When Tubal Ligation Goes Wrong

Being proud parents of two beautiful children, my husband and I decided that it was time for me to have a tubal ligation. We had a bouncing baby boy, and a wonderful little girl, and couldn't have asked for more. In our eyes, our family was complete. The decision had virtually made itself.

I spoke with several different doctors on many an occasion, albeit casual conversation, about having this procedure, and it was always the same thing-at 23, how could I really know what I wanted? Finally, I went to a doctor who listened. Of course my health had helped coax him into performing the operation. I was having unexplained abdominal cramping that made me extremely uncomfortable. They decided to do an ultrasound to see if they could figure out what could be causing this problem. It was then that they found my uterus was beginning to prolapse. It has fallen to the side, and was beginning to descend. I'll spare you the gory details. This was not the only thing going on with me physically. The doctor also suspected I had a mild case of Endometriosis. We talked about having a laparoscopy, which is essentially an exploratory surgery, to possibly locate Endometriosis, or what ever else could be contributing to my condition. While having the surgical consult, I asked about tubal ligation. The doctor asked one simple question.

' Are you 100 percent sure that you never want to be pregnant again?'

"Absolutely." I said, with complete certainty.

So we went over the basics of the surgery; risks, complications, duration of the procedure, what to expect while recovering. All was well in my mind. I had complete confidence that the doctor knew what he was doing, and that this would be a solution to many of my problems. Towards the end of this consult, the doctor stated that he would like to take out my appendix while he was inside, because it would help to eliminate that as being a cause of any trouble in the future. I figured I didn't need it, so okay. On with the surgery.

We live in Alaska, and the surgery fell on a very cold morning in January. Thank goodness the hospital was a very short drive. I was freezing. My husband drove me to the door, and then left to care for our children while I was undergoing the procedure. I have to admit, at this point I was a nervous wreck. I do not like being in hospitals, and even though this whole thing was an outpatient procedure, I was still apprehensive about being put under anesthesia. The nurses were wonderful. They talked with me, comforted me, heck, one even braided my hair for me while she listened to me ramble about my concerns. I felt like a queen. When it was time to go to the operating room, I composed myself, took my IV, and walked proudly down the hall. Waiting for me in the bright room was a team of nurses, anesthesiologists, and whomever else was needed to make sure that things went smoothly. I laid down on the table, looked around at all of the people surrounding me with their surgical masks, and cracked a smile before the mask that would put me to sleep was placed on my face. I remember reaching out right before I dozed off to touch the hand of the nearest nurse. I could see a comforting smile in her eyes. And then all went black.

I don't know how long the surgery took, but when I awoke I had horrible cramping. The doctor informed me that this was normal, and it was caused by the air they used to pump up my stomach so that they could maneuver inside me. The surgery had gone well, everything turned out as expected, and hopefully I would be on the fast track to recovery. I went home a few short hours later, and was pampered by my husband for the next several days.

Things were great for months after the surgery. I was off birth control, I didn't have to worry about getting pregnant, and my abdominal cramping had almost completely subsided. My husband and I were on top of the world. We could enjoy our little complete family just as it was, and spend our time doing what ever we wanted. Then came November.

My husband was out of the country on a military deployment, and I hadn't had a period since before he had left a month earlier. I started having some abdominal cramping and nausea. I brushed it off, thinking it must just be PMS coming on, and thought nothing of it, until a Tuesday morning, when I awoke after having a vivid dream about holding a baby. I went to the store and got a home pregnancy test, thinking it would just be a waste of money. I could hardly stand up straight while waiting in line at the checkout, my cramping was so bad. I got home, promptly unwrapped it, and sat down on the cold porcelain toilet. I had no problem going to the bathroom. I had been holding it for an hour.

I set the test on the counter top, and went to play with my children in the living room. The test required 3 minutes. I didn't go in until 10 minutes later to take a peek. To my surprise, there was not one, but TWO lines in the tiny window. I was pregnant. I thought at first that there must be some mistake, and called my doctor. I was advised to come to the hospital so that they could evaluate my abdominal cramping and do a blood and urine test of their own to confirm the pregnancy. I waited for some time before being called back, and sat in the waiting room twiddling my thumbs. Finally, it was time. I was questioned about my symptoms, I presented the home test to the doctor, and they took the needed specimens. I had almost fallen asleep on the exam table when they finally brought in the results. They congratulated me for being pregnant (what a joke) and told me I would need to come in the following day to have an ultrasound to make sure the baby wasn't in the fallopian tube, which could have been causing my pain. I was certain that it was, because why else would I be in so much pain?

I went home, called my mother, and emailed my husband, to which he responded with a quick telephone call. We talked about my being pregnant, how petrified I was, and about how ironic it would be if the baby was right where it was supposed to be in my uterus. I thought about it all night. About how after having my tubes tied, this truly was a miracle baby. Maybe I was supposed to have just one more. And if the baby was in the fallopian tube, I would know for sure it wasn't meant to be, and would do whatever was necessary to get better, and move on knowing that this was how it had to be. Of course I would have to go through another tubal ligation, whatever the outcome was.

I woke up early the next day, and went to my doctor's office. They all knew I was coming. They were as surprised as I was about my being pregnant less than a year after having my tubes tied. And I was angry. On this visit to the clinic, I saw a different doctor than the one who had done my surgery. He was very nice and comforting, and took me into the room for a vaginal ultrasound. It didn't take long for them to locate the pregnancy. There it was, nestled right where it was supposed to be inside my uterus. I couldn't believe it. I was totally in shock. I was upset and angry with the other doctor for having not done things right when he operated on me. I began to wonder what else had been done wrong while he was inside, when my train of thought was interrupted by the doctor informing me that I might be miscarrying.

Again, another blow. How was I supposed to feel now? The doctor said it looked as though I had a blighted ovum, which is essentially an empty gestational sac. As far along as I was (two months), they should have seen something inside, but they didn't. But the news wasn't for sure. I would have to come back in three days later for a blood hcg test to check if my pregnancy hormone levels were going up or down. If they were going up, the baby was indeed growing. If down, the baby had died, and I was going to have a miscarriage.

I felt like a zombie for the next three days, crying off and on, going from feeling like a complete wreck over the whole thing, to feeling nothing at all. A part of me secretly hoped the baby would be fine, and that maybe it was just a bad day for an ultrasound. Thanksgiving was coming up, and I felt more alone now than ever, because my husband wasn't supposed to be home for another month. I didn't know what to think. Melancholy doesn't even begin to describe it.

The day of the blood test came, and I was poked and prodded again, and sent home to wait for results. I had my portable phone by my side every second as I went on with my daily life, cooking, cleaning, entertaining my children. Then it rang. It was the on call doctor, and he had bad news. My hormone levels had dropped dramatically, and I was expected to miscarry within the next few days. They told me what to watch for, what was normal and what wasn't, and told me to just relax and try to have a good Thanksgiving. Ha.

I spent thanksgiving with some friends of mine, whose husbands were also deployed, and the whole time I lay on the couch, watching the children play. I hadn't told my own kids what was going on, because I didn't want them to worry. I had, however, told my friends, and after several hours at their home, they told me I was looking pale. I knew I had a fever, and after dinner I apologetically left and went home. I knew it was coming. I could feel the cramps coming harder than ever, and I just wanted to lay down. Nothing happened until the next afternoon, when I went to the bathroom and noticed the first blood clot. As soon as I saw it I lost my self control. I fell into a heap on the bathroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I knew it was coming, but I just don't think I had let myself really believe it. I didn't want to believe I was pregnant in the first place, let alone believe I was about to lose the baby.

It was almost two weeks before I really stopped bleeding completely. I went through a roller coaster of emotions, and many a tearful phone call with my husband. He didn't know what to do or say to make me feel any better, and I wasn't any help. I was angry with myself for letting my emotions get this out of control, but most of all, I was angry with the doctor who messed up my surgery. I had thoughts of lawsuits dancing through my mind on a daily basis. How dare he make me go through all of this. This was something no one should have to go through.

It's been four months since I had the miscarriage, and I still get a little teary thinking about it. I am back on birth control, and talking with my doctor about having another surgery. I think about the miscarriage still at least once a day, and all of the what ifs. Nobody could explain exactly why I had the miscarriage. One of the doctors in the emergency room told me it 'was just a bad baby'. Whatever the reason, I still have to wonder why I had to experience this whole ordeal. I will probably never know. But what I do know is this. Doctors need to make their patients more aware of the risks before having this sort of surgery. I was told I would never get pregnant again, even though statistically there is a chance, albeit slim, that a woman can get pregnant after having it done.

I don't know how long it will take for me to finally get over this, but I know that I will, and my children's smiling faces will be my beacon of light to lead me out of this darkness. I believe everything happens for a reason, even though we may never know what that reason could possibly be. I just wanted to share with other women my experience, so they can perhaps learn something from it, and better prepare themselves. I hope and pray that the number of people who are forced to have an unexpected loss such as this is low. And that is my story.