The Mistake

I had decided to start the Clomid with high hopes that this would be the thing that would bring us the baby that we so badly wanted by now. I was pretty nervous about the medication, and the results I was hoping it would bring. The Clomid was started and I anxiously awaited the sure fire side effects. After about 36 hours on the drug, intense hot flashes started kicking in, followed by an intense pain on my lower left side. It felt like my ovaries were certainly doing something, and that was a good thing in my mind. Every night for 5 nights I would take one more pill,which would hopefully kickstart my system and make me ovulate.
The drugs made me feel more and more miserable. The hot flashes, the intense emotional roller coaster amongst others seemed to be more than I could handle most days. Finally, it was time for another blood test to see if the medication was working. I went to my doctor, who was very happy to report to me that I had indeed ovulated and my progesterone levels were at a good level. We were happy, the doc was happy, all we could do was wait and see.
Around day 24 of my cycle, I started feeling nausea and my tummy was bloating at an incredible rate. I was very uncomfortable, but hopeful that maybe I was pregnant. I was actually happy with my symptoms, because they stayed with me 24/7. My tummy looked 3 months pregnant almost instantly and my nausea hit a new note of annoying. The end of my cycle came and by then I was incredibly miserable. I remember that this fell over a weekend, and Saturday and Sunday I just laid in bed all day with my Gravol beside me. I was so nauseated by this point I didn't know where to leave myself. I took tiny bits of Gravol hoping it would help, but not wanting to take too much in case this nausea was a result of a pregnancy.
By Monday, early in the morning, after being nauseated out of my mind for 48 hours straight, I told Nathan that I couldn't take it anymore. He called his work place and told them he wouldn't be in, he was taking me to the ER. My stomach was huge, and I could hardly walk, I felt so incredibly sick.
Over the weekend, I had convinced myself that if I could just throw up, my nausea would be better. But no, no relief had come in any form.
Nathan guided me out to the car and every second I felt worse and worse. Our hospital is a mere 10 minutes away if that. By the time we got to the first set of lights, I finally threw up and thought I would feel better. Wrong. Very wrong. After I threw up, my lower left side began to throb with a searing pain that I had never before felt in my entire life. I doubled over in the car, unable to straighten up from the pain and the nausea that came right back. It was then that I knew that something was very wrong, and that this was definitely not a normal reaction any longer.
We got to the hospital, and Nathan ran for a wheelchair, as I wasn't able to walk. I was already barely conscious from the pain and Nathan lifted me out of the car and wheeled me inside. I guess I looked as green as I felt, because the gal on duty had my papers ready in an instant. Everything was a blur, the pain was so intense and I couldn't move. My head felt totally detached as the world ebbed and swayed with alarming motion around me. A nurse came to do triage, took one look at me, grabbed my wheelchair and hurried us off to an empty ER room. Immediately I was put into a hospital gown and put on the stretcher bed. I was screaming now from the pain and the doctor was there in 5 minutes or less. He probed my tummy, and I kept screaming. Nathan answered some very quick questions and the doctor ordered an IV line be put in immediately. I hate needles, but I was so scared and in pain at that moment I don't even remember that IV. The doctor, bless his heart, ordered a good mixture of Gravol and morphine to be given right away.
Thankfully, it took the edge off the pain and nausea, and for the first time in 48 hours, I started to relax. An ultrasound was given and even more blood was taken as they tried to figure out what was wrong with me.
It was during the ultrasound that the technician got a funny look on her face. She told me to wait while she went to get the doctor. They came back and looked some more, taking a ton of pictures. I was so groggy from my medication, but I knew something was up. I asked the doctor what was wrong, and he said that my left ovary was huge with many cysts on it that had exploded. This was a serious matter, because if the cysts wouldn't have ruptured when they did, my whole ovary could have been lost. We also found out later that it had been a close call, and that my ovary had indeed begun to bleed on the inside. What a close call. We were thankful that even though my ovary wasn't perfect anymore, at least it had been spared.
I was ordered never to take Clomid again. It was to dangerous, even on the lowest dose. When I left the hospital that night, I had a new name to add to my growing list. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. This meant that even the lowest dose of Clomid was never going to be an option again. Now what? If that didn't work, what would?
I was transferred to a new gynecologist, that was practicing in our home town and the wait time was only two weeks to get in. After an exam, the gyne ordered strict bed rest for 3 weeks. My ovary was not healing well, it was still extremely swollen and the gyne was concerned that activity could still bring it to the bursting point. So, there I was, flat in bed, only allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and to get something to drink. It felt so stupid, being in bed with no pregnancy, no nothing. My body was exhausted from the fight with my ovaries, and I was emotionally finished. My big hope, my lifeline to a baby had been taken away.
This was only the beginning of a very long road to come.