There is so much weighing on me this time around, more so than the last, it seems. My last pregnancy was far worse than the first, which seems hard to believe.
Today, I was sitting across from my beautiful daughter and was overcome with emotion. I feel so grateful to have such a beautiful, passionate, sensitive, loving child to call my own. I am reminded daily of how lucky I am to have her in my life. Her laughter, her endless hugs, the touch of her hand on my face as she kisses me good morning. She is a gift to me, a precious gift.
She is my child and I, her mother. Yet today, of all days, I am reminded that she is not my only child. There was another who I never met, who I never held in my arms, yet who I still hold in my heart. I grieve for the loss of my child.
The other day out of the blue, my daughter told me that she was sad. She shared with me that she wished that she was a sister and that she missed baby. She asked me if there would ever come a day when we would have another, assuring me that this time, it was okay “if it was a boy or a girl…” I smiled and laughed and then grew sad, knowing that the day may never come. She would be the most amazing sister and I wish I had seen it. What I would give to have seen it.
Baby mine….I love you so. Today, just another reminder of how much.
I found an ultrasound picture of you today. It hasn’t been that long but part of me feels like I shouldn’t still feel so destroyed by it. The fact that you are gone is very real to me, still. The ultrasound was dated just weeks after you came to life. I would have been 6 months pregnant now. I may have been in the ‘better part’ of my illness, perhaps having cravings or taking belly pictures. I would have felt your kick and known if you were a boy or a girl. I feel like you were a girl. I would have named you….
I am so sad, so very sad. I see pregnant women everywhere and I find myself averting my eyes from them or staring so in awe of their ability to be well. I am torn. Torn between immense happiness for this new life inside of them and knowing that it isn’t something that’s possible for me any longer. Life can be cruel.
I think of all of the people who have children and don’t want them and of all the children who are abused by parents who shouldn’t be; those sitting in foster care waiting for a loving family. I think of them all. I am beside myself in knowing that I would do it all again, if only I had the strength to. There, i said it. I would do it again. Even knowing that I wouldn’t be able to eat or drink for weeks at a time, that hospital stays and medications will take over my life, feel unbearable pain; that the minutes will crawl and I will wish upon death again and again…even knowing this. I would do it again.
I haven’t forgotten the changes in my body, how from the moment of conception my body shifts and illness takes over. I feel selfish for wanting another child and not being settled in my mind with the family that I am blessed enough to have. I feel like a horrible mother for knowing that the one precious child I have, will be left without me for the months that I can’t care for her. Will I sit with this until my years decide for me and then live in regret of not trying once more or will I gain some understanding that life is what it is, and be happy in knowing that this is my path, perfect just as it is. Will I become pregnant and lose a child again? I can’t bear to even think such thoughts.
I just wish you hadn’t left my belly. I wish I could have known you. Instead, I sit here mourning you. I wish I were stronger. I wish I had the answers. I was pregnant and now I’m not.
When I was pregnant with Ryan, I was obsessed with the rain. I would listen to soundtracks of rain showers on repeat, dream of being drenched by rain storms, sit in the rain on my balcony, walk along the beach in the middle of thunder showers and wait for storms to appear so that I could feel the wet upon my skin. I find myself in this same place now.
Last night, I searched for the sounds of water splashing in puddles and listened to it over and over again. I sat underneath the cold spray of my shower, head and body submerged for half an hour. I pray upon the skies to fill with darkness and pour down on me, so that I may sit, ever so still, in it.
I wish to be cleansed. For this illness to be washed away from me, replaced only by health, wellness and a deep connection to the child that grows inside of me. I want to awaken from sleep, refreshed, energized and able bodied.
It’s warm and sunny today. I will wait.
I was able to eat yesterday, bits and bites but more than any day thus far. The nausea that accompanies this little success is overwhelming still. I spent the day in bed (as opposed to running a marathon?) and watched the entire BBC series of Jane Eyre. Way to depress yourself even more, eh?
I’ve still not mastered liquids. I don’t understand what the deal is there. Everything smells the complete opposite of what I remember it to have smelled like and nothing is appealing. Water is utterly disgusting and doesn’t even make the list of possibilities. I’m at a loss. My friend, Cari told me to try coconut water and I haven’t yet, so I’ll try. I have to try.
I rescheduled my iv treatment today from tomorrow. I can’t go more than a day in-between at this point. After a giant mix-up with paper work, we finally got a line in and once again, I felt a hundred times worse when I left. I’m really perplexed by this as fluids, which I lack, should make me feel better when I get them. Instead, my blood pressure lowers (the nurse took it three times in tandem today because she needed to be sure it was a good reading) and I have shaking fits, chills. The nurse buried me in 6 warm blankets to try and calm my body. Eventually, it calmed down. i left exhausted, nauseated and ready for sleep.
One of my moms came to preschool this morning and told me how thin I am. With a worried look she said “You look really thin now. I can really see you’ve lost weight.” Not eating will do that to you. “Best diet ever!” I replied. She laughed. I laughed. Oh sweet sarcasm.
I had the weirdest dream about cereal last night. I ate mounds and mounds of it, drenched in the most delicious sweet milk. Followed by the most amazing new york cheese cake. I f(*@&@) love cheesecake. Obviously, some cruel joke on my brain’s part but at least I am able to eat in my dreams.
I am fully aware how my blog are sounding so repetitive now, but what can I say? It’s the same deal every day. I feel you. I wish it weren’t and I had something totally awesome to share with you. Keep wishing on that star and maybe we’ll get there.
The nurse at the hospital started my IV this morning with the vitamin bag first. I mentioned that they always put vitamins last and does she think that it’s a good idea to switch it up. She said it made no difference, nor did the size of the needle that I shared with her, should be bigger. But what do I know anyhow? It’s not like I get treatments every other day or anything.
About 2 minutes into treatment my arm started hurting. The needle was too small, just like I said. The nurse told me it would get better. It didn’t but I was too exhausted to talk about it with her anymore. Moreover, mid-way through the treatment I started to get really sick. I was way more nauseous than before I came in, shaking and tired.
Apparently the nurse treating me also had HG but she was able to drink and she thought that ginger might help me. Also, what worked for her was eating all of the time and throwing up regardless, as “something will stay down and you need something….just have to breath through it…”
She then checked my vitals and said that I was fine but the second time she came in, she said she wanted to send me to the ER. I refused. 6 hours of more fluids with nothing else changing, except sending me home with more meds. Instead, I finished treatment and left to go home.
I fell asleep in the car and didn’t wake up until we reached the house. Then I slept for another 3 hours. I can’t describe how depleted I feel in these moments. I can’t even wake enough to go to the bathroom. It’s like the energy has been sucked from my body. When I did wake, I rushed to the couch and just laid there for the longest time staring out the window at the clouds. I love clouds. They remind me of being a little girl and watching them for hours, laying on the grass in the sun. I pretended that’s where I was, instead of immobile on the couch, feeling sorry for myself.
Today is not a good day. I’m whiny, sad, angry and bitter at all of this. I feel absolutely powerless. I reached a point today where I threw all of the covers over me and bawled like a six year old. I was able to eat a small piece of soy burger and instead of rejoicing, I feel nothing. I know it’s “a victory” but in the grand scheme of things, a little piece of soy burger wouldn’t sustain an ant. In 2 weeks, I have digested 6 pieces of food. I am starving. I am thirsty and I am depressed.
I’m not even sure I should submit this blog or if I should keep it as a draft and never let it be seen. Truth is, I can’t always find humor in every experience. HG isn’t some nicely packaged condition that the royal family portrayed to the media. It’s not morning sickness, ‘mind over matter’ or anything ginger can fix. I swear to God, if one more person tells me to try ginger….
I’m scared. This pregnancy is worse than the last one. I could never have anticipated this, not even with the experience of one HG pregnancy under my belt. Every pregnancy is different and life and who I am now, is not life or who I was back then. I’m scared. i can’t remember how to do this….
I met with my doctor yesterday afternoon. I needed to speak with her about how I am feeling and new ideas I had, as I’ve been scavenging blogs and research papers to try and find something that will alleviate my symptoms or at least allow me to eat and drink. One by one the ideas were side barred and little by little, I felt more and more defeated. There are so many risk factors associated with procedures when you are pregnant that the risks truly do outweigh the benefits. I can’t put myself in a more dangerous place, knowing that I have both Ryan and Chris to consider. Mid-lines, PICC lines, feeding tubes (I researched Nasogastric, Nasoduodenal, Nasojejunal, Gastrostomy, Gastrojejunostomy, and Jejunostomy feeding tubes) are not an option for me. The nurse called today with two more drug ideas to try. She called them in and I pick them up tomorrow. This weekend we’ll see what sticks.
I went to the hospital for treatment again last night. One bag saline, the other a “banana boat” as they call it, a yellow bag of vitamins. I ate a cracker with cheese while there and then an hour later hacked it up in the bathroom. I reached my emotional limit and started bawling uncontrollably in the bathroom. My nurse came in to check on me, standing in the doorway, she waited. She didn’t need to say anything, she just understood. She gave me a huge hug before I left. When I got home, I fell in to bed and didn’t wake up until the next morning.
Today has been a roller coaster. I woke up feeling really weighted from a new drug added to the mix, Promethazine (Pentazine, Phenergan.) I remember taking it very briefly while pregnant with Ryan but I forgot just how tired it makes me. This one will be okay to use at night (stop the nausea and help me sleep) but there’s no way I can use it during the day, having a toddler to care for, or at least listen to.
I was able to take a sip of juice, just enough to swallow my zophran. I stayed up for an hour or so, just observing the little ones. It’s important to me to be able to greet them as the arrive in the morning, so they know I am still there. In all honesty though, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep up with that. The morning’s are certainly not the worst, but they on the top of the list for reasons to stay in bed.
I hired two wonderful teachers this week to start rotating days, on Monday. Having them here takes the stress of leading the class off of my plate. Now, I just need to get organized making menus and preparing crafts for the weeks ahead. I never realized how much I do on a daily basis to prepare and run the class, until I had to get it ready for someone else. I have a lot to do this weekend, with my bed being my new make-shift office. Chris will take on the job of preparing lunches and snacks the night before. Just one other thing I have added to his endless list of tasks. My inability to do anything is weighing heavily on my heart when I think about how much he has to pick up.
I was able to eat something today. A cheese quesadilla. I had a dream about it, so I sent Chris to get one for me. It was dry, which was the best bet. I ate it, cramped up and slept for 4.5 hours, apparently digesting it. I’m nauseous but so far, no throwing up. I’m committed to keeping it down. My body really needs it. I can’t kick exhaustion today. I keep needing to sleep and feel like I have a sedative in my body. I don’t like this feeling. It freaks me out and the only explanation I have is that my body is running out of fuel to keep me awake and active.
I can hear Chris and Ryan eating dinner in the other room. I can’t go out there because the smell of food is unbearable. I miss the simple act of sharing a meal together, the conversation that happens over dinner and just being surrounded by my family. This condition makes you feel alone. It puts you in a box and keeps you there for a long time and the best you can do to find air is to talk about it. So here I am, talking about it.