Woke at 3 am-ish with sort-of bad pelvic pain.  Went to the clinic early where they found no second embryo in my uterus.  It was something to hope for, and we did hope for it. 

After hearing from Madame Pamplemousse and others, I refused Methotrexate and opted for surgery, which I had today at about 10:30 a.m.  Saying the words "ectopic" cuts through hospital red tape like a scalpel through my belly fat.  It was a lap, though my doctor reserved the option to "convert" to the dreaded gut-me-like-a-fish laparatomy.  Doc did not exercise her option, she took most of the tube and didn’t mess with anything else and I was in recovery by 1:30.  Doc says there is a lot of scar tissue but nothing too terrible and she doesn’t think it’ll cause me any problems in the future.  I was glad somebody finally got a look in there.

It was the nicest ectopic I’ve ever had; a wonderful Irish nurse named Katrine and very few actual people having babies in the OB ward where my RE does her thing.  Getting home was horrendouos, had to pull over more than once to see if I was going to pass out or throw up.  I did neither.  So far.

I feel hideous – belly painful, incisions painful, hellishly dizzy.  But it’s a great distraction from my emotions.  And I am glad most of one tube is gone.  My reading on the possibility of a second ectopic was chilling, and I’m sure my body could do it again, tubes or no.  But for now it’s nice to have this done with. 

That’s all the sitting up I have in me for the moment.

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