I’ve always known that I want to be a mother.
Even though, as a Black woman, the statistics say my desire to be one could kill me, the vivid imagery of hugging my babies never faded or even wavered when I pictured what I wanted my life to look like. I prayed and told God my heart’s desire. I did the research. I took and continue to take the vitamins. I practice advocating for myself every time I go in for a routine checkup. I’m quick to send an email with questions if something in my body ever doesn’t feel right, even if I know if it’s probably nothing.
But this time it wasn’t nothing. Something was very wrong.
The first time I ever heard the word “ectopic” was on television. I was watching “Love & Hip Hop” and I found myself crying for rapper Remy Ma and her husband, Papoose, two people I didn’t even know. I watched as their joy in finding out Remy was pregnant was washed away with devastation as it was revealed her pregnancy was ectopic, and I was heartbroken for them.
At that point, I didn’t think I knew anyone who had had an ectopic pregnancy. To be fair, no one rushes to share that news. Why would they? So when I found out that the something that was wrong with me was life-threatening, I felt really alone, despite being surrounded by people who loved me as I sat in the hospital waiting room angry, confused and heartbroken for myself.
As a young woman navigating the ins and outs of managing a career, networking, trying to buy a home, establish new generational traditions, and still hoping to be a mom one day, I started being proactive about my reproductive health in my late 20s. I had a lot I wanted to do and I knew that my timeline for having children might not align.
When I discovered a lump in my breast in 2020, I immediately went to get examined. When the lump turned out to be multiple cysts, I immediately did my research and learned the same hormones that could cause cysts in my breasts could cause uterine fibroids. When I remembered my family history of fibroids, I immediately asked for a screening. When doctors told me I wasn’t old enough, I immediately demanded they put in my chart that they wouldn’t screen me. When they did the exam and sure enough found two fibroids, I immediately started incorporating things like exercise, vitamins for hormone regulation, and regular check-ins with my OB-GYN. So, when I did everything right and the doctor told me I was definitely pregnant but my uterus was empty, I immediately blamed myself for something going so tragically wrong. Had I missed something? Should I have done something differently?
My brain knows that it’s not my fault. Black and brown women have the highest rate of ectopic pregnancies. And also, our bodies sometimes just do things without explanation, i.e. sometimes ish just happens. Even the doctors told me that. But none of that mattered because in my heart this was my pregnancy, this was my fault, and this body I loved so deeply betrayed me.
That hospital visit may have saved my life. Ectopic pregnancies are the leading cause of maternal death in the first trimester. My partner’s insistence that I go more than likely is the reason I was able to avoid an invasive surgery to save my fallopian tube, and although I’ll have to be monitored frequently, I’ll still likely be able to get pregnant in the future. For that I am grateful. You’d think that would mean all was well, but after that, things were very far from well.
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