One of the silliest things I have done while being pregnant is up sticks and move house. Not just down the road but to a new county, two hours from my previous hospital. Clever move. Not.
If any of you are thinking about doing this, I’d suggest you don’t, but if it can’t be avoided, I recommend you draft in anyone you can to help!
With my various ‘ailments’ I was told to register at my new doctor’s surgery asap. Following this instruction I trundled off to do so, only to be told by a lovely receptionist that I needed further ID. Fair enough, home again. When I returned the lovely receptionist had been replaced by a demon woman. This lady made me feel two inches tall nd like I was being pushy in asking to be registered quickly. I explained my situation, but no.
Cut forward a few days and I’m concerned to have not heard from the midwife yet so I phone. Return of the lovely receptionist who says that I should have been given forms to complete – I wasn’t – so time to shuffle back in.
This is when my luck changed. As I was completing the forms, in walks the midwife who spots my maternity folder and heads over for a chat. What a nice lady! She introduced herself and then made an immediate ‘out of clinic’ appointment to book me in.
That brings me up-to-now. This morning I spent 90 minutes chatting to the midwife and a trainee midwife. They put me completely at ease and even had me laughing a bit – a rare thing at the moment. I was also slightly relieved to hear the words Hyperemesis Gravidarum used for the first time. I’d been wondering and people had asked but I don’t like to diagnose myself without professional input. Now it’s out there – Kate Middleton Disease (as I’m calling it) – I don’t have to pretend any more or feel like I’m over-hamming how sick I feel.
So, in conclusion, I’m feeling positive about my new midwife and care team. I have a lot of appointments ahead of me – I need to see the cardiologist and anaesthetist to make some plans – but things are moving forward now. I feel looked after which, in a time when I’m living a slightly lonely life, is so necessary.
At 5 weeks I found I was pregnant….actually quite by chance (but that’s another story). Then at 7 weeks I went on holiday. By that time I’d read lots of ‘what to expect’ blogs and websites and knew that morning sickness was due to hit any time.
But it didn’t.
So there I am, in France, convinced something was wrong because I felt so good! I was full of energy, I didn’t have a hint of nausea and my boobs weren’t even sore. Surely I couldn’t be pregnant? Maybe the test was reading the chemical signals of an early miscarriage I didn’t even know about? In my brain that week it seemed highly plausible. I was so upset to not be unwell….
Me enjoying a virgin mojito
“If I could have just a day or sickness at least I’d know everything was ok!” I cried at my lovely husband.
Be careful what you wish for.
Week 8 came, and so too did the worst, most prolonged illness of my life. For the next two months I would avoid seeing anyone – I wouldn’t look in the mirror because what stared back was yellow, gaunt and spotty. I could barely sit up let alone do my job (thankfully I work from home!!). My computer screen made me sick to look at, my mobile too. I lost interest in the world, all I wanted to do was lie on my back, cry and feel sorry for myself.
At its worst I was throwing up physically five times a day and then dry vomiting another four or five. Every smell was disgusting and I became particularly disgusted by two things: the smell of synthetic materials (i.e my couch and mattress) and washing powder. This made my home a dangerous place to be. I couldn’t walk into my bedroom without my sick bucket to hand. I couldn’t go on car journeys without him – I soon christened him Wes, as in ‘W(her)es Bucket, I need him!!’ I learned I couldn’t eat red meat, cheese, chocolate – or sweet things, or onions. Anything that went down I needed to consider how it would taste coming back up, for the same reason I started chewing my food to within an inch of its life before swallowing.
It may sound melodramatic but for nearly 8 weeks I shunned the world. I ignored every family phone call and when it came time to tell people I was pregnant, I didn’t want to. How do you react to the word congratulations when you feel cursed, not blessed? Most people know about my ‘state’ as a result of my husband or word of mouth. I still actually find it hard to vocalise as I continue to feel post-vomiting nausea.
I had to tell my work early, they needed to know that there was a reason for my sub-par work and lack of enthusiasm – and thankfully they’ve been great about it.
As soon as I hit ten weeks I started to count down…at 12 weeks it’s going to stop. No.
At 14 weeks it’s going to stop. No.
Honestly, how do you get people to understand just how terrible you feel? Ending up in hospital with dehydration and malnutrition at that 14 week point was a good start. I woke up that day unable to walk or see in a straight line. Husband insisted on taking me to A&E and I didn’t have the energy to resist. He was right though…and the doctor convinced me to take some medications which, though I only did it for a few days because the side effects were awful, allowed my body enough time to get some nutrients into it. At this stage I re-doubled my efforts to eat green and drink liquids because I know I wasn’t doing a good enough job of it. When you throw up water as soon as it comes near you, you sadly start to avoid it.
Husband’s attempt at getting some greens into me, putting spinach and other bits onto a pizza for me. It stayed down for about an hour…
At 16 weeks it’s going to stop…. No… yes?
The day of week 16 I was so violently ill I had to apologise to my neighbours as the whole street must have heard the noise through the window as I collapsed in my corridor. But since then, 2 and a half days ago, no vomit. Could it finally be over?? I hope so, I really do.
Sure I still feel like I’m going to throw up, and part of me wants to for the relief it can sometimes bring. Another part of me sees light at the end of this now and is hoping that in another week or so I might finally have the energy to go outside, be happy and let others be happy for me.
At this moment I have to thank my incredible husband for getting me through this, holding my hair, rubbing my back and soothing me as I sobbed. My friends for not being disgusted as I had my head down their loos, my mum for coming over for 2 minutes just to give me a hug, and my bucket, Wes. Without Wes, life could have been even messier this year.
*Update – two hours after writing this. Vomit. The next day, diagnosed as Hyperemesis Gravidarum
The Honest Parent 