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October 1st, 2010,- I could feel the blood rushing to my face as slammed the car door and collapsed into the driver’s seat. Within seconds my face was flooded with tears. I picked up my cell phone and called the only person I could think to call, my mom. She knew all the gory details of the past few days and she knew this call was coming. Right then, all I really wanted was to fall into her arms and hear her tell me that everything was going to be okay; that she still loved me; that God still loved me; that I was not a horrible mother. I knew she’d tell me all of those things. She did. But in those moments the guilt and sadness that enveloped me was so overwhelming that nothing she said really sunk in. The only words that I could hear were my own thoughts screaming unconscionably, “You just aborted your baby!”, “You pulled the trigger!”, “You ended your child’s life!”…


September 25th, 2010 – I stumbled out of bed excited and nervous. I was throwing Syd’s 2nd birthday party and everything had to be perfect! I had everything together. The weather was going to be beautiful. That Saturday was going to be happy and memorable; lots of smiles and laughs and lots of pictures to be taken.

Within five minutes my whole world came crashing down. The sight of dark blood on toilet paper had me in tears. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. Less than a year before we had lost a baby, and now….again. All I could think was, “Why, God?”

Somehow, I pulled myself back together. I had to. I was throwing my baby girl a birthday party and I was not prepared to give this as an excuse for canceling. So I put on my happy face, tucked away the tears and kept on moving.

I learned that day how amazingly composed one can be when they have no other choice. I made it through all of the decorating, the greeting of guests, the paddleboat rides without shedding one solitary tear. I even mustered up a few smiles for the camera.

September 26th, 2010 – More blood, and off to the ER I went. There were endless hours of waiting and one very long ultrasound to endure, and as I heard that heavy metal hospital door slam behind me, I fell apart again. I had no more information than I had when I walked in. The doctors couldn’t tell me what my heart already seemed to know.

September 30th, 2010 – My third visit to the hospital in five days. I sat in an empty hallway alone, wondering why the results of this, my third ultrasound, were taking so much longer than the ones before. The previous procedures had come up with nothing but more questions. The hcg levels in my blood were continuing to rise, abnormally slowly, but they were rising none-the-less. The ultrasound tech reappeared finally and told me I had to call my doctor. I knew it was bad news from the concern in her eyes.

I dialed the numbers slowly. I was afraid. At that moment, I didn’t really want to know. I just wanted to hide. This wasn’t really happening. The words, “You are still pregnant” pierced my ears. A lump began to grow in my throat and the tears fell freely. I knew what was going to come next, “…but the pregnancy is ectopic. The baby is growing on your ovary.” My recollection of the rest of the conversation is a lot fuzzier. I just remember walking away, knowing my child was still growing inside me and knowing that if it continued to grow, it could very well end my life.

My doctor wasted no time getting me an appointment to have a single dose of Methotrexate administered. It was scheduled for the next morning.


October 1st, 2010 – I prayed a lot that morning. I had prayed a lot the night before too. I wanted answers. I wanted to hear God say that the decision to have this procedure was okay. That He wasn’t going to be disappointed in me, that this guilt and anger that so overwhelmed me were born of my sadness and not my conscience; that I wasn’t going against everything I believed by terminating this pregnancy.

My sweaty palms gripped my keys as I walked across the parking lot and into the hospital. A million thoughts raced through my head. What would people think of me after this? What did God think of me? What would the nurses think? How would they treat me? Would they know WHY I was terminating or would it even matter to them? Would I get sick afterwards? How long would the effects of this injection last?

I was checked in quickly and led back to a room with a television, a bed and a lounge chair. I sat in the room for nearly 45 minutes watching the news and wishing for all of this to just be over. Finally, a nurse came in. She was nice. She asked about how far along I was in my pregnancy, my weight, if I had any questions about the Methotrexate literature they had given me. After my questions were answered, she disappeared again and returned soon after with another nurse and two huge syringes filled with a bright yellow concoction.

I smiled and took a deep breath. The older nurse explained that the injection had to be given in the buttocks. Maybe for them, this wasn’t a big deal, but for me this whole experience was already heart wrenching and embarrassing. Now I was going to have to drop trou and bend over the bed. I honestly felt like I was dying inside. I was so humiliated and I felt so misunderstood and so alone. As the needles sank into my flesh, it felt like a knife was piercing my heart.

The nurses left and told me to take my time; that I could leave when I was ready. I felt a small wave of relief as I collected my things and made a beeline for the parking lot…


February 28th, 2011 – It’s been exactly 5 months. I have done a lot more research on ectopic and ovarian pregnancies and while I hope to never have to make that decision again, it is a decision that I am finally at peace with. I will admit, the guilt lingered for weeks, if not months, but the encouragement and love that I received from my friends and family let me know that I could let go of the guilt, that they didn’t think less of me and that God didn’t either.

I know someday I’ll understand what all of this was for. I’ll be able to look back and see how these events have shaped me and how they have changed the direction of my life. I am already beginning to see the evidence of God’s hand in all of this, and I know that He can and will use even this for His purpose and His Glory.

I’m not really sure what I wanted to accomplish by sharing my story. I just know that God put it on my heart to share. So here it is. Take from it what you wish and thank you for reading.