abdomen.
Consequently, the silence in the scan room was deafening -no woosh of a tiny heartbeat. Then once more, my husband held my hand while the staff spoke in hushed tones. We didn’t need to speak. My husband asked the crucial question -is she pregnant or not? Decision was yes, it was a pregnancy -but there was no baby, simply a mass of ugly cells. Are unable to form a decent embryo, these cells can grow pretty fast, produce hCG and give a positive pregnancy test. Essentially, most molar pregnancies are diagnosed relatively late and treatment by ERPC -where the cervix is opened and the tissue removed using a suction device -is sufficient in about 4 5 out cases. Let me tell you something. In a little number of cases, the cells can turned out to be cancerous and patients may need chemotherapy, though this is virtually oftentimes successful.
It is the following forenoon I had an emergency ERPC. Now please pay attention. When I awoke he was comforting me -there was somebody wailing and I realised it was me. Consequently, physically I felt amazing, as in case a poison had been removed from my veins.
With all that said. Then the testing for cancer began. Every 2 blood, urine and weeks samples are sent off to the civil screening centre in Charing Cross hospital. This testing can go on for longer than months. I need to start to feel progressively worse, after the initial relief subsided. Lots of sites and soundness professionals warned me that the emotional effects is devastating. This time next working week I will be back to normal. It took months. As I shut my weary eyes at nighttime I will see a baby being torn limb from limb. I’m sure it sounds familiar. When I did sleep I should wake every 3 hours looking desperately for the infant.
Luckily my GP had experience of working with molar pregnancies. Ok, and now one of the most important parts. He recognised my symptoms as shock and grief. That’s right. The seasons changed around me however I hardly noticed. For instance, he prescribed antidepressants and I started seeing a tumour counsellor at Charing Cross. My grandmother suffered from severe depression for since I remember and I was pills wary. Notice that since they helped me to rationalise my experience and move forward with grief stages, I am glad that I took them, for which there is no shorter cut.
The 1st time I walked to Charing Cross I was shaking -the flower proximity shops and funeral parlours was disturbing. Needless to say, spending time at a hospital filled with folks who have death as a neighbour has made me less fearful and less probably to waste time on worry. It is a place of love that gave me compassion at a time when I felt so little and vulnerable. My testing is going well and in case my HgC levels continue to drop I hope to be free from monitoring by the summer end.