Friday, February 27, 2004
I didn't puke day before yesterday but couldn't really eat. Yesterday I puked my head off and the runs just got runnier. Today I haven't puked yet but the runnier runs are worse than ever with a new pastel makeover just in time for spring.
I was only able to take in three cups of fluid yesterday, but so far I have had nearly four and a half today. If I can't get down all six I am going to triage for IVs. Every time I take a sip my stomach starts grumbling, and I have to run to the toilet. Lovely. I hope Elise is oblivious to all this. I'm sure she's hungry as I have absolutely no nutritional stores after all those months of severe HG. She's still beating me senseless, so I suppose all is well. This morning she nearly kicked me out of bed, but after waking up fully I realized she had the hiccups and must have had them for quite some time, because she was already thoroughly, violently annoyed. I can always tell, because she starts playing my guts like a harp.
Yesterday I went in for the gestational diabetes test. I drank the orange soda and kept it down! Went to see Dr. Keanu after that. He has a pockmark right in the middle of his forehead just like I do. We are twins separated at birth.
Because of the incompetent cervix my husband will usually enter the waiting room before me and ask one of the normal patients if they mind giving up their seat on the couch so that his sick wife with the incompetent cervix may come in to lie down and wait so as not to endanger the baby. No one has ever declined to offer their compassion or their place on the couch. Today was the same. However, Dr. Keanu asked us if we would start coming on Fridays at a certain time when there were hardly any patients so that I could have clear access to the couch and more time for my appointments. He also mentioned that the reason he asked was because the nice, very healthy lady, who so graciously donated her seat, complained her head off.
It's disappointing to learn that there are people in the world who care more about their big fat comfortable arse than they care about the safety of your child or comforting you when you are in misery and they are not. The woman saw me when I came in and got on the couch; I looked like crap from all this vomiting, diarrhea and bed rest. She looked rosy cheeked and happy and when I asked, my doctor's countenance confirmed that she was indeed a healthy patient. Then I got kind of annoyed at him for even mentioning it. Like I haven't been through enough! I thought that perhaps it might have been more reasonable (and compassionate) of him to simply say, "Hey, can you come on Fridays from now on? Friday is a good day for me, and you'll have more time and access to the couch." Instead I was told I was a pain in someone's rear and was asked to alter my life to make part of a healthy person's pregnancy more pleasant!
I said, "Look, we asked if she would donate her seat, she willingly did so, and now she is mad at us? If she didn't want to give up her seat for a sick person then she should have just said 'Heck no, you can't have my seat!'" I then told Dr. Keanu that he had done his business of asking but the answer was no; I would not change my schedule to accommodate other people who get mad about their own, feigned compassion. My husband abruptly interrupted my “furthermore” saying we would come on Fridays. Keanu looked relieved, and I gave up arguing at that point. It was not a hill I wanted to die on.
On the way out, two nurses and a receptionist were very rude to us. We ignored the nurses, but by the time we got to the receptionist my husband had had it. She wanted to know how much our co-pay was because she doesn't ever seem to know what she is supposed to charge patients. My husband told her we didn't have a co-pay at which point she started to argue with him that surely we had a co-pay, which we don't and we know we don't from talking with our insurance, something she obviously has not bothered to do. She wanted us to pay the co-pay and then work any refund out with our insurance. She has been doing this for a while and we have nearly a hundred dollars coming to us that, months later, we still don't have, so my husband said that he was not going to continue to pay and that she needed to do her job because he was sick of doing it for her. He told her that he was totally stressed out with a sick wife and a child to take care of and that he was not going to take care of her job too! On his behalf, she had been very nasty to him and has been this way since day one. He just had a Popeye moment where he'd had “all I can stands and can’t stands no more!” It was kind of a rough day, and the second we got home I started puking my guts up.
I didn't really gain any measurement to speak of but I didn't lose any measurement, and I thought surely I did after all the up and down of vomiting and diarrhea. They're going to stop checking measurements at 32 weeks. Dr. Keanu measured my belly with a tape for the first time, and he said it was right on target.
I felt so bad yesterday I couldn't even get on the computer. You know I feel bad when I don't sign on for a good measure of public whining!
Last week I was boohooing about wanting to get out of bed. You’ll be glad to know that I have been put back in my place and will be very happy just to be able to eat again. This pregnancy is a constant humbling. I can only imagine, daydream about the day, so far from now, when I will "belong to myself" again and be able to eat without any concern that I might not be able to hold it down. I do remember a day a long time ago when that was possible, when I ate without even thinking. Those were good days physically speaking!
That's about all I have to tell except for the neat thing that happened the other day. Elise was being rambunctious, and I heard her little bone pop through my tummy. You know, like when you get up and your leg pops? That's what she did. She was moving around, and I heard this little muffled pop. Very cute.
In a few days we will go and get our 4D sonogram. Perhaps I should reschedule it for Friday so as not to bother any healthy people with my suffering. Hello, can you say Leo DiCaprio’s character in "The Beach"?! UGH!)
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Had some anxiety last night. Here in the dark unable to go to sleep. I got restless. Tried to stifle the anxiety by turning on the TV. It was after 1 A.M. and Twilight Zone was on. It was the one with the piano that played music that would expose the true feelings of the listener. It was "eh" as far as Twilight Zones go. I fell asleep at some point, thank God.
Tomorrow I go to see Dr. Keanu and also to a lab to get a diabetes test. You know, the one where you drink the orange soda? I remember really liking the stuff last time, but this time I think I will be too sick to like it and may even puke it up. But I will try not to do that whole Pygmalion thing and predispose myself to such a happening.
I don't mean to complain, but IS THIS PREGNANCY OVER YET?!?
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
I am sick. I caught the puke flu—again. I am so sick of being sick. Puking and can't eat. Gee, I haven't had enough of that.
I am kind of despairing.
Elise seems to be OK. Thanks for your prayers.
Friday, February 20, 2004
57 more days in bed. I am trying to tell myself that 57 days aren't much. "I can do this," I half-lie. Ugh. 57 days. I think I'd be dealing with it a little better if I felt totally healthy.
I still suffer from constant nausea. Yesterday I almost threw up. I got to the toilet and knew it was coming. "Oh please, please, don't let me puke, God!" My stomach rolled. Gurgle, gurgle. But I didn't throw up. At the last second it stifled itself. That is the closest I've come to throwing up from pregnancy nausea since the hospital. I have to eat constantly or I get sick. By dinner I am just ill. Sometimes I think I'll never be able to get it down, but down it somehow goes and then things get a little better. Is this how it is for normal pregnant ladies in that hackneyed "first trimester?" Is this what "morning sickness" is? I wouldn't know. I've never had it. Ugh. Gripe, gripe, gripe.
In addition to being in bed, being sore from being in bed, having bad digestion from being in bed, being nauseous (exacerbated by being in bed), I have had the nastiest taste in my mouth since the dawn of this pregnancy. It tastes like caustic metal. Caustic, mediciney metal. Yum. Will it ever go away? It's not what caused my ptyalism (inability to swallow spit without throwing up and needing to constantly spit in a cup), but it didn't help and it still sucks eggs.
Ptyalism. Ugh. It got so bad at one point that I had to sleep with a washcloth in my mouth. At one point I had a tube in each arm, a tube in my leg, a vomit basin by my head and a washcloth in my mouth soaking with viscid saliva all night long. That's how I slept! With alarms going off three times a night. BEEP! BEEP! My bag is empty! I need a new bag! Back to sleep for an hour. BEEP! BEEP! My Zofran is empty! I need a new syringe! Back to sleep for an hour. BEEP! BEEP! My CADD pump battery is dying! I need a new battery! Help, God, HELP! Barf, barf! I am literally getting teary-eyed remembering it. How did I ever get through that? How? It is a miracle. I was there: I know.
Am I going to need serious therapy to deal with having been through this illness this time? It is not as upsetting as "not" getting through a hyperemetic pregnancy, but this little pink passenger has taken me on a different trip! A long, lingering, traumatic trip. It really kind of freaks me out to look back at where I've been. I'm surprised, because in spite of the fact that no one died I'm still incredibly shell-shocked. What a fight! I am so tired of fighting.
When this is over, will I know what to do with myself? Will I know how to live again? I don't remember what it feels like to not be nauseous. I really don't. Will I know how to interact with people? Will I know how to go to the grocery store or drive down the street feeling safe, warm and happy? I just feel scared now. Scared of what hell life has to offer, what hell is lurking in the shadows. Illness-related post traumatic stress disorder, here I come.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
"God always saves the best wine until last, but Satan starts with his best and then leads the sinner into suffering and perhaps even death."
I have found this to be so true, particularly in this pregnancy. The worst was first. I had horrible times to go through. I could reject those times and curse everyone around me or I could submit to those times and be a blessing. I could learn nothing and live in deeper sorrow or I could suffer like a dog for a while and then gain character, understanding, perspective, fullness, love, a deeper, more real relationship with God, etc.
Evil says, "Here, here is your solution! The best thing for you right here, right now at this moment! Come, take advantage of this beautiful cure! Why should you suffer? Why should anyone suffer? You can be free! Why wait? Freedom now!"
But oh the deception! The shine on that apple is poison.
God will allow you to suffer, to work your butt off to survive. It will prove you, it will build character in you, it will be anything but easy. But it is for your own good and the good of those around you if you submit and find the sense in your terrible suffering. If you refuse and resist, if you choose the best evil has to offer, you damn yourself to abominable consequences.
It seems so glaringly obvious. It's a quiet, simple truth. It is pure and real and something to hang onto in a lost world full of so much suffering.
Whatever we see, whatever hell we go through, press on. Get your hands dirty, cover them with blisters of faith! God is saving the best for last. Count on it!
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Poopy-doopy is very active lately. Squirmin' roun', squirmin' roun'. It's so great to feel her, but she makes me seasick! Her brother is sick, sick, sick. Diarrhea and not much eating. My husband's hands are cracked and bleeding from washing his hands so often. He's being so careful trying not to spread this stuff to me. Oh honeychile, that's all I need.
I'm going to write a song for you now because I am bored.
Ode to Heartburn and Gas
Heartburn and gas,
heartburn and gas.
Heartburn and gas!
Give me some meds:
cherry flavored pills,
a bottle of Tums
to cure all my ills.
Heartburn and gas!
I shunna et that Reuben on rye:
corned beef and sour kraut—
I’m a'gonna die!
I’m not gonna make it!
I’m not gonna last
because of this heartburn,
this heartburn and gas!
Heartburn and gas,
heartburn and gas!
Feel me, feel my pain;
take me a bath
and wash it down the drain!
Give me more fiber
so I don't have to strain!
Make it so easy
for me to pass
& get through this heartburn,
this heartburn and gas!
Lawsy, oh lawsy!
heartburn and gas!
Someone set that to music. Feel free to add a nice flatulent denouement, package it up, and send it to me. I'll give you a cookie, but you won't want to eat it, because I'll touch it for sure, without washing my hands.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
I am a huge, huge cow. Elise weighs around 2 pounds, but you would think I was 20 months pregnant. With 14 more weeks to go I simply cannot fathom how I could possibly get any bigger. I am massive. My face is fat, my body is completely distorted, and I am absolutely gorgeous! I am never so beautiful as when I am carrying a tiny li'l tummy traveler. I can not believe I have made it this far.
This is the second day of my 27th week. I.e., I'm only 26 weeks. Ugh. Next week will begin the third trimester for us, the last third of a Technicolor nightmare. The days stretch themselves out before me; I can hardly stand it. I love my daughter, I love the way I look with her body in mine, but my God in Heaven, this can’t be over soon enough.
Monday, yesterday, lasted two weeks. How could it be such a long day? How can I complain now? I've been in worse places physically. Vomiting every eight minutes for an entire day—that was a bad, long day. Lying in a bed for the 21st week, just lying here, not puking or soiling myself and even having the ability to eat—well, I should feel home free. But I don't. I want out of this confounded bed.
I feel sorry for myself and then remember why I am in this bed. I am in this bed because I aborted my first child in the second trimester, due to HG and the lack of good medical support, and this permanently damaged my cervix. Two of us walked into that clinic, and I, with my obliterated cervix, was the lucky one: I walked out.
My child lost his/her life and I got off with a booboo on my cervix. I saw the jar they stuffed him/her in, yet here I am feeling sorry for myself. I am in this bed with my guts rolling back into my throat and my digestive system unable to function properly. Whatever your position on the issue, this is the consequence of aborting my baby seven years ago. There it is.
Nine more weeks in bed. Nine more weeks and then I can get up. That's all I want now. Just to get up, walk around, clean the house, do the dishes, cook dinner and be my son's mommy. Nine weeks. Over 60 days. 60 days?! 60 more days like this?!? Sigh...
It could be worse. Obviously.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Saw Dr. Keanu today and the cervix measured in at 3.4 cm! Dr. Keanu said, "Sheesh, how long can a human cervix get?" He said that what is happening to the measurement is "unusual.” Hey, you can’t put God in a box. Keep praying, people!
I start steroid injections tomorrow night. This is going to be a pain in the butt. Literally. We drive 30 minutes to the hospital to get the shot at 10 and have to be there by 10 the next morning for another shot. Then we have to be there at 10 at night for another shot and again for another shot at 10 on Sunday morning. Shots, shots, shots. You wish you could have them, but they are all mine! 2bad4U.
Dr. Keanu said that in addition to maturing Elise's lungs, the shots may also help me eat a little better for a few days.
Going to be up a lot with all these shots. And a glucose test soon. And another Dr.'s appointment in two weeks plus another doctor's appointment three days later for the 4D sonogram. The nurse tried to get me to schedule it for later because she said I'd get better pictures. I told her I wanted it at 28 weeks and she just shook her head.
Everyone (except Dr. Keanu) was really grumpy today at the office. I actually got into a nice little argument with one of the nurses. They are all so disgusted by my huffing and puffing when I walk, because they have no clue what it's like to be on strict bed rest. I lost lots of muscle tone and energy. I take a bath, and I'm so tired I have to sleep for the following 10 hours. They don't get it. They think I'm just trying to get attention. If I wanted to get attention, I would do it in such a way as to elicit positive attention, hello. What I'd like more than anything would be to get no attention. I'd like to be a normal, average preggo, but I don't get to. Ever. So let’s all just deal with it, shall we? I hate to tell them, but the huffing and puffing is just going to get worse as time goes on. I guess they can just sit and stew with their crummy, negative, incorrect assumptions. What a blessing their attitudes will be to them and their sick patients. Bleah.
I ate French fries and a hamburger on the way home. A hamburger with onions no less. Raw onions! I have a feeling I'm going to pay.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Nothing to tell today. Just another day. I guess I'll rattle a little bit so you don't forget about me.
The little girl is doing well. She tumbles around making womb mischief all the live-long day. She got the hiccups seven different times on Monday. Somewhere before the hundredth hiccup she decided she had had enough. She tried to kick them away. Already a no-nonsense girl.
I have started back on milk products just three days ago. This was a first after the lovely puke/squirt flu. I've been trying to drink strawberry milk, and my stomach just rolls. I wonder what impression this makes on a little girl who can hear every gurgle. Monsters in the closet? She doesn't know the half of it.
The last couple to be due before me just had their baby. It's my turn next. I've got such a long way to go.
Nine and one-half weeks until I can get out of bed and I am counting the days. Who am I kidding? I am counting the MOMENTS!
When I got preggo we bought a new bed. It's an adjustable bed kind of like a hospital bed. I got it in a king and spent over $2,000 thinking it would serve me well during the pregnancy and then just be a luxury afterwards. Now I hate this confounded bed so much! This is the sick bed. I have lived and died in this damnable contraption and all I want is out! This is my prison! I want to burn it! I am going to sell it as soon as Elise is born.
Ugh, I am, as usual, sick to my stomach. On the verge of puking but never quite there anymore. And of course, Elise has the hiccups.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Let's talk about disappointment, shall we? First, I would like all to know that yes, I did wait until noon, only just, to dine on the "rine," oh yes, I did. And after such a delightful appetizer I opened my Spongebob Squarepants sandwich keeper salivating for what I knew would be a delicious Boar's Head ham and dill havarti sammich on pumpernickel/sourdough swirl bread. Much to my utter dismay, staring back at me was a Boar's Head ham and dill havarti cheese sammy on CINNAMON RAISIN swirl bread.
Let me say it again:
ham, cheese, mustard and mayo on sweet cinnamon/raisin bread.
Mustard and dill on cinnamon toast with raisins.
I called my husband to berate him. That's right, the guy can't catch a break for trying. But seriously, really, what was he thinking? He was sorry, so, so sorry, but I was now without lunch! Sorry will not produce a sammy on the proper bread! "Eat your yogurt," he advised. "Fine," I said succinctly and hung up.
I slid the yogurt out of the cooler and read the label: Strawberry yogurt. A printed banner around the tub said something like: "Now with room for mixing in your own fun flavors!" In other words, the 8-ounce cup now only contains 6 ounces of yogurt. Less yogurt, same price. How novel. Ah well. I opened the top and then reached for my spoon. My spoon. Where is my spoon?
"Where is my spoon?" I asked my husband in yet another phone call to his office. "D'oh!" he replied.
He asked me to help him remember such things. I asked him if he needed me to remind him to wipe his butt after a good healthy poop, a healthy poop that I myself would not be having since I had no lunch!
Everyone wants to be married to me now. Alas, my husband has won me, so be content with the bitter tears of your sorrow and flog yourself pink every now and again as a gentle reminder of what life could have been had you been lucky enough to end up with me.
Monday, February 09, 2004
I am 25 weeks. This is officially the first day of the 26th week! I go to Dr. Keanu on Thursday, and I will have the option of beginning corticosteroids at that time. Four shots over a 24-hour period. Should I do it? Feel free to weigh in on the decision. Do you know something that I don't? Tell me!
Eating is getting better! To illustrate this I ate half a bag of Baken-ets hot and spicy pork rinds last night and am salivating now as I look at the half-full bag. I may see the glass half-empty, but a bag of pork-rinds is always half full. Mmm, pork rinds!
Look at them just sitting there mocking me. They know I can't eat them until noon. That's my rule. If I wait until noon I can convince myself that I'm not really an addict and that I can control it and quit anytime I want to.
FYI, the proper southern pronunciation for "pork rinds" is "poke-rhines."
Baken-ets. I mention the brand name, because there is no other pork rind worthy of being eaten. Oh, I have sampled many a rind, my friends, but Baken-ets is far superior to any other, and I’m willing to have a fist fight with anyone who doesn't think so.
You know, I could just have one now and then the rest at noon. ARG! No! Even though I could, I mustn't! I am master of the pork rind, not the other way around. The Bible says I must not let the pork rind make me its slave. (Somewhere in 1 Corinthians. Chapter six, I think.) I must resist the pork rind! Only 40 more minutes and then it's hog heaven. Ungh!
What will I do until then? Oh! I know! I'll eat some peanut butter cookies. Coooookies! Peanut butter cookies and pork rinds. Elvis would be proud.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Still hanging in there. No bizarre-o panic attacks in 24 hours. This is good. I am almost 25 weeks! Of course my goal is always to make it through the next hour, but my big next goal is 28 weeks. We make it to 28 weeks, and it's Welch's sparkling grape juice, baby! Speaking of which, I got some this year for New Year's and it had a TWIST OFF CAP! What the heck is that all about? I always remembered it having a plastic pop-off cork. It's not mock champagne if you have to twist off the cap. Might as well drink it out of a paper sack.
Bath day today! I always know when it's bath day because the buzzards start circling.
Anyhoo, I'm going to go watch cartoons with Li'l Buddy. Spongebob is on. Hmmm, I wonder if Courage the Cowardly Dog is on today. Rats! I think I've already missed Mystery Science Theatre 3000! I need a TV guide. Television has become my life. Pathetic.
Friday, February 06, 2004
I don't know what is going on with me, because I am just getting better with this cold/flu thing, yet still I had another bizarre "panic attack" last night. My heart was beating a million miles a minute and I couldn't tell if that was causing the weird anxiety or if the weird anxiety was causing the racing heartbeat. Whatever it is, it SUCKS. It can have a tendency to happen right when I'm falling asleep. Does anyone know of any medical condition that would cause such symptoms? Or is it sheer lunacy?
I am currently getting kicked in the cervix. Do you even know what this feels like? Stay away from the trap door, baby!
It is storming here. I have been obsessively watching TV to determine what Friday's weather will be. If it is as bad as this I don't let my little boy go over to his grandparents, because I just know they will get into a car accident and die on the way there. Gee, my behavior isn't weird is it? I don't take chances anymore. I have learned that yes, it can happen to me—and usually does!
A pal called last night and said she delivered her baby in her midwife’s new Durango on the way to the birthing center. She is one of these extraordinary people who can have natural pregnancies and births. She actually has the option of the hippie home birth and has done it a gazillion times. Freaks like me are required to be hooked up to meds and things in a hospital setting during birth in case anything goes wrong at the culmination of a high risk pregnancy.
My hippy pal said she had labored for hours and the baby just wasn't coming out. Finally, she asked to be taken to the hospital for drugs and a c-section. If you knew this uber hippy woman your eyes would have just popped out. She explained, "Well, I was suffering too much not to see any results after several hours. I just wanted them to cut that baby out of me!"
Cut the baby out?
I told her I knew how she felt.
Her midwife implored her to go to the birth center and try, so she got out of the kiddie pool in her living room and got into the midwife's new Durango. Two miles down the road the baby's head popped out. Oopsie! The value on the Durango immediately dropped. They pulled over and the midwife finished the job.
Congrats, Mama and Baby Durango!
I know a couple more people who get to have their babies in the next few months. And then it's my turn!
Thursday, February 05, 2004
I'm feeling somewhat better. I'm still sick but no throwing up and no more Hershey squirts. Man, I haven't said "Hershey squirts" since high school. Perhaps there's a reason why.
Anyway, I ate dinner last night. It was the first meal I've had since getting sick. It's still hard to eat, so I try to watch TV during meals; it helps me to ignore the food.
I eat at around 7 P.M. when That ‘70s Show comes on. Not the best viewing choice, but it takes my mind off of serious things. "Eric's" real name is Topher, which is the coolest name in history. It's like his parents couldn't decide whether to name him Tofu or Gopher. You have to love it.
I thought, for a millisecond, about naming my daughter Dixie or Cricket, but I couldn't decide between the two, and "Dicket" didn't sound too cool.
Monday, February 02, 2004
It’s 3:30 A.M. I've been up since two with a stuffed nose and sore throat courtesy my five-year-old. I'm thinking strep. I'll make hubby miss work to take me for a culture.
I love Elise. I really, really love Elise, but my body will be eternally grateful when this pregnancy is over. Some women are well-oiled baby making machines, and some women (like me) were not built for that action. In a bygone world I would have already died in pregnancy. I'm not naturally meant to have children, but I snuck and did it anyway.
Boy, I just did not need this little ailment on top of everything else. Eating has gotten so hard again. I guess it's being sick that's doing it. Can't wait for more fever blisters. I always get them after any kind of infection.
What am I going to do for the rest of the morning? I am not tired, and I am sick of the Internet and TV. I have been reading this book called Lime Five, but I don't feel like picking that up right now. When I’m a well person I can only read small portions of it; it's way too heavy for sick reading. I know, I know, you're thinking: "How can you be reading a book like that when you're pregnant?!" Everyone ought to read it when they're pregnant. Maybe they’d be more sympathetic to the plight of those involved. As it is everyone thinks we sick preggies are the very ones for whom abortion was invented. Well guess what. That’s not good enough. We don’t want abortion, we want help. Please don’t give up on us.
Elise has been jogging on her treadmill. It seems like she has finally settled in for a nap. A little girl—wow! What's that all about? I can't wait!
It's 8:30 A.M.
I have vomited a couple of times and have lots of diarrhea. I started having panic attacks right around the time I started vomiting. I don't get panic attacks in normal life. They're really hard for me to understand. I can't deny that they exist, because I'm having them. My husband says it's because the vomiting is triggering feelings that relate to the HG. I don't know what it is, but I hate it. It's such a bad feeling. I know that the vomiting and constant trips to the real toilet (a luxury) are putting pressure on the cervix. I can feel it. So I realize I am worried for Elise. But I've been so worried for her before and not had panic attacks. How is this all going to end?
Today is the first day of my 25th week. In other words, I'm only 24 weeks. It's the point of "viability," and that is a good thing, however I have a friend whose baby was born at 25 weeks three months ago, and he is still in the NICU with severe lung disease and lots of other problems. It's not that I fear the burden of a disabled child, I just don't want Elise to have to go through all of that. Also, even though 24 weeks is the point of "viability," the odds aren't fantastic. She could still die. The point is, she does not need to be born right now, and all of this puking and diarrhea is not helping her and is freaking me out.
Oh dear God, please help me.
Please pray for us. Please!