Thursday, September 25, 2003
Whoa, Nelly! How much longer until the puking begins? I thought for sure I'd be gone by yesterday, but I held it together and even managed to eat dinner. I waded through the day on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and three milkshakes. By dinner I wanted Chinese. Stinky, smelly, greasy Chinese. Eat it while you can. I wasn't sure about this meal choice, but it went down and stayed down, and I felt like a new person. It was hard to keep from crying all through dinner, because I was so utterly grateful. I'm teary-eyed just remembering it.
This morning I woke up throbbing with nausea. Quick, get something in me. Make it stop. I choked down a quarter of a peanut butter and jelly sammy. I'm already dead-sick of that, but it's all I can stand right now. Smells are bothering me. Don't cook it whatever it is. Bread toasting in the oven? Don't make me hurl.
I've been amazed that eating quells anything. I don't remember it ever doing so before. It could have been so, in previous pregnancies, in the early weeks leading up to HG, but perhaps I've forgotten. Or perhaps it's different this time. It feels like things are progressing.
I just ate something an hour ago, and it didn't do much of anything to help. I had a drink with it, and you're not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to wait an hour after solids. I was thirsty. I want to drink while I still have the pleasure of experiencing thirst, before the notion of drinking turns into an unthinkable horror. In former pregnancies I got so dehydrated that my lips cracked and bled, but just the suggestion of consuming fluid sent me to the toilet puking.
Soon, by week six I think, I'll begin unraveling. Already the hopelessness is seeping in, the "I don't want to do this! What an insane, idiotic idea this was!" I can’t be feeling this defeated so early in the game; my symptoms are trivial compared to what they could become!
If I think of the days ahead, the weeks ahead, 16 more of them (because I usually resolve by 20 weeks), and take them all in one lump sum, I realize I have about 112 days left. That’s 2,688 more hours of existing this way and worse. I can feel an acid scream rising in my throat. I can feel the fear. The desperation sets in. But somehow, God is here.
I am not alone.
