View of the End

I've lived through some large projects.

Like getting my doctorate.

That took 5 years after I got my bachelor's degree.

I knew the classes I needed to take, the number of clinical hours required and the steps to write my dissertation.

It was all mapped out and I could see older students complete the steps I was headed towards.

It was a pretty long time but I could see the end the entire time.

I've lived through an intense physical ordeal.

My pregnancy.

I hate to constantly be bringing that up but it was a very defining event that tested my husband and I to our cores.

That was 9 months.

I knew what to expect for each trimester, knew the approximate stage of development of my baby and knew the tasks we needed to complete before I gave birth to our daughter.

Nine months is a long time to be nauseated and vomiting but it really wasn't all that long.

I could see the end the entire time.

I've met major financial goals.

We went deeply into debt during my pregnancy.

Our choices were to pay off the debt or go bankrupt.

We opted to pay off the debt and it took 4 years.

I knew what our monthly payments were going to be, I knew the things we would have to go without and how much we would have to work.

I could see the end the entire time.

I've even battled major depression, many, many times.

More times than I can remember, actually.

There are many unknowns with mental health treatment you would think I wouldn't have any sense of when I would feel better.

My depressive episodes mostly showed up in winter and were gone by spring.

I always knew if I could make it to my birthday in April, everything would be okay.

Even if I had a depressive episode that didn't fit the pattern, I always knew it would go away.

I always had ways to ease the burden; medication, therapy, and gardening.  

I could even see the end of my major depressive episodes.

But now,  we are in the midst of all this Lyme treatment.

There is no map, there are no people who have had the same treatment plan, and there are no timelines.

Everyone with this disease responds very differently, so the treatment plan and the length of treatment evolve as you go along.

I despise the lack of a definite series of steps or timeline.

I cannot see the end of this.  It is there, somewhere, murky and in the future.

I'd rather know that this was going to take 5 years with a predictable end point, than have a bunch of unknowns for 3 years.

I find security in the known.

Most people do.  Humans don't generally appreciate the unknown.

I've had many clients who would rather stick with an uncomfortable known that try for the possibility of a better life because the unknown is so terrifying.

Only by walking with them into the unknown are they willing to give something new a try.

I've walked the path of healing with many people and can assure another client that I have seen good things happen.

I ask them to have faith in me and in the process that it will be worth it in the end.

And now, here I am walking the path of healing with no end in sight.

Photo taken by S. Clark

I have to have faith that there is an end even if I can't see it.

Faith is not my best skill.

I'm more of a see it, touch it, test it kind of girl.

Life has an amazing way of giving me an opportunity to learn skills that I am lacking.

Which is what I tell myself when I am dealing with something I don't want to do!

That, and I often remind myself of a quote from Elizabeth Kublar Ross,

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

I am a beautiful person in the making.

Thank you life.

Reflections on Vomit- Part 6

This captures the emotion of the entire pregnancy
copyright Jan Linda Photography

As I sit here writing this, I can hear the sound of my daughter listening to You Tube videos. She likes to watch videos of toy reviews, craft tutorials, and people playing video games. When I think of my 7 year old girl, going into labor on 6 am on March 14, 2007 seems like a long, long time ago. On the other hand, because the impact of the experience has dissipated very little, it seems like it was just a month or two in the past.

The super nifty birth class explained that most women start with contractions and then the water will break. Nope. My water broke and then the contractions started. Given that the entire pregnancy was fubar (if you don't know what fubar means click here), I shouldn't have been surprised that delivery wasn't going to go to plan either. I was surprised. Our ruined plan was to stay at home until the contractions were 20 minutes apart, then go to the hospital. Having my water break first meant that we just went straight away to the hospital.

copyright Jan Linda Photography

copyright Jan Linda Photography

Theoretically, I believe that birthing is a natural process and most women are equipped to handle child birth with out significant medical intervention. Had I not had HG, I might have contemplated home birth or some such hippie birthing process. HG removed all birthing options, except delivering in a hospital. We thought that I was strong enough to deliver without a Cesarean section, but that wasn't guaranteed. Many women with HG have to have C-sections, due to being weak and malnourished. I'd had 3 months to regain some strength after the worst of HG, but was by no means strong. I thought I had about 10 hours of natural child birth in me. After that, I was going to be all about medical intervention, theory or not.

Off we went, my boyfriend clad in his Homer Simpson pajamas. I assume I was also wearing pajamas but since they weren't as notable as Homer Simpson, I don't remember! I called my mom on the way to the hospital, because she had to get on a plane and fly from California. I hoped desperately that she would be there in time for the delivery.

My contractions were slow to get going and after about 4 hours, we decided to throw some pitocin into the mix. Then the contractions hit hard. I don't really remember much, except that all the information about handling pain I'd gotten from the super nifty child birth class was total and complete B.S. Total. Complete. Bull. Shit. After about 6 hours of that mess, I had an epidural. Ten hours was truly all that I had in me.

My mom had arrived around the time we decided an epidural was the way to go. I was exhausted and blessedly pain free, so I took a nap. Other family members had arrived and where churning around my room and the waiting room. My dad and 4 younger siblings had driven over from eastern Washington, my boyfriend's parents were there and his sister drove over from a different part of eastern Washington.

I started pushing at 11 p.m. At the beginning of the pushing I vomited for the last time and cried. HG is the gift that just keeps on giving. The remainder of the the time spent pushing involved me saying over and over “I am so done with this. I am so done with this. I am so done with this” as my mom, my boyfriend's mom and my boyfriend surrounded me. I was really, really done with the whole mess and once they told me to push, I was going to push that baby out before the day was done. She was born 22 minutes later.

Aden Elisabeth, born March 14, 2007 at 11:22 pm. 7 pounds, 7 ounces. 21 inches.

Best damn day of my life.

Aden Elisabeth
copyright Jan Linda Photography

Epilogue:

In the end I am truly thankful for my teeth and grateful to my cavities. If not for them, there would have been no nutrition for my baby or for myself. I am also thankful for phenergan and grateful it stopped the vomiting and lessened the nausea. If not for it, I might have died or lost my baby. I am thankful for my boyfriend, now husband, and grateful for his steadfast love. If not for him, I would have been in the hospital. And most of all, I am incredibly thankful that this horrible ordeal resulted in an amazing daughter.

OMFG, I am so happy to be not pregnant

Relief beyond all belief!

Sweet Girl

Good times with Aden

Previous installations of this series:

Part 1
Part 2

Part 3
Part 4

Part 5
Part 6

Reflections on Vomit, Part 5

Heavy weight boxer size: Christmas 2006

Despite my improved mood and ability to eat, the pregnancy continued to be difficult, only in reverse. Once I started consuming a normal amount of calories on a regular basis, my metabolism realized nutrition was available. The immediate response my body made to the calories was to begin gaining weight very rapidly. Lots of weight, 65 pounds. Every fat cell in my body heaved a big sigh of relief and began to dramatically increase in size. If they hadn't been so starved, literally, they probably would have thrown a party! Instead my friendly fat cells had to make do with increasing my girth.

For purposes of comparison: me summer 2005

If you look carefully there is a tattoo on my lower back,
I am proud to say, I didn't gain weight there!
My tattoo is still beautiful!

By the time I reached the final month of my pregnancy, I weighed 185 pounds, as much as a heavy weight boxer. I think that doctors believe 30 pounds of weight gain during pregnancy is “healthy.” I exceeded that, by far. However, I don't remember my doctor ever saying a word about my weight being too much. It wouldn't have mattered what he said, anyhow. My metabolism had it's own ideas about my weight and I certainly wasn't going to restrict calories to limit weight gain at this point.

We were well and truly screwed financially. As a psychologist in private practice, I only earned an income when I saw clients. Because I self-employed, I didn't qualify unemployment or disability income. I also had to pay for business expenses because I still had office space and a contract with the group practice I joined after finishing school. To make matters worse, I had only been working as a licensed psychologist six months when I got pregnant and had massive student loan debt. There was no such thing as an “emergency savings account.” There were “emergency credit cards” instead!

Had I known how severely ill I would be, I could have taken steps to end my contract with the group practice. However, I was expecting a “normal” pregnancy with “normal” morning sickness. I kept expecting that I would be better any time. I didn't get better and by the time I figured that out, ending my contract didn't make much sense. We were racking up significant debt. Living expenses and medical costs went on a credit card. Or, I should probably say, several credit cards. Including the time I took off for maternity leave, we accrued $43,000 in debt. (My daughter was a very expensive project; We got her all paid off about a year ago!)

Because of the mounting debt, I had to return to work as soon as possible. I went back to work in the middle of October 2006. My doctor wouldn't even let me entertain the idea of working more than 15 hours per week, which was only enough to offset some business expenses. So, I spent four or five months lumbering to work three days a week, five clients per day. It felt good to be engaged in the world and doing something other than vomiting. My clients and coworkers were incredibly supportive. Life felt a little bit closer to normal.

I had to be very, very, careful, though. I had to be sure to rest enough, eat at the right time, eat the correct food and take my medication exactly as prescribed. Any deviation from those boundaries and I was immediately nauseated. The nausea acted as a warning sign that vomiting was on it's way. I heeded it's warning so well that there was no vomiting from October 2006 until the day I delivered my daughter.

I still didn't have any warm fuzzy feelings and I didn't feel all that connected to my baby. I had more positive feelings during the last three months than the prior six, but mostly I wanted my body back. While I was relieved that I hadn't lost my life, lost my baby, didn't hate my baby or (mostly) hadn't lost my sanity, I felt like my body had been hijacked. Pregnancy requires that the mother's body be used to facilitate the growth of the fetus, so all women are technically hijacked. However, typical pregnancies compensate for this by releasing happy, feel good hormones. Any happy hormones floating around in my pregnancy were no match for HG. I was simply determined to beat HG.

That was my life until my water broke around 6 am, March 14, 2007.

 You can read:
Part 1

Part 2

Part 3
Part 4

Part 5

Part 6  of this pregnancy saga!

 

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

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

Reflections on Vomit, Part 2

The only day of vacation I wasn't sick

In my case the nausea started at about week five or six, the middle of July 2006. We went on vacation around week seven. We cut our vacation short because I was nauseated and couldn't get out of bed. I attempted to go to work around week 8 when our vacation was over. I made it through one day and was vomiting so much I couldn't drive myself home. I pulled over in a parking lot about two blocks from the office and had a friend come get me. That was the last thing I did until October of that year. My life became nothing but nausea and vomiting. I lost over seven percent of my body weight in less than two months. I thought I might lose my baby. I thought I might die.

I vomited so much and so violently I blew out the blood vessels in my eyes. I vomited so forcefully my bowels and bladder emptied without my consent. I vomited so frequently I lost track of how many times I vomited when I reached 20 in an one hour period. I vomited on the bed and apologized to my boyfriend as I did it because I knew I could do nothing other than vomit. I vomited while showering. I vomited when I ate anything. I vomited when I drank water. The ring of my cell phone caused me to vomit. I vomited in plastic bowls, the toilet, my plate of food. There. Was. Nothing. Other. Than. Vomit.

My boyfriend was my life line. We had been together only a year when I got pregnant. He did the grocery shopping, cleaned the house, took care of the dog, paid the bills, took care of the details of my emergency medical leave from work, held my hair while I threw up, helped me take showers, emptied bowls of puke, went to the store dozens of times a week to try to find something, anything I might hold down, if only for a few minutes, held me when I cried, and cried and cried.

Eventually, when I was on medication and could have some time without nausea, I joined an on-line support group for women with HG. Many of these women were abandoned by their significant others, often emotionally and sometimes even literally. Husbands and boyfriends just couldn't cope and they checked out mentally, started an affair or moved out completely. I cannot even fathom surviving without him. I have very little memory of those first few months of sickness other unending nausea, vomiting and utter desperation. However, I do remember hanging on to the life line that was him.

He felt like he was drowning or stuck on an island of sickness. No one really understood what we were going through and no one had ever heard of HG. He says that I didn't want anyone around, even when I was feeling better. I don't remember that. I do remember my mother-in-law and my friend coming over, bringing flowers and a card from work. I was so out of it, that I would immediately fall asleep after they said something and wake again if they spoke. Later they told me that I just wanted them to leave. I think that was around the time that I started taking medication to combat the sickness.

I had very few options. Many women have their symptoms of HG resolve or at least lessen by the second trimester. My boyfriend and I had decided that I would “tough out” the first trimester and hope that I was one of those women. We figured that my body could survive malnutrition and dehydration for a couple months. I was not one of those women. My nausea and vomiting continued unabated. I would attempt to hold down chicken noodle soup or Vitamin Water long enough to for some nutrition to absorb but essentially, I threw up everything.

How I spent most of July, August & September 2006, if I wasn't vomiting

 To be continued, again!

Part 1

Part 3
Part 4

Part 5
Part 6

Reflections on Vomit, Part 1

Last winter I sat in the dentist's chair with my mouth propped open. The sounds of the drill and the music from my MP3 player mingled in my doped up brain. I listened to one song in a continuous loop for 30 or 40 minutes before I realized it was the same song. Bits and pieces of the conversation above my head floated through as I contemplated the events in my mouth. “Preparing” a tooth for a “crown” involves more than a pep talk. The smell of my tooth being methodically drilled away was acrid and pungent. Luckily, three Ativan neutralized the anxiety portion of my brain, so I could consider my fate placidly.

The recovery was misery and once I healed from the first four hour procedure, I still had three more procedures left to do. It hadn't been all that long ago that I had sat with the dentist and reviewed the results of the x-rays. The results were impressive, and not in a “you are going to have all your teeth when you are 84 years old” sort of way. I had 17 cavities and was in need of at least one crown with the possibility of a root canal. He was shocked that I didn't have any pain. I told my mom and she nearly cried over the loss of my healthy teeth. I nearly cried considering that I was looking at $3000 of dental work.

Seventeen cavities makes it seem as if I have very poor hygiene or smoke cigarettes or drink too much pop or something. Something very, very wrong has to happen to get 17 cavities in 6 years.

 Friday, March 14, 2014 marks seven years out of that something very, very wrong. Seven years of out of my tour of duty. Seven years past the battle of my life. It is seven years being past Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG). HG is a severe illness that strikes less than 1% of pregnant women. According to the Hyperemesis Education and Research Foundation, HG “is a severe form of nausea and vomiting in pregnancy. It is generally described as unrelenting, excessive pregnancy-related nausea and/or vomiting that prevents adequate intake of food and fluids. If severe and/or inadequately treated, it is typically associated with: loss of greater than 5% of pre-pregnancy body weight (usually over 10%), dehydration and production of ketones, nutritional deficiencies, metabolic imbalances and difficulty with daily activities.” It usually resolves by the second trimester but often lasts the entire nine months.

I think I am ready to write about it. I wrote about it while I was pregnant and then I stopped. After my daughter was born, I didn't want to speak of it, write it, think of it, remember it, know about it. I wanted to have my baby in my arms, drink water, eat what ever I wanted and never, ever vomit again. My little girl is turning seven this week. She is a beautiful, glorious girl. She is smart, sweet, athletic and the spitting image of her dad. We are having a celebration with our friends and her family. She is super excited because she is having a pool party and her best friend will be there. She doesn't understand how much of a celebration this really is.

Not only is this a celebration of her seven years of life, it is a celebration of living through the war that was my pregnancy. It is not just a celebration of creating life, it is a celebration of not dying and not losing my baby. It was a war against my body as it turned against me. Shockingly, horrifically turned against me. Any joy and excitement stripped, replaced with fear, nausea, vomiting, helplessness, grief. It was daily battle to survive and grow a baby. This battle cost me 9 months of my life, $43,000 in debt, my teeth, the ability to eat entire categories of food, future children and a whole host of other things that I probably don't even notice because it has been etched into my self and is no longer identifiable.

My pregnancy seemed normal enough at the beginning. I peed on the stick of home pregnancy test and a plus sign showed up in the “indicator window.” We weren't trying for a baby and I hadn't really expected to see a plus sign. I had been confident in my math skills when figuring out if I needed to use birth control one particular afternoon five weeks previously. Here's a tip, never do math during foreplay, especially if you are bad at math! My husband, who was my boyfriend at the time, went into a daze and repeated several times “What do we do now?” He also tripped and cut his foot open on the baby gate we used to corral our dog. We were pretty stunned, but my biological clock had been screaming for the last year, so it was a happy event to see the unexpected plus sign.

To be continued...

Part 2

Part 3
Part 4

Part 5
Part 6

Hyperemesis Awareness Day 2013

I wrote this while pregnant and suffering from Hyperemesis Gravidarum. It was written August 29, 2006

I have met the devil...

and his name is Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG). If it is not truely the devil himself, then it is a least one of the devil's spawn. What is this hideous monster you ask? Well, I am here to tell you! Here is an "official" definition:HG is a debilitating and potentially life-threatening pregnancy disease marked by rapid weight loss, malnutrition, and dehydration due to unrelenting nausea and/or vomiting with potential adverse consequences for the newborn(s).

However, this really does not seem to do it justice. A survior's definition is as follows:

Although approximately 80 percent of pregnant women experience morning sickness, hyperemesis gravidarum, the evil sister of morning sickness, strikes only one percent of all pregnancies. It is a rare and dangerous complication characterized by relentless vomiting (usually upwards of ten times daily) and severe, constant nausea. If not treated effectively, dehydration and malnutrition can threaten the well-being of both mother and unborn baby.

This seems more like it but still the words don't really do it justice. I don't have a concise definition of this pregnancy complication, I am too busy coping to codify. Nonetheless, I still have some things I'd like to say about it. It is like have the flu with motion sickness with some elements of a migraine. I call it mutant morning sickness. This disease doesn't just harm my ability to eat and drink, it wreaks havok on all my bodily systems. Not only that, the ways in which is screws with my ability to eat and drink don't follow a pattern or seem to have any rules. My symptoms/bodily experiences:
-Cannot drink water at all
-Cannot shower or bathe without getting sick
-Severe motion sickness (I can't even walk to the bathroom without getting sick)
-Hypersensivity to light and sounds (I had to change the ring on my cell phone because the sound of it made me want to vomit)
-Dehydration (although I am doing better with this since I discovered Vitamin Water, a health-type drink and popcicles)
-Frequent nausea
-Frequent vomiting (I went 19 days without vomitting, then I relapsed last week and seem to be getting worse again the last couple of days)
-Occasionally, I blow out blood vessels around my eyes because of the force of the vomitting
-I also occasionally loose control of my bladder while vomitting, which is not all that uncommon among women with this disease, much to my relief.
-Random food cravings and food aversions. For a while, all I could eat was chicken and rice soup, not the thought of chicken and rice soup makes me sick. I used to eat healthy but now the only things I can stomach are high statch and high grease.

I have never felt more physically miserable in my life. The sad thing is that I am not as sick as many other women with this illness. It could be worse! There are at least some foods I can eat, unlike some women who have no choice but to get food through IV's. Being bed ridden, no matter what the reason is completely demoralizing, so I have to contend with my depression, as well. Although, emotionally, I have felt worse and I am trying really hard not have this labeled the most emotionally miserable time of my life. My "bad" days consist of crying and vomitting. My "good" days consist of crying, reading and surfing the internet. My "excellent" days I am able to check in with a client or do some paperwork (which seems to be ever present, even when I am not seeing clients). Aside from being stuck at home, I am sad that I am not able to enjoy being pregnant. I know that even "normal" pregnancies are uncomfortable but "normal" pregnant women haven't had the joy stolen from them. My pregnancy makes me sick and if I weren't on medication, it could make me deathly ill. That doesn't create a lot of warm fuzzy feelings. Some women with HG get angry at their unborn child, I am not, I am angry at my body. For some reason, my body reacts to pregnancy similar to how it would react to being poisoned. So, I pretty much feel that I am getting ripped off. I am also getting ripped off because I will not have any other children than this one I am carrying. I may adopt but the option to have additional biological children has been taken from me because being pregnant is basically dangerous for me. The conventional wisdom is that every pregnancy is different, so I should be safe to try again. That is not true. The odds of me having a pregnancy just like this one, if not worse is 70%. And that my friends, is not gambling odds as far as I am concerned. Some women choose to get pregnant knowing that they will have HG and decide it is worth it. I am not going to do this again. I realize that my child isn't born yet and actually having my child will change the way in which I view my suffering. Even so, I am not going to do this again. We have one shot and it better go well because I will not be pregnant again. All my eggs are in this basket and we are out of luck if we drop the basket. If Hugh and I want more children we will either adopt or find a surrogate for the pregnancy. Finding peace of mind is very difficult right now and knowing I am only going to do this once brings me a sliver of peace. For now, I focus on one day at a time and try to quell my anxiety about no income. A lot women improve in their 2nd trimester to the point of being able to have a "normal" life again. I am hoping and praying that is the case for me. The sooner the devil stops dancing in my innards, the better!