Until then, my pregnancy had gone without a cloud. But that day, when I was home alone, I started to have a stomach ache.At the time, I told myself that it was probably the meal that was not going, and I decided to lie down. But an hour later, I was writhing in pain. I started to vomit. I was shaking and unable to stand up. I called the fire department.
After the usual maternity exams, the midwife told me that everything was fine, that I had some contractions. But I was in so much pain, uninterruptedly, that I didn’t even realize I had it. When I asked her why I had been in pain for several hours, she replied that it was certainly “residual pain between contractions”. I had never heard of it. At the end of the afternoon, the midwife ended up sending me home with Doliprane, Spasfon and an anxiolytic. She made it clear to me that I was just very anxious and not very tolerant of pain.
The next day, during my monthly pregnancy follow-up, I saw a second midwife, who gave me the same speech: “Take more Doliprane and Spasfon. It will pass. Except that I was in terrible pain. I was unable to change position on my own in bed, as each movement made the pain worse.
On Wednesday morning, after a night of throwing up and crying, my partner decided to take me back to the maternity ward. I saw a third midwife who, in turn, found nothing abnormal. But she had the intelligence to ask a doctor to come see me. I had a blood test taken and they realized that I was completely dehydrated and had a significant infection or inflammation somewhere. I was hospitalized, put on a drip. I was given blood tests, urine tests, ultrasounds. I was patted on the back, leaned on my stomach. These manipulations hurt me like hell.
On Saturday morning, I could no longer eat or drink. I was no longer sleeping. I was only crying in pain. In the afternoon, the obstetrician on call decided to send me for a scan, despite the pregnant contraindications. And the verdict was in: I had a lot of air in my abdomen, so a perforation, but we couldn’t see where because of the baby. It was a vital emergency, I had to be operated as soon as possible.
That same evening, I was in the OR. Four-handed operation: the obstetrician and a visceral surgeon to explore every corner of my digestive system as soon as my son was out. When I woke up, in intensive care, I was told that I had spent four hours in the OR. I had a big hole in my sigmoid colon, and peritonitis. I spent three days in intensive care. Three days during which I was pampered, I was told over and over again that I was an exceptional case, that I was very resistant to pain! But also during which I was only able to see my son for 10-15 minutes a day. Already, when he was born, I had been placed on my shoulder for a few seconds so that I could kiss him. But I couldn’t touch it since my hands were tied to the operating table. It was frustrating to know he was a few floors above me, in neonatal care, and not being able to go see him. I tried to console myself by telling myself that he was well taken care of, that he was well surrounded. Born at 36 weeks old, he was certainly premature, but only a few days old, and he was in perfect health. It was the most important.
I was then transferred to surgery, where I stayed for a week. In the morning, I was stamping impatiently. In the afternoon, when the surgical visits were finally authorized, my partner came to pick me up to go see our son. We were told that he was a bit flabby and had trouble drinking his bottles, but that was normal for a premature baby. Every day, it was a pleasure but also very painful to see him alone in his little neonate bed. I told myself that he should have been with me, that if my body hadn’t let go, he would be born at term and we wouldn’t be stuck in this hospital. I blamed myself for not being able to wear it properly, with my meaty stomach and my IV in one arm. It was a stranger who had given him his first bottle, his first bath.
When I was finally let go home, the neonate refused to let my baby out, who still hadn’t gained weight after 10 days of hospitalization. I was offered to stay in the mother-child room with him, but telling me that I had to take care of him alone, that the nursery nurses would not come and help me at night. Except that in my condition, I was unable to hug him without help. So I had to go home and leave him. I felt like I was abandoning him. Fortunately, two days later he gained weight and was returned to me. We were then able to start trying to get back to normal life. My partner took care of almost everything for two weeks before returning to work, while I was recovering.
Ten days after I was released from the hospital, I finally had the explanation of what had happened to me. During my check-up, the surgeon gave me the results of the pathology. I mainly remembered these three words: “large endometriotic focus”. I already knew what that meant. The surgeon explained to me that, given the condition of my colon, it had been there for a long time, and that a fairly simple examination would have detected the lesions. Endometriosis is a disabling disease. It is a real filth, but it is not a dangerous, fatal disease. However, if I had the chance to escape the most common complication (fertility problems), I had the right to an extremely rare complication, which can sometimes be fatal …
Finding out that I had digestive endometriosis made me angry. I had been talking about endometriosis to the doctors who followed me for years, describing the symptoms I had that suggested this disease. But I was always told that “No, periods don’t do that kind of thing”, “Do you have pain during your period, ma’am?” Take painkillers ”,“ Just because your sister has endometriosis doesn’t mean you have it too ”…
Today, six months later, I’m still learning to live with it all. Getting to grips with my scars was difficult. I see them and massage them every day, and every day details come back to me. The last week of my pregnancy was a real torture. But it kind of saved me since, thanks to my baby, part of the small intestine had gotten completely stuck to the perforation of the colon, limiting the damage. Basically, I gave him life, but he saved mine.