needed to go straight into theatre
to have keyhole surgery, where
they would remove the fertilised
egg and my right fallopian tube.
Everything was happening so fast,
I didn’t have time to process the
devastating reality that we were
going to lose our baby.
That afternoon, I was taken to
surgery and when I came round,
the pain was excruciating. “Is this
normal?” I cried to the nurses.
The pain was so bad a doctor
prescribed morphine, but I
couldn’t sleep and I was terrified.
The next morning, the consultant
who performed the operation
came to see me. He checked
my bloated stomach and told
me I was being discharged.
“It’s only swelling. It will all be
fine,” he said.
I could barely walk so Steve
took me to his car in a wheelchair.
Back home, I lay on the sofa and
tried to sleep, but I was still in too
much pain. Around an hour later,
the hospital called. “How fast can
you make it back here to see us?”
my consultant asked. “Why?
What’s going on?” I replied.
I was told they needed to carrySteve was by my side at our next
scan five days later.
However, as the nurse
performed an internal scan,
she studied the screen intently.
The atmosphere in the room
suddenly changed.DEVASTATING
MISTAKE
“I’d like a consultant to take
a look at your scan,” she said,
disappearing from the room.
Clearly something was wrong.
The consultant arrived and he
reviewed the scan again. “I’m
sorry to say this is an ectopic
pregnancy,” he said, sombrely.
I’d heard of the condition before
but the shock was overwhelming.
The consultant explained that the
fertilised egg had implanted itself
outside my womb.
“The egg is stuck in your right
fallopian tube,” he explained. “We
need to remove it as soon as
possible as an ectopic pregnancy
can be life-threatening.”
I burst into tears. Steve
tried to hold it together but he
couldn’t stop crying, either.
The consultant said IG
lancing at the
positive pregnancy
test in my hand,
I was speechless.
It was February 2018 and I’d been
dating my boyfriend Steve* for
a year. We’d discussed having
children but never imagined I’d
fall pregnant so quickly.
According to the early
detection test I’d taken, I was
three weeks pregnant. Although it
was still very early, I shared our
good news with Riley-Jay, six, my
son from a previous relationship.
“I’m going to start thinking
of names!” he said, excitedly.
I called my GP and was referred
to my local midwifery service at
Walsall Manor Hospital to arrange
my first appointment and scan.
But as the days passed, I noticed
some light bleeding. I was a
healthcare assistant at the same
hospital, so I knew it was important
to report my symptoms.
“We’ll book you in for an
emergency scan,” the nurse said.
“But spotting sometimes happens
during the first trimester.”
They advised me to carry on
as normal but go to A&E if the
bleeding became worse. I carried
on spotting until my emergency
appointment on 7 March.
Unfortunately, the ultrasound
technician wasn’t able to see
my baby clearly on the screen,
I was sent for a blood test
to measure my hCG levels and
see how my baby’s development
was progressing. The hospital
reassured me that my results
were completely normal andPHOTOS: Adam Hughes/SWNS, SWNS *Name has been changed‘ A botched oper
left me infertile
‘I couldn’t believe
something so
nightmarish was
really happening’
out another scan to make sure
everything was OK, so Steve and
my mum, Karen, 54, took me back
to the hospital.
I was taken into a room and the
consultant who’d operated on me
arrived looking flustered. As he
conducted another scan, the
colour drained from his face.
“I’m so sorry, I’ve removed the
wrong tube,” he said.
“What?” I cried.
“The pregnancy wasn’t
removed properly. We need to
take you back to theatre,” the
consultant continued.
It was like I’d stepped outside
of my own body. I couldn’t believe
that something so nightmarish
was really happening. Mum and
Steve were shouting and crying,
and I just wanted to escape.
“Get him away from me!
Get out!” I screamed, as the
consultant fled the room.
Mum hugged me tightly and
tried to keep me calm, but I was
hysterical. Another consultant
gynaecologist came to see me.
He apologised on behalf of
everyone involved in the botched
procedure. I had no choice but to
go under the knife again or risk
a serious rupture.
“I’m going to perform the
operation myself. You’re in good
hands,” he said.
Powerless and broken, I was
taken to a private room. Steve
was allowed to stay with me
while Mum looked after Riley-Jay.
I was so terrified about going into
surgery again that I suffered
a panic attack.
At 6am the next morning, myThe surgery left
her scarredShe was treated
at Walsall Manor
HospitalChelsie with
son Riley-Jay