When Egg Retrieval Becomes Emergency Surgery: A Life-Threatening Turn in Our IVF Journey

Hi Friends,

I hope your week has been kinder than mine. On Friday, May 30th, we had our second egg retrieval. We ended up with 21 eggs retrieved, 17 matured, and 11 fertilized. Unfortunately, these results weren’t quite as good as our first round (you can read more about that in my blog post, Egg Retrieval Success: 5 Embryos and What’s Next on Our IVF Journey).

But it wasn’t just the numbers that were different this time.

The procedure itself didn’t go as smoothly as the first. I woke up in extreme pain—an 8 out of 10—and I have a very high pain tolerance, so that’s saying a lot. I felt severe cramping on my left side and told the care team right away that something didn’t feel right. They gave me a high dose of Tylenol through my IV and sent us on our way. We stopped for pho on the drive home, but even being in the car was noticeably more uncomfortable than last time.

Once we got home, I holed up on the couch to rest and fell asleep for a bit. When I woke up, I told Ian something still felt off. I started having intense diarrhea—which is the opposite of how my body usually responds to anesthesia. Normally, I need a stool softener post-procedure, so this was definitely a red flag.

Then came the pain on my right side… and in my neck.

I tried to lay down upstairs, but I was incredibly uncomfortable and couldn’t settle. Then I threw up—while also having diarrhea. At that point, I knew something was really wrong.

At 5:12 p.m., I called the after-hours line for my clinic. The woman who answered was clearly driving, but she took my information and said the nurses were still in the office and would call me back. No one ever did.

By 7:30, Ian and I had waited long enough. We decided to go to the ER—and thank God we did.

Once we arrived, the nurses gave me something for nausea and did an ultrasound. Then we waited. It took about three hours before I was taken back for a CT scan.

When it was finally time, they wheeled me down in my hospital bed, but I had to move myself onto the CT table. The pain of lying flat was absolutely unbearable. It radiated through my stomach, shoulders, and neck. I cried out—I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. When the scan was finished and they moved me back onto the gurney, the pain intensified. Every breath felt like getting the wind knocked out of me.

I told the nurse something was very wrong. My pain level was a 10 out of 10, and it felt like I was suffocating. A sweet aide came in and checked my monitors—my oxygen was fine—but I screamed again in pain, and she ran to get the care team.

The nurses rushed in and started a second IV. They began preparing for a possible blood transfusion and gave me more pain medication, which helped tremendously. While they worked, the provider and ER doctor let us know I was bleeding internally and that they had already called the on-call OB-GYN.

About 30–45 minutes later, Dr. Stevenson walked in—and she was an angel.

She calmly explained what was happening and what the risks were. Based on the amount of blood in my abdomen, there was a strong chance I could lose my left ovary. We’d need to wait for the on-call surgical team to arrive and prep the OR.

It was a small but mighty team: Nurse Scott, anesthesiologist Dr. Christenson, a surgical tech (whose name I, unfortunately, can’t remember), and Dr. Stevenson.

As they rolled me into the OR, Dr. Stevenson held my hand the entire time. She stayed with me while they prepped to put me under, and I honestly don’t have the words to express how much her kindness and presence meant to me. I will forever be grateful for her and the entire team.

Once they began surgery, they found two punctures on my left ovary. One was over an inch long, the other about a quarter inch. I had lost more than a liter of blood.

Despite how serious it was, they were able to save my ovary.

The team made three incisions—one on my left side, one in my belly button, and one on the right. (I’ll post a picture soon, but fair warning… I look like a blobfish.)

When I woke up from surgery, I was greeted by the kindest nurse. I kept asking if I had woken everyone up and kept thanking them for saving me—and saving my ovary. I was eventually transferred to a room, and Ian and I were finally able to get a bit of sleep. He slept for about two hours, and I got one hour of rest before he went home to take care of the dogs and shower.

While he was gone, I slowly walked a lap around the floor and ordered some breakfast. The lab team came in to check my levels and let me know I wouldn’t need another transfusion—but I would need IV iron. Once the iron finished infusing, we were discharged around 1:30 p.m.

We picked up my prescriptions and headed home.

I’ve never been more grateful to be back in my own bed, under my own roof, holding Ian’s hand.

But I know the road ahead is going to be slow. My abdomen is incredibly bruised. I can’t bend, move much, or do basic tasks. Beyond the physical healing, I’m also beginning to process the fact that I almost died.

That’s a really hard sentence to write.

We’re already carrying so much on this journey to bring Baby Piz into the world, and this feels like a setback I wasn’t prepared for. I want to be in the best physical and emotional space possible so I can create the healthiest home for our baby—whether that’s a she or a he, depending on our upcoming genetic results.

So right now, I’m asking for prayers.

Prayers for a full and steady recovery. Prayers for the mental and emotional healing I haven’t even begun to process. Prayers that I can be the partner Ian needs right now—especially as he’s carrying extra weight at home while going through a major work transition of his own.

If you’ve ever recovered from major abdominal surgery, I’d truly love to hear your tips—anything that helped you heal physically or emotionally. I’ll be resting and taking it easy over the next week, so if you’re up for spending time with a friend, shoot me a text. I’d love to watch a movie or binge a show together—virtually or in person, if you’re close by.

As always, thank you for being part of this journey with us. After everything that’s happened, I’m holding onto a deeper sense of gratitude—for life, for healing, and for the people who continue to show up and support us.

With Love,
Britt