Creativity Challenge Day 30- End

Where some see endings,

like dead, decaying leaves,

I see beginnings,

like new unfurling buds.

The old giving way to new,

like saplings growing in 

forest debris.

Loss,

Death,

Grief

Provide a foundation for

Growth,

Learning,

Life.

Self Portrait (#2)

Creativity Challenge Day 29- Self Portrait (#2)

"Seven Year Wedding Anniversary"

Under

Creativity Challenge Day 28- Under

"Under the Newport, OR Bridge"

Morning

Creativity Challenge Day 26- Morning

"I Will Rise But I Will Not Shine"

Dancing

Creativity Challenge Day 25- Dance

Tap Class- Spring 2013

Hold

Creativity Challenge Day 24- Hold

Hold me close, my sweetheart,
the man who swept me off my feet.

“Let the Boy fix it,” he says,
and he does,
smoking dishwashers,
cold ovens,
an old Subaru,
my damaged heart

Hold my body, my sweetheart,
the man I got to marry.

“That's my mofo” he says,
when I
ace the test,
endure the pregnancy,
write a poem,
live authentically.

Hold my soul, my sweetheart,
the man that shares my world.

“You're my best thing,” he says,
as we
head to work
pay the bills,
attend soccer,
build a life.

(note to reader: "mofo" is the highest of compliments despite it's sketchy origins.)

Young

Creativity Challenge Day 23- Young

I was a young girl once,
an old soul in a small body.

Big green eyes and a button nose,
on my little girl face.

Snippets of thoughts and memories of that girl reside in me.
While at the grocery store,
"Marry a girl with eyes like her." instructed a man to his son.
Solid Gold dancing with my best friend,
who had a Kick 'n' Go.
Wondering what would happen,
if I were only part of a dream.

Now, I am a middle-aged woman,
an old soul in an older body.
Big green eyes and a button nose,
on my slightly lined face.

Snippets of thoughts and memories of this woman will reside in my elderly self.
I married a man with eyes like mine, it seemed like good advice.
A daughter who dances with her best friend,
who has bike.
I know that in some ways my life is just a dream.

I will be an old woman,
and old soul in an old body.
Big green eyes and a button nose,
on my deeply lined face.

There will be grandbabies, with eyes like mine.
Little boys and little girls who will dance with me.
I discovered that life is a beautiful dream

Full

Creativity Challenge Day 22- Full

"Full of Color" Silk flower bouquet designed by S. Clark

Parallel

Creativity Challenge Day 21- Parallel

"Pretty in Parallel Patterns"- Table runner sewn by my daughter and I

Black

Creativity Challenge Day 20- Black

"Black Masked Dinner Thief"

Reverse

Creativity Challenge Day 19- Reverse

Alive

Creativity Challenge Day 18- Alive

I am still alive-

By S. Clark. Gouache paint on sketch paper

Major Depressive Disorder, no wait, that might be Bipolar Affective Disorder, Type II.

Sleep Apnea and just for extra fun, Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome as well.

Environmental Allergies. Pretty much anything that grows. And dogs. And cats. And dust mites.

Hyperemesis Gravidarum. What is that you say? Severe nausea and vomiting during pregnancy to the point of being life threatening. I had meds and I lived but the last time I threw up was during delivery.

Approximately 10 hours of dental work to repair the damage to my teeth from Hyperemesis, when you are starving, like I was, the body will take nutrients from your teeth.

Food Allergies. From the constant vomiting ruining my stomach. There are only 5 problems foods now. I used to be allergic to 20.

Got a divorce, that was easier than you might think. A “good riddance to bad rubbish” sort of scenario.

Blended family issues growing up, but in hindsight that isn't much of a thing.

Crazy step-mom, that was a thing.

$40,000 in debt from medical bills and living on credit cards when I was pregnant. That really was a thing.

Ex-husband ruined my credit, had to get a legal separation from my current husband to protect him from the consequences of my bad credit. (Don't worry, we are still married, it is all good.)

Diagnosed with MTHFR. No it is totally not an abbreviation for a curse word, it is a genetic disorder that results in inadequate removal of toxins from the body and results in fatigue, allergies, Hyperemesis, to name a few.

I have dyslexia. I have dyscalculia. I have an auditory processing disorder.

So, what have we learned here? Life can knock me down. I get back up. My body can malfunction. I get back up. My body can malfunction again. I get back up. My finances can fall apart. I get back up. My finances fall apart again. I get back up. My marriage can fall apart. I get back up. My second marriage can be strained. I get back up. I have learning disabilities. I get back up. I am fatigued a lot. I get back up.

Not because I am amazing or better than anyone else. I am simply persistent. Persevering. Determined. Unswayed. Stubborn as all get out.

I complain. Occasionally I want to give up. Occasionally I give up for a few moments. I throw tantrums. I completely malfunction.

Then I get back up.

And because of that, I am still alive.

I love my daughter, I love my husband.

I have a house full of animals.

And plants.

I have gardens. The tomatoes were awesome this year.

I write and draw and paint. Although the drawing and painting are not always so impressive.

I've started taking photos.

I am learning to cook and I am a pretty good baker. Makes it easier to work around the food allergies.

I volunteer at my daughter's school.

I read lots and lots and lots of books.

I call my grandma.

I text my mom or my brother or a cousin.

I drink tea. When it is warm I drink tea on the deck.

And I live. No matter what I live.

Touch

Creativity Challenge Day 17- Touch

"Touch of Sunlight"

Awake

Creativity Challenge Day 16- Awake

"Awaken my sweet girl,

The night has given us snow."

She hears her papa's whispered voice.

"Find your scarf and give it a twirl"

Out they went into the street light's glow.

Her heart could do nothing but rejoice.

"See how the snowflakes swirl?"

he asked as they felt the wind blow.

The 2 am expedition was a perfect choice.

(based on a true story from January 2012!)

Hands

Creativity Challenge Day 15- Hands

"Holding Freckles' Hand"

I have a memory of me in my great-grandma's bedroom with my great-grandma.  We were standing next to her bed and light was shining through the window next to us.  I noticed that she had spots all over her hands and arms.  I must have been only three or four years old and in my little mind, those marks looked like freckles.  From that moment on, I dubbed her Grandma Freckles.  Because my great-grandpa was married to her, he became Grandpa Freckles.  By the time she passed way, she was simply know as Freckles or Freck by the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great grandchildren and even great-great-great grandchildren. Looking back, I am pretty sure those are "liver spots," the marks elderly people get on their skin as they age. She was in her early 60's when she was assigned this nick name by her first great-grand child.  

I remember this, and many other things about my grandparents.  Grandpa Freckles would pull quarters out of my ear.  I used to walk from my maternal grandparents' home, Bob and Belle Esau, to my great-grandparents home, to eat lunch with them. I rode in my Grandpa Esau's semi-truck when he had to haul things a short distance. I gardened with my Grandma Esau.

I spent a lot of time with my maternal grandparents and my maternal great-grandparents.  I had a connection with my grandparents.  They were not just old people I visited on holidays.  These were people that I spent time with, who knew me and loved me.  I even knew my great-great-great Uncle Jake.  He lived with my great-grandparents. 

And, unlike many people, I had the privilege of having grandparents well into my adulthood. My great-grandma,"Freckles," Anice Ida Leach, passed away when I was almost 35.  It is her hand I am holding in this picture, on the last day I was able to spend with her before she passed away.  Grandma Esau is still alive and lives in rural Nebraska.  When I call my Grandma Esau, chances are it will be a two hour phone call, because we know each other.  She is not an acquaintance I happen to be related to.           

How lucky am I to have this multi-generational connection?  How wonderful is it that I know in many instances that I am the way I am because of the influence of these special people?  How can I ever explain the way that these relationships have shaped me?

This was a gift from God and I don't think it is given to many.

Taste

Creativity Challenge Day 14- Taste

"Tastes Just Like Grandmas"- Taken on a Motorala Galaxy and edited in Google Chrome

Indirect

Creativity Challenge Day 13- Indirect

Melted Crayon Art

Soft

Creativity Challenge Day 12- Soft

"A Soft-Hearted Man"

Pair

Creativity Challenge Day 11- Pair

"Pair of Pears" Scap Book Paper on Watercolor background.

Shine

Creativity Challenge Day 10- Shine

The Spruce Goose & Glass Window

By S. Clark on a Panasonci DMC-G5 Camera, Edited in Google Chrome

Cold

Creativity Challenge Day 9- Cold

Creeping cold sunlight-

Winter's frigid rays grasp us,

unrelenting chill.

Photo by S. Clark, Photo taken with a Samsung Galaxy Phone, edited in Google Chrome.

Sound

Creativity Challenge Day 8- Sound

Rockin' Little Drummer

taken by S. Clark, on Panasonic DMC-G5. Edited with Google Chrome

Alone

Creativity Challenge Day 7- Alone

Alone in the dusk-

with sound of the cat's purr.

Comfort for my soul.

Picture taken by S. Clark on a Samsung Galaxy phone, no editing

Away

Day 6 Creativity Prompt- Away

"Fly Away My Heart"

Water color painting by S. Clark, Photo taken on a Samsung Galaxy Phone.
Edited in Google Chrome by A. McNabb

Rip

Creativity Challenge day 5: Rip

"Rip Tide"

Photo of a painting using poster paint- picture taken with Samsung Galaxy Phone and edited with Google Chrome. S. Clark, 11/4/2014

Found

Creativity challenge day 4: Found

By S. Clark, Lincoln City, OR., 10/2014

Found

My self.

Finally,

At thirty-nine

Peace.

(Laturne, A Japanese poetry form: 5 lines, 1, 2 ,3 ,4 & 1 syllable format, centered)

Going

They are going to get that ball, one way or the other! 

I've spent a lot of time watching soccer the last two months, there is a lot of going, going on in those games, so this was the first thing I thought of for today's creative challenge prompt.

(Photo taken on a Motorola Photon and edited using Google Chrome)

Self-portrait

In the Beginning.

In the beginning,
there was only me.
In my little house,
With my PhD.

But, not forever.
Certainly not for long.
Soon there was him, with his t-shirts and guitar.
My heart knew his song.

We had a summer of joy,
Followed by autumn and winter, spring; nine more.
It is he who I love.
It is he who I adore.

Summer Raindrops

Torrential downpour-

pummels flora and foliage,

violent raindrops

My Changing Body

I totally get the the above title is likely sending shivers down many of your spines because it is causing flashbacks of really awkward health classes in middle school.  I had that class in 5th grade, 7th grade, 9th grade, 10th grade, 12th grade and my freshman year of college. Despite the fact that my private Christian schools emphasized denying sexual urges at all times unless you are married, they were really into making sure we knew the details of what we were supposedly avoiding.  The above title may not be causing flashbacks if you are from a generation were discussing sex was verboten.  In that case, it is probably causing discomfort because I am discussing a taboo subject.

Me, with very few signs of aging!

Either way, putting the word "body" in the same sentence as "changing" freaks people out.  However, I am not talking about that kind of change.  Nope, this is not a discussion of puberty.  It is a discussion about aging.  And, I swear that aging is some sort of weird, slow version of puberty.  What follows should probably be filed under "too much information," so read at your own risk!

Take, for instance, facial hair.  Young men reach a certain age and they begin to grow coarse hair on their chins, upper lip and cheeks.  My 18 year old brother was just showing me his new found stubble.  It is so sparse he plucks each hair out individually.  I have chin hair as well.  I am not a 18 year old boy.  I am a 39 year old woman.  And I have enough chin hair to warrant THE USE OF A RAZOR!  Oh my god!  Ack!  This started when I was about 36 years old.  It appears to be getting worse.  My upper lip doesn't look too impressive either.  I tried doing laser hair removal, but let me tell you, that doesn't work for a woman with strong Germanic roots.  Really strong Germanic roots, strong Germanic roots that will not yield to a lousy laser tool.  I was attempting to warn my pristine 25 year old sister, in her perfect youth, that this was coming, especially since she is a brunette like me.  Her reply, "Actually, my hair stylist says I am a level 6 blonde."  Whatever, her time is coming.

Me now, a little rough around the edges!

There is also breast development.  Or decline, rather.  Gravity is not my friend.  At one point in my life, not to brag, I had so-called "perfect breasts."  I recently discovered this on Pinterest, which is a fount of information about things I really didn't need to know.  I attempted to find this pin for your edification but was unable to locate it.  Trust me, it is there!  As if it weren't bad enough to be mourning my youthful silhouette, I also have to know that I was once perfect!  Anyhow, those days are gone.  I am now the not so impressed owner of "sloped breasts."  I can't blame gravity entirely.  I had a daughter and I nursed her for a year.  After my breast milk came in, I went from a 34B to a 40D.  Clarification, for those of you men reading this, likely unfamiliar with breast sizing: what that means is I went from small and perky, "About a handful," a boyfriend once helpfully described, to pretty damn big.  As my friend Liz so eloquently puts it "You got visited by the Titty Fairy."  Yes, and once the Titty Fairy leaves, I get sloped breasts.  I am vain enough that I contemplated breast surgery.  I didn't want to augment anything, just return myself to my former glory.  Totally not happening.  In addition to the fact that I am not vain enough to spend that kind of money, I found out that sometimes the plastic surgeon has to cut off the nipples and relocate them.  Good grief, no way! 

Around the time I had perfect breasts, I also had the perfect hip to waist ratio, .70.  Scientists, who are wildly interested in sex, sexual attraction and reproduction of all species, determined that men judge women to be more attractive when the measurement of their waist divided by the measurement of their hips equaled .70.  It is more commonly known as an "hour glass figure."  I had that, too.  (Lest you think I am an example of perfect beauty or more vain that I will actually admit, please know that I am short, have hairy arms, wear glasses, have unplucked eyebrows and used to have a dreadful overbite.)  Age has added padding and eliminated my .70 ratio.  I am not sure of the evolutionary value of this, especially since our human ancestors generally didn't make it past 40 or 50.  I am going with the idea that my body is preparing to be a grandmother and is adding cushion to make me better for hugs. 

 OK, my kid is only 6 1/2 but I figure if I had reproduced at a more typical time, she'd be in her late teens, so it makes more sense.  I also tell my husband that he is lucky to have more wife than he started out with.  His reply, which makes him totally a keeper, is always "You were too skinny when we first started dating anyhow!"  He, by the way, is getting fitter and more muscular as he ages.  That is because he exercises more than he used to.  Let's just say I am a work in progress on that!

I am starting to sport some grey hair too.  The light that shines through my bathroom window in the mornings as I get ready perfectly illuminates the grey strands.  Thankfully, it appears that my shade of grey hair is a lovely silver.  I think I can work with that.  Check back with me, though, I might change my mind when there is more than a few silver strands sprinkled around.  

My great-grandma, Anice Ida Leach.  I want to be like her when I grow up

I haven't yet encountered the more serious consequences of aging, just the cosmetic ones.  And, I haven't hit that "powerful, magical time of menopause."  Those of you in menopause, who just spit out your beverage on your computer screen or hand-held device upon reading that sentence, please know that is not my phrase.  It is a phrase in the recording I listen to when I am on hold with my doctor's office. I am not kidding!  From what I can tell from my friends going through menopause, the only thing powerful about it the hot flashes.  My attitude about aging may also change when I hit menopause, so we will have to do a recheck on that one too!

Despite the cosmetic features that are going awry, I appreciate getting older.  I like life more now than when I was younger.  I have much less angst and anxiety.  I have less anger and frustration.  I also appreciate what I have and am not constantly thinking "life will be good when..."  Life is good right now, even when aspects of it suck.  I feel more settled into my frame, even if it is a few sizes larger and more steady on my feet.  There is less tension in my shoulders. 

My great-grandma holding my mom in 1956

As far as I can tell, this is because inner beauty increases with age.  Time allows us to see that waiting in a long line, being stuck in traffic, dirty laundry and dirty floors are simply inconveniences.  It also allows us to see that we can weather the worst that life can dish out.  Those lessons create people who are warmer, are more likely to see the good all situations and are better at handling difficult situations. 

It seems like a fair trade, I lose my physical beauty and gain inner beauty.  I think I will take it.

Reflections on Vomit, Part 4

10/08/06-16 weeks pregnant, still not sure why I smiled in these pictures!

When I was 19 years old, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and prescribed an anti-depressant, Prozac. I eventually switched over to Celexa and Wellbuturin. This combination helped significantly, although I often had mild to moderate symptoms during the winter months. Prior to being pregnant, when I thought I would plan my pregnancy, I decided I would gradually wean off my medication because it would be better for the developing baby. Best laid plans and all that. I couldn't hold anything down long enough to absorb it into my system. I stopped taking my medication very abruptly, which is the worst way to do it.

The abrupt decrease of anti-depressants in my system and the unrelenting illness sent my mood spiraling. If I wasn't sleeping or vomiting, I was crying. I didn't feel suicidal, but I wasn't exactly thrilled with being alive, either. The helplessness and hopelessness caused by being sick was compounded by not having an anti-depressant in my system. It was brutal but there wasn't much we could do.

My buddy, Sully.

Once I started taking the anti-nausea medication, Phenergan, and I'd had a respite in the vomiting my mood improved significantly. I was able to sit on the porch or on a lawn chair in the front yard, accompanied by my dog, Sully. I was able to talk on the phone and check in with an on-line support group. I was concerned about my depression, so I met with a psychiatrist. We determined that I would try to manage my mood with supplements. That didn't last long.

My boyfriend and I had a very necessary discussion on finances. The stress and upset of that conversation triggered nausea and before I knew it the vomit had returned. Then I didn't just cry, I wailed. Loudly enough that my boyfriend had to step outside to make an emergency call to his mother. Even then, he could still hear me. My fragile sense of well-being was completely shattered. After his mom came over and talked me down, we determined that a new plan was necessary to deal with my depression. After another appointment with the psychiatrist, I started taking Prozac again. He explained that there was little chance it would cause permanent harm to the baby. Being severely depressed could cause harm to the baby and it was important to have me as functional as possible. 

The second sonogram, showing the "bubble" in my belly.

Around the fifth month, I was able to walk and drive in a car without vomiting. I was so physically destroyed that walking from one end of the grocery store to other exhausted me for days afterward. I had to be careful though, too much exertion would cause, you guessed it, nausea and vomiting. It was worth it though. After being confined to my bed for three months and only my home for an additional two months, everything seemed amazing. I was in awe of the colors and a trip to Michael's Craft Store was a wonderland. The beads and ribbons and pretty papers and flowers and stickers were the most wonderful things I had ever seen. It was like being reborn. I truly can't describe how spectacular everything appeared. 

Our Tiny Dancer looked a lot like her momma! That is my baby picture on the upper right.

In October we had another sonogram to ensure that the baby was developing normally.   The technician was able to determine that we were having a girl!  We got a picture of her profile, which was very familiar to my mom.  She sent a picture taken of me when I was about 1 week old.  Our baby looked like her momma! And, I felt the baby move for the first time.  It felt like a little bubble rolling back and forth across the inside of my abdomen.  It was like a bubble of renewed hope. 

 You can read the other segments in this series here:

Part 1
Part 2

Part 3
Part 4

Part 5
Part 6

Rocket Haiku

 

On the pre-launch list: Clean the kitchen

Sunday's pre-launch list-

     Prepping for Monday's rocket ride,

hurled through the week. 

Reason Number 568 Why You Should Not Have Animals

QT Pi aka, Cow Pie

Week before last, mere moments before we were going to step out of the door and head off into the day, I heard the words no busy parent wants to hear.  "Mom, it smells like poop in here."  This was followed by "And it is not QT poop smell."  QT Pi (pronounced, "Cutie Pie") is the pregnant stray cat

that we had recently adopted.  She smelled so bad that I nicknamed her Cow Pie.  We were all very familiar with her stench.  

If it wasn't QT, then that left two possible culprits, our other cat Shzung Lee or our St. Bernard, Kona Bear.  Shzung Lee is a mostly outdoor cat and pooping the the house is not her M.O.  She prefers to vomit partially digested cat food and on one occasion, a mouse.  She wasn't in the house at the moment and hadn't been since the previous evening.  The list of suspects narrowed down to Kona Bear.

Closer investigation revealed that as Kona galloped in delight up the stairs and around the living room, she left a trail of poop paw prints.  Awesome.  I have to get my kid to daycare, so I can go to work and I have poop all over the living room.  I try to leave some wiggle room in our morning routine to accommodate for snags.  I didn't have enough wiggle room to deal with poop paw prints.  I dragged the dog outside and sprayed off her foot.  She again galloped in delight up the stairs and around the living room, but this time her foot was only soggy.  Everything is cause for celebration when you are a St. Bernard.  I sprayed each spot with carpet cleaner, called it good and left.

Shzung Lee

 After I sent a text to my husband about the mess, he kindly volunteered to wash the dog and shampoo the carpet. Our friend, (who keeps an orderly house with three boys), upon hearing of the most recent disaster, said "Well, reason number 565 to not have a pet."

Kona Bear Naughty-Pants

A couple days ago I found a few granola bar wrappers and a puddle of vomit.  Kona Bear strikes again. Reason number 566.  Two nights ago, there was an empty bag of what might have been trail mix.  Kona Bear, of course.  Reason number 567.  Today I found a bag of apple chips by her bed.  Apple chips that, by the way, were in a closed drawer last I knew.  Reason number 568. 

Five Dads & A Messy Family Tree

If my family was a tree, it would look like this!

I have five dads.  I have my #1 dad, Richard, who is my biological father.  My #2 dad, Karl, also known as "Dear," is my step-dad.  I also have a father-in-law, Duke, and step-father-in-law, Bill V.  Finally, there is my brother's biological dad, Bill A.  That's a lot of dads.  It makes for a tangled family tree.  

This conglomeration of dads came about because of divorces and remarriages.  Inherent in these divorces and remarriages, are tough transitions.  Rearranging family ties, readjusting relationships, forming new relationships and grieving past family ties, all these things are present in a family with five dads. 

This was not necessarily done gracefully.  Getting a divorce or being a child of divorcing parents is one of the most stressful life events. In fact, in my case, there have been tantrums, swearing, threatening to move to foreign countries, filling out immigration paperwork to move to a foreign country, therapy appointments and crying. 

Father's day makes me think of all these things, which I believe, is not the original intent.  Wikipedia states that "Father's Day  is a celebration honoring fathers and celebrating fatherhood, paternal bonds, and the influence of fathers in society."  Sometimes it is hard to feel celebratory with a family tree that is a tangled mess.  

On Father's day I as posted pictures of each dad on Facebook, I realized that each dad has had a profound influence on my life today.  This influence is either because of their relationship with me as I was growing up or because of their relationships with my husband and daughter.  So many good things have come of having five dads, it is hard for me to really be unhappy about all the upheavals.  Of course, I sometimes wish that I had experienced less pain and fewer transitions.  But to wish that would also be to wish away core elements of my self, my relationships with others and my life.  

It is hard to wish those things away.  Even though I can't say that I have a perfect life, or I am perfectly happy or perfectly anything.  I still live an imperfect life that is messy and complicated.  But it is a life I choose.  I choose to embrace all aspects of my life, even those I didn't like, because all those events have lead me to my life and my self.  

Reflections on Vomit, Part 3

Tiny Dancer- 8/10/06

Somewhere in the haze of the first trimester, when the nausea and vomiting were at full power, we had an ultrasound. The doctor wanted to determine if I had a single fetus or multiples. Women carrying twins (or more) have HG more frequently than women carrying single babies. I already had a strong suspicion that if I made it through this pregnancy, I wouldn't be going for another one. I really, truly hoped for twins. Then I could get two for the price of one and be done with the whole mess! This was not the case for me. I had one, tiny dancing baby doing the quick-step all over my womb with a giant head and little stubby limbs. My boyfriend called it “Tiny Dancer” from then on. I hung on to the image of Tiny Dancer, because it reminded me I wasn't just sick, I was pregnant. It was incredibly easy to forget.

Seeing the ultrasound didn't create any warm fuzzy feelings. I think part of the pregnancy process, for most women, is bonding to their unseen baby. I am not sure because that wasn't part of my pregnancy. I bonded after she was out because I was never certain that I would get a baby out of this ordeal. My version of bonding was ensuring that I didn't hate my unborn child or lose her or die, but not in that order. The correct order was don't die, don't lose the baby, don't hate the baby. It is difficult to say which of those tasks was most difficult. No fetus equals no illness. Many women with HG feel resentment and anger towards the developing baby. Then they feel horrible guilt because what kind of woman hates her own child? I will tell you what kind of woman hates her kid, one that is horribly ill and can barely function! My strategy for dealing with this was to hate my body and my malfunctioning reproductive system instead. If my daughter could have been incubated in another woman, that woman would only a 1% chance of being sick because it is the mother's biology that causes the problem, not the fetus. It was my body that had the problem. It was my body that responded to pregnancy hormones as if they were poison. It was my body that was not suitable.

Medication for pregnant women is a problem. Early efforts to give women something to treat nausea in the 1950's or 1960's resulted in serious birth defects. Nothing really had been done since then. My obstetrician explained that making medication for pregnant women and pregnancy-related diseases was not worth the risk to pharmaceutical companies, who were afraid of being sued. There was no medication that was known to help the disease that the doctor could say was safe for my baby.

08/09/06.  8 weeks pregnant, don't ask me why I am smiling!

By the end of the first trimester we were desperate. I was prescribed Phenergan, a medication used to treat allergies and motion sickness. My doctor stated that there probably wouldn't be any side effects that would harm the baby. At any rate, there could be harm to the baby if I continued being dehydrated and malnourished. By then I had lost 7% of my body weight. We decided the risk was worth it because I truly believed I might die if I continued with such severe symptoms. Blessedly, the Phenergan eventually stopped the vomiting. After being on it for a couple months, the nausea lessened, too but only if I took my medication exactly on time, ate only “safe” foods and didn't over exert myself. The only side effect for me was incredible drowsiness. I slept so much that I lost a few months. The only thing I remember is my boyfriend waking me up to give me medication and spoon some food into my mouth. 

By the fifth, or maybe sixth, month of my pregnancy, the medication was working well enough that I could eat. I could eat my “safe” foods but what was safe would abruptly change for no good reason. Initially, breakfast was a bowl of oatmeal. At some point, breakfast became toast. The rest of the day I ate only chicken noodle soup. That was followed by tomato soup with a tuna sandwich and dill pickle. Then it was a hot turkey sandwich from a local restaurant but without the turkey. Then it was cream of mushroom soup and goldfish crackers. I was never, ever able to drink water. Water was instant vomit. I had to drink Vitamin Water, which is a “enhanced water beverage.” This made exactly no sense, but whatever, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to die. In the seventh, eighth and ninth months of my pregnancy I could eat more variety and was able drink tea.

I couldn't cook any of this myself, until about month six. Until then, my boyfriend rearranged his work schedule so that he could come home and feed me. He recalls being so sick of cooking the same thing that it would make him feel nauseated to open the can of soup. This is especially true for cream of mushroom soup. He still cannot stand the stuff. Cream of mushroom soup only comes into our house twice a year, for Thanksgiving and Christmas Day, to make green bean casserole for my younger brother. He has to make it himself, because it ruins our appetite.

I have not had soup or Vitamin Water, or any other flavored water beverage in seven years. I strongly dislike all soup or Vitamin Water. Actually, it goes beyond strongly dislike. I have a conditioned food aversion. Wait, let me correct that. I have conditioned food aversionS. Plural. Those food items are so strongly associated with nausea and vomit, mere exposure to them creates nausea. In fact, as I sit here an write, I feel nauseated. I also have the funny feeling in my mouth that you get before you throw up. There is a good chance I will have to take a break before I finish writing this, to let the nausea subside. This is actually an improvement. For the first three or four years after my pregnancy, I couldn't even look at a PICTURE of soup! Hearing someone even say the word soup brought instant nausea. If there were ever the need to discuss soup, we had to spell it, ESS OH YOU PEE. Vitamin Water was much the same. I avoided the soup aisle at the grocery store, never went down the section that had bottled beverages. There was a total and complete ban on both those things in my home or anywhere near me. I have been gradually exposed to soup, so I am able to look at soup cans, smell soup and even prepare soup for my daughter. I don't breathe while I make the soup, however. I hold my breath. I can only smell soup from a distance, not close up. I will never, ever, ever, Ever eat soup. EVER. Same goes for the Vitamin Water, except I haven't made any improvement with Vitamin Water because there hasn't been exposure. I will never, ever, ever, Ever drink flavored water, either. EVER. Well, maybe I'd consume those things if I were to starve again but I highly doubt it! 

And it is still not done... to be continued.

You can read:

Part 1
Part 2

Part 3
Part 4

Part 5
Part 6