My Ectopic Pregnancy

Around one in 90 women in the UK experience an ectopic pregnancy, and most of those take place in the fallopian tubes.

Unfortunately, in the unlikely event that you do get pregnant with a coil, there is a raised risk of an ectopic pregnancy, which means the embryo cannot grow.

I had my second copper coil, otherwise known as an Intra Uterine Device, in 2018.

I had come back from an epic hike round the Pyrenees – a mountain range in the south of France. We had driven down there to explore the area and walk the five day “Pass’Aran” route.

When my period did not arrive, Google reassured me that this could be caused by low progesterone (hormone) levels, which could be caused by “extreme exercise”.

Then I had sore breasts, and once again Google said this was due to low progesterone levels, but as I was also feeling a bit more tired than usual, I checked with a pregnancy test.

Pregnant.

It didn’t say Not Pregnant. It must be a mistake.

1-2 weeks (it confusingly showed 2-3, but this meant weeks since conception which the leaflet explained was 1-2 weeks pregnant).

So it was early. I walked around swearing, head in hands. What was I going to do?

Did I want it? It was so inconvenient – we were in the process of buying a house, my boyfriend works away, we were going to New Zealand…now was not the time.

But I could not kill something that was both of us and I could not kill something I really wanted. Yes it wasn’t the right time but when was?

I didn’t have time to process, I had to get to work.

But I had to get dressed first and find the few bigger clothes I’d bought from another time I temporarily gained weight.

I wondered who to tell. Should I tell anyone but Jonny?

Maybe Jonny wouldn’t want it and then there’s the shame of abortion, so I wouldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want anyone judging me.

I couldn’t keep it in and I needed emotional support, so I confided in a close friend and it really helped. Her cousin had had an ectopic pregnancy it turned out, and they had also found out at six weeks. She had her fallopian tube removed, as the embryo can damage it. At least we are born with two.

Before seeing the GP I wanted to talk to Jonny – then I could ask for an abortion as well as a scan if needed. He was shocked and froze but he wasn’t annoyed or upset as I expected. He said we should see what was going on with it first, before we made a decision. Ever the pragmatist.

“Is that the only one you did?”

“No, it’s the third.”

“Oh………Is there anything else that could make it test positive?”

“No Jonny!”

The next morning I contacted the GP first thing and filled in an online form. Almost immediately I was text with the first appointment of the day. I explained how I’d started spotting instead of a period and then how my breasts had become sore and that as of Thursday night, it looked like I was having a period.

The doctor examined me and referred me to the Gynae Accident and Emergency department at the local hospital for a scan (my second time as an emergency patient in a year). She said to make sure Jonny was with me and to tell Gynae if I had symptoms that would suggest even more of an emergency, like pain or heavy bleeding.

After an hour of waiting at reception, the nurse did a safeguarding and general information interview. “From your dates you’d be six weeks pregnant” she said.

She took me round for a urine and blood test and after waiting for ages, I had a scan.

I was excited as I held my boyfriend’s hand down the corridor, wondering how he’d feel when he saw our baby.

“Do you want me to show you the embryo if I can find it?” the nurse asked.

“Yes please” I replied. “Jonny, do you want to see it?”

“Yes” he said, looking both excited and confused.

I had read that an embryo of six weeks sent out an electrical signal that sounds like a heartbeat on a scan. It would be the size of a pomegranate seed and look like a tadpole.

I waited to hear the signal.

There was silence and a lot of prodding. It was uncomfortable but didn’t hurt.

“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but I can’t find a pregnancy in your uterus. I can confirm that it’s likely to be an ectopic pregnancy, which means it’s growing outside of your uterus.” I was devastated.

“It’s growing next to your ovary.”

“Next to the ovary?? outside the uterus?? not on the ovary then??”

“Do you want to see?”

“Yes please”.

The nurse rotated the screen and there was the dark space of my ovary and then a dark space next to it that looked like a comma stuck to my ovary. I couldn’t make out any details as it was grainy.

“I can’t be certain, but that may be the sac there.”

It was so strange to see, but it made it feel more real and I was glad for that, as it helped me to accept that this was really happening, and I needed to get my head around it.

Not only was I pregnant, but it could not continue. I knew logically that was good as it was the wrong time for us, but it didn’t make it feel any better emotionally.

How? why? why me?

I then waited two more hours for the blood test results.

Jonny came up with lunch. I felt sorry for the other pregnant ladies, who had also been waiting hours. One woman had an overweight partner who was snoring loudly and continuously falling off his chair. He hadn’t got her any lunch, but if he did there was a risk that he wouldn’t hear what the nurse had to say. I wondered why they didn’t have a ticket system, like they did with blood tests.

The doctor called me in, finally.

He explained about the pregnancy hormone they had measured for. I replied “oh yes, Human Immunoglobulin something…”

“yes, that one. It’s at 500. We need to wait and see what happens, because there is a still a chance that you are pregnant in the uterus and we can’t see it, as it is so early.”

“But I thought there was a mass?”

“Yes, but that could just be a cyst.”

“So we will have you back in in two days to see what has happened. If it doubles it is likely to be in your uterus. If it doesn’t then we can confirm an ectopic pregnancy.”

My treatment options were:

1. Expectant management – waiting to miscarry (and hoping I didn’t die from a ruptured fallopian tube).
2. Have an injection to stop the cells growing, and make them reabsorb into the body (genius).
3. Have my fallopian tube removed with keyhole (laparoscopic) surgery (also genius, but less chance of getting pregnant in future).

I felt fortunate that as of the 1980s, option 2 had also become available. The drug was previously only used in cancer treatment but has no bad side effects. Also, keyhole surgery has drastically reduced the time you need to spend in hospital – you can leave the same day instead of being on bed rest for weeks.

Google informed me that 500 HcG was the average reading for five weeks of a pregnancy in the uterus.

Dame Laura Kenny, the Olympic medal-winning cyclist, has recently spoken out about her ectopic pregnancy experience and this is why I’m blogging about it – it helped me to read about other women’s experiences.

I was relieved that hospital was done with. I had a missed a day of work and I was emotionally drained.

When I got home I lay on the sofa for a while, but life goes on, I had a night out with the netball girls.

Turns out you can’t enjoy alcohol pregnant – it just made me feel sick.

And so did a Dr Pepper can and a frangipani almond croissant. I didn’t like salad before, but now I want lots of dark leafy green salad and steak. Your body craves what it needs.

Best to act like it isn’t happening! I’m at the back putting.

A Grave Illness

Not everyone gets the above symptoms but these are some of the only visible signs of the illness.

Most people have no idea what Graves Disease is. Neither did I until I was diagnosed.

I was hoping it was thyroiditis – a temporary inflammation of the thyroid.

Graves Disease is an autoimmune disorder where your immune system attacks your thyroid gland, causing too much thyroid hormone to be produced. You can find out all about it in this video.

What you probably don’t know is that this little butterfly-shaped tissue in your neck controls almost every organ in your body and its processes.

At first, I wondered whether I had lung damage from my Covid-19 experience in April.

I rang the GP and she asked me to come down to the surgery that day. I had to use a walking stick as I was so tired going there that I thought I would faint. I was breathless and tired, sleepy and my heart was pounding.

The GP came out to meet me at the staff entrance in full Covid kit, but she soon relaxed.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t have Covid” she said. “You don’t even have a cough and your sats are fine.”

“I’m so sorry” I said, “I didn’t want to waste your time”.

I had had an ambulance called for me in June when I thought Covid was coming back and was breathless and coughing. I didn’t end up going to hospital to get it checked, but I know now that it was Graves rearing its ugly head.

“Lets just check your pulse. Stand up….sit down. She frowned.

Stand up again. Ok, you can sit down. Sorry can you stand up for me one more time?”

The doctor was still frowning.

“No, there’s definitely something going on. Your heart is racing. When you just stood up, your heart rate jumped to 130, then 105 the next time and 90 the third time.”

“90 is pretty normal isn’t it?”.

“90 isn’t bad but it shot up to 130 when you first stood up, even though you’ve been waiting, what, 15 minutes?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to have a blood test.”

I was put on a beta blocker, propanolol, which slows your heart rate down. If your heart rate is high over a long period of time it can cause an arrhythmia, which can eventually lead to heart failure.

Then I got the call. “It’s highly likely you have Graves Disease“. This is known in Europe as Basedow’s Disease. About 1% of the population have an overactive thyroid, of which about 80-95% of them have this caused by Graves Disease.

I felt exhausted and had dizzy spells. After just a walk I would sleep for an hour or two and yet I would be wide awake at night, sometimes taking until 6am to finally fall asleep. I read that it’s because the disorder overstimulates the nervous system. There was plenty of research about an underactive thyroid, but not much about an overactive thyroid, despite the fact that in rare cases it can kill you. This is known as a thyroid storm.

It took two weeks to get the medication I really needed – Carbimazole. This decreases the elevated thyroid hormones in your blood.

I had to ring the hospital or the GP regularly to chase it. I was told to double my dose of Propanolol. I then started getting even more tired and was mostly in bed, apart from short local walks when I had a brief respite from the jetlag tiredness. Kalms One a Night helped me sleep, and valerian tea.

I got my neck and eyes checked, as Graves causes eye problems in 30% of patients. That was fine as expected.

The other conditions that may lead to hyperthyroidism (an overactive thyroid) are nodules – lumps that affect thyroid function which is mostly seen in older patients.

According to internet research it will take 3-8 weeks for the Carbimazole to work.

I bought a “pre-payment” prescription certificate. This means that instead of paying £115-200 a year I instead pay £108. Those with an underactive thyroid gland get their medication for free, so there is a petition asking for equal treatment rights.

You have two treatment options after your course of Carbimazole is complete, but if you choose one, block and replace, your treatment is free. This is because the additional medication for this, Levothyroxine, is a synthetic hormone replacement for those who have had their thyroid gland removed – it has to be taken or the patient will get ill.

https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/553013

On the 19th February I will have another blood test and then the level of thyroid hormone in my blood should be down to normal levels. Once I stop taking the Carbimazole I need to wait two years to give blood. I am not sure why it takes so long to be able to donate again.

An aunt has Graves Disease and the endocrinologist (a specialist doctor) told me that it is more likely if you have family history. She developed symptoms after she had her first baby. High levels of thyroid hormone in the blood can pass to the foetus and lead to low birth weight, prematurity and miscarriage.

The gene can apparently be activated by severe stress or trauma, pregnancy or bad illness according to Dr Google.

I am convinced that having Covid in April triggered a gene for Graves Disease. Months later I started getting tired and breathless doing my normal exercise again and I even had mania – abnormally high energy levels. One day I went for a two hour hilly bike ride. I was then awake most of the night as I wasn’t tired. This happens because energy levels initially rise at the onset of hyperthyroidism.

There is a small study of about 200 patients that has linked thyroiditis to Covid, as an infection in the upper respiratory tract (the throat) is close to the thyroid in the neck. You can feel the gland move if you put one hand either side of your neck and swallow.

You don’t have to have the gene to get Graves Disease, it can happen to anyone. It is more common in women and usually develops between the age of 20-40.

If you have a tremor (shaking hands) and you get breathless with activity, or you have any of the other symptoms on this list, ask your GP for a blood test.

If you have an overactive thyroid, you can join the BTF Hyperthyroidism Facebook group for support.

Updated 03.02.2021

My Long-Covid Nightmare

It is Week 7.

In my last post about my Covid-19 rollercoaster, I thought I was fully recovered.

Little did I know what a wild ride my immune system would embark on.

Before Covid I could go for a 20 mile bike ride one day and the next I would go for a run.

Now I struggle to walk a mile. ONE MILE.

I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to have weeks and weeks and weeks where you feel like you’ve flown from New Zealand to the UK every single day.

You are beyond tired and yet no amount of sleep allows you feel rested.

It is like some kind of purgatory. You managed to survive from Covid, despite gasping out of your window for extra oxygen. But you are now condemned to fatigue with no end in sight.

It took five weeks to be able to work out and I am still unable to do any vigorous exercise. I am limited to gentle walks with frequent rest stops and a slow cycle on the exercise bike.

Half an hour of vigorous exercise will wipe me out all the next day. A weekend on my bike will write off the next week.

The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I am improving by being able to sit up for one more hour a week. ONE HOUR.

In the last few weeks I used alcohol to keep me going in the form of one or two cocktails or a spirit and mixer in the evening. But alas, alcohol is a depressant, so it’s going to make you feel worse, and I am already feeling pretty sorry for myself. It’s had to go (mostly).

Looking on the internet in desperation, I found that it was actually quite common to suffer from “long-tail” Covid-19. It comes at you like a sledgehammer and causes a similar amount of damage. And it happens over and over again until you feel like you’re going mad.

I have had a smorgasbord of symptoms.

A week post (possible) Covid (I was not eligible for testing at the time), I woke up in the middle of the night, my head throbbing. The kind of pain that sears into your skull with such force that you run to the toilet to throw up.

Two weeks later, I woke up again in the middle of the night struggling to breathe. Panicking, I ran to the mirror to investigate, and discovered that my neck was as thick as a bodybuilder’s and my tonsils were mostly blocking my airway.

Terrified, I sent some photographic evidence to my (retired) doctor dad and went back to sleep on my side. Fortunately I woke up and with my neck a normal size. If it wasn’t for the photos I would have thought it was a lurid nightmare.

This virus may not be mild, it can be a pain for anyone.

I am not saying this to scare you, I am saying this because I am begging you not to act like I did and think that this will not affect you, or if it does it will not be bad.

You do not know that.

We know agonisingly little about this virus, or how it will mutate.

Wash your hands, keep your distance and keep contact to a minimum.

My First (Possible) Coronavirus

Me as a (possible) Covid-19 patient, day 2.

Before I got it, I was curious about what it involved, what I could expect.

One Friday I got a sore throat. I took a Strepsil and forgot about it.

That evening I still had it, so I popped another Strepsil.

On Saturday after breakfast my boyfriend and I were sitting, looking at the rain and wondering what to do. My boyfriend went on the laptop and I was on my phone.

I started coughing and had a drink, maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

The coughs were continuous and dry…

After a while I started to feel tired and went to sit on the sofa, hoping that would help.

It didn’t.

I started to feel exhausted. My boyfriend insisted that I was “putting it on”.

“I’m going to bed” I announced suddenly, and he looked up anxiously. It was an effort even to sit up.

It had hit me out of nowhere, what was going on? I felt like I’d just got off a plane from the Philippines again, heavily jet-lagged.

I lay down and that was it, I was in bed for the next five days, apart from some sunbathes in the garden. I was able to do this because I had several hours each day where the coughs eerily disappeared, so I felt less tired. I hoped that my body hadn’t stopped fighting it, whatever it was.

I begged my boyfriend not to go to work but he did and I was alone.

I had to drag myself out of bed and rest regularly as I hauled myself downstairs, leaning heavily on the banisters as if I had rapidly aged overnight. By the time I got back up I was wheezing so much I felt like I was breathing through a straw. Sometimes I had to cough to breathe, I was so constricted, and that was quite alarming. But the advice I saw online was that you only needed to go to hospital if you felt tingling in your fingers or toes or had blue lips, and it wasn’t that bad. My extremities were still being adequately oxygenated and I reminded myself that I didn’t have a temperature, so it was only “mild”.

Pull yourself together, I told my inner child. No need to be a drama llama.

My chest hurt as I coughed roughly every ten minutes for three days. On the second day, my friends dropped off a care package and it gave me such a boost. I was able to talk to them from the upstairs window. I fortunately had a welcome break from the symptoms at that point, another weird window where it felt like I wasn’t ill.

On the fourth and fifth day the fatigue worsened and I was quite weak. Once I couldn’t even turn over in bed. I got tired having more than one chat on the phone each day. I am usually someone that is lively and energetic but this had really floored me. The last time I had been that ill was when I was seven and laid up for two weeks with pneumonia.

On the sixth day I was feeling better until I had a shower and had a dizzy spell. But I was no longer coughing all the time so I had more energy. I was able to stay up and out of bed until 3pm, when fatigue bowled me over, literally.

So I spent a total of three days coughing, five days in bed and 11 days later I am finally feeling more human, and have put my first clothes wash on in two weeks.

I don’t qualify for a test, so I do not know if that was the dreaded coronavirus.

What helps?

Vicks vapour rub is all you need if you have it mildly, the essential oil vapours are helpful. Lying on two pillows allows you to breathe easier too. Paracetamol helped my boyfriend lower his temperature, it brings it down by half a degree. Please note that I did not use any extra toilet roll.

Keep your immune system supported with exercise, sleep, fruit and vegetables and you might only get “mild” symptoms too, if you get it.

Even though I can go out again soon, I will take more time to rest first, as I do not want to get another infection while my immune system is recovering. It will take me another week to get better whilst I replenish energy levels.

How did I get it?

I had gone shopping 12 days before in a busy supermarket, but that seemed unlikely to be the transmission event as it was so long before.

I may have been infected over the Easter weekend when we went out every day on the bikes. Some cyclists had passed right by me, breathing heavily. But that was an unlikely source too. It was a mystery.

I had been so careful – wiping and spraying everything from the supermarket, washing hands on entry to the house, staying away from people, but it had been useless.

I am just relieved to be through the worst and to have got off lightly. I know someone that has sadly passed away from it, so I am well aware that not everyone is so lucky.

In memory of those who didn’t make it.

My “Cancelled” First Half Marathon

I had completed my first ten mile run. I had walked some of it but a half marathon was only a couple of extra miles, I’d give it a go.

I wanted to support one of the run’s charities, a local Multiple Sclerosis rehab centre – I work with a friend that has it.

I had three weeks to prepare. I ran, cycled or swam a couple of times a week anyway, but I spent a week before it running every day, starting at 5k and working up to 16k, mostly on the treadmill. I prefer exercising outdoors because it gives you a sense of freedom, you actually go somewhere and you can enjoy nature.

My brother asked what time I was aiming for. I reckoned 2 hours and a half. It had taken me an hour to run 10 miles. He did his first full marathon last year in Copenhagen. We have a photo of him finishing, looking pale and ill. He reckons you need at least 8 weeks training.

He also cycled from Lands End to John O’Groats (the length of England) in 10 days (doing about 100 miles a day) when he was in sixth form and this year he canoed round all the major lochs in Scotland (52km).

Race Day

On race day I had some porridge with bananas for breakfast, great for slow energy release. I wore trainers I’d bought the week before, ones to stop pronation, or your foot rolling in towards your ankle when you run. They were specially fitted from “gait analysis” – I was filmed on a treadmill and action snapshots documented how my feet fell. I have used the same pronation trainers for years and never had any injury – I think because of the way they are made.

When I got to the stadium I had a cereal bar and picked up my charity t-shirt from where the finish was. Announcements were blaring out about the location of key areas. There was quite a queue for the toilets and I worried I’d miss the race. There was no indication of where the start was and quite a few people were asking around. Nothing was signed, but then I spotted the crowd and the time markers. I was surprised that I couldn’t hear any announcements. I wondered why I could hear them at the finish area but not at the start. When I did a 10k last year there were loudspeakers covering the whole of the start line and a guy with a megaphone on a platform getting everyone warming up.

Chaos and Confusion

The communication in this case was someone yelling repeatedly: “The race is delayed by 30 minutes”. He wasn’t wearing anything identifying him as an official so not everybody listened. Most people passed the message on, via chains of Chinese whispers.

About 15 minutes later the man returned, yelling “police are removing obstacles from the course“. I wondered what sort of obstacles and why.

My brother had recommended that I start ahead of the time I thought I’d run it in. The markers were all set out the same distance apart. This meant that there wasn’t enough space for the time the majority of runners were aiming for. I queued to enter the 2 hour section, which was only possible when runners left to warm up. I went back until I found a bit of space so that I wouldn’t be crushed when the crowd started to move. The earlier markers then went round a corner ahead of two hours, so we couldn’t see or hear what was happening at the start.

“Cancelled”

We waited to start for about an hour. At least it was warm in the crowd, but we had no idea what was happening as during that time we heard no announcements and there was not one official in sight. Eventually there was slow clapping from the 2 hour 15 section which rippled forward, followed about 15 minutes later by booing.

Then a rumour went back that the race was cancelled. Everyone stood there in disbelief. There had been no announcements, it must be some kind of joke, I said. Luckily a lady next to me, Sue, had an in-law who was one of the race volunteers. She had discovered by text that the water had not arrived for the race and that they were dashing round supermarkets buying more. I thought that wouldn’t happen somewhere like London.

We waited another 15 minutes or so and then someone in front showed us breaking BBC news on his phone – it was official. There was anger and disbelief. A lot of us were sponsored. Family, friends and colleagues had been generous. I didn’t want to let them down and besides, this was supposed to be my first half marathon. But in that moment, the whole crowd of over 4,000 just set off.

I saw Sue and we settled into a nice pace where we could just about chat. She was running for Macmillan and lived nearby. We passed two water stations, one after about 5 miles and one at about 7.

Superhero Spectators

The supporters were fantastic, there were people lining the route almost everywhere, with one group blowing whistles and horns. They were almost all holding out bottles. Runners passed these among themselves. I was moved by the kindness of strangers and the community spirit. Others had bowls of sweets, which helped keep sugar levels up at the half-way point. I saw people I knew and the cheers from them and the rest of the crowd gave me bursts of energy.

With the first sugar hit wearing off, I suddenly felt a bit tired and had the rest of the sweets I’d been carrying for this point. There had been spectators until about 6 miles. I hadn’t drunk more than a bottle of water as I hadn’t wanted to get the stitch. At 8 miles there were no more as we were in the inner city industrial area. This meant there was no more water.

Casualties

When I hit 10 miles my legs decided they wanted to stop running and went heavy. A grey-haired runner had just collapsed at the side of the road and an official was bringing him round. Then I passed a young runner who was unconscious with blood on his mouth, paramedics around him. I felt like I was running in a war zone. I could be next I thought, with my parched mouth and heavy legs.

All I could think about was finishing. I remembered my brother’s advice that when you’re tired you shouldn’t run as if you’re tired, as that makes it worse. So I lightened my pace and managed to keep going, but exhaustion made it a massive effort. It was time for sheer willpower to keep my legs moving.

I finally came into the stadium and saw a sign “800m to go”. I sped up a little, not realising how far 800m feels when you’ve been running for 13 miles.

 

Then I saw the “400m to go” and remembered how I felt in a school sports day race. I had no energy and was flagging but then someone cheered “it’s now or never!”.  I looked at my watch. I had to do it in under two hours. There wouldn’t be a repeat of this, this was my one chance. I accelerated and sprinted the last 400m.

I collected my race pack and looked for a water bottle. There had been one in my 10k race pack. Nothing.

Someone at the finish line had pointed out a water table further down so I went there. A lady looked helplessly at me “sorry”, she said. To the left of the table were four empty 2 litre water bottles.

As I finished I saw someone being attended to on a stretcher in the middle of the stadium, who was then rushed off in an ambulance.

The Long Walk Home

I was dehydrated but managed to get public transport to town. Then the bus didn’t turn up as the roads were still closed from the delayed race. So I took it on myself to walk the 3 miles home. It would be a challenge but I could do it. It was worth it, as on the way I met and chatted to a neighbour, who kindly sponsored me.

After walking uphill for the last two miles I was exhausted and had a migraine the rest of the day, but when I woke the next morning I was fine. A bit of a tender hip and left leg but the day after that I was fine.

Outrage

The event made the national news. Our local MP, Nick Clegg, said that lessons needed to be learnt. The winner said that it was the “first and last race” he would run in Sheffield.

 

We were still timed and knew that without sufficient water, we ran the race at our own risk, but I think the organisers should learn from those that arranged the BUPA 10k race, which was flawless in every detail.

Thank you to everyone who sponsored me. The page is:

https://www.justgiving.com/firsthalfmarathon2014

Finally, a big thank you to all those who handed out water and saved the day.