Week 5: Hyperemesis GraviDAMNum

Contents: mention of miscarriage 

The Ups & Downs of Upchucking

Pregnancy is a super weird thing. I know people out there say things like, "God made us perfectly!" or "Our bodies have been doing this for thousands of years!"

To that, I say: I am a devout nondemonationalist. I can't say for sure what comes after death, but I definitely do not subscribe to any of the organized, institutionalized religions I've seen. Not about it, not for me. Keep your Costco samples. Additionally, if anyone out there has studied basic human anatomy, you know the human animal is kind of a mess. We're still figuring out how to be upright. [Smithsonian Museum of Natural History] 

Now that that tidbit is out of the way, let me tell you about throwing up. 

If you are following me, you know that two weeks before this is when I found out I was pregnant. And I am relieved that I already knew I was pregnant when the nausea started. It would not have been fun to find out about an unplanned pregnancy at the doctor's office, alone. 

Anyway, I started throwing up just about everything, all of the time. As soon as I woke up, I would throw up bile. Sometimes, I could keep breakfast down after the first emptying of the stomach, but not always. 

I would try and eat things, forcing myself to take in some kind of nutrients for the sake of the baby, but it would just come back up again. And it was painful! My abdominal muscles ached from the retching and straining. My nose and throat burned from all the bile and stomach acid passing through. And it made me so tired. It wasn't done until it was done; my body would keep trying to expel when there was nothing left until it decided on its own that I could have a break. 

But I knew that I needed to hold down something. 

The internet suggested cold things and snacking often rather than trying to have big meals. I also had a few people suggest the BRAT diet: bananas, rice, applesauce and toast. 

Dear Reader, let me tell you whatever cure you might have wanted to tell past me, it probably would not have worked. 

I was throwing up sips of ice water. Ice water! Just water! 

Pretty much all I did for Week 5 was sleep and nibble, just enough to keep me alive. I called out of work quite a few times, and my coworkers were starting to get concerned. 

On a side note, though, I have spoken to mamas who were nauseated their entire pregnancy but never threw up. And to be honest with you, I don't think I could have stood that, either. Throwing up was certainly miserable, but the few hours afterwards brought some peace. As long as I wasn't trying to ingest anything, I was okay to sleep off the barfies immediately after. 

Don't get me wrong—neither are fun. But if I were to pick my poison right this moment, I might pick what I had. Might. 

My sweet, sweet boyfriend would come to my side every time he heard me start to retch. He'd hold my hair out of my face a rub my back while it was happening and hand me tissues as soon as I was done. Then, he would help me back to bed and bring me water and whatever bland food I had been successfully eating for the day. 

Successful foods were short-lived, too. 

If I thought of something that sounded good, he would run to the store and get it for me. Saltines, applesauce, peanut butter crackers, honey nut Cheerios, whatever it was, he was already in the car ready to go and get it. I would live off whatever it was for a few days, and then I would inevitably throw it up, get sick of it, and move on to the next food. He ate a lot of leftover snacks for me, too. 

One day, I woke up, threw up, and peed radioactive yellow pee. This was the darkest pee I had ever peed, and I felt unsteady on my feet. My mouth was dry, so I tried to pace myself drinking water, but I threw it up anyway. 

Finally, I decided I should go to the doctor. 

Fluids R Us

That morning, I called my OB and left a message on their nurse triage line and then decided to take my little butt to urgent care. 

You may remember that most obstetrics providers typically won't schedule appointments before eight weeks of pregnancy because there isn't much to see or do other than confirm the pregnancy with a urine or blood test. So, bear in mind that our little field trip to urgent care was the first time I had spoken to a medical provider about being pregnant. 

I went to an urgent care rather than the emergency room because I wasn't dying, by the way. People go to the ER for all sorts of reasons, but unless you're in imminent danger of death, it just seems like a good place to wait around for hours and get exposed to nastier things than what you have. So, I went to urgent care. 

Our town is relatively small, and we don't have a lot of walk-in clinics. In fact, this one is so busy that it more or less makes appointments. You can call the day-of and save yourself a spot for the day. I called ahead, described what I had going on, and told them I'd be by for my time slot of 2pm. 

I wasn't seen until closer to 3pm, which I understand because urgent care can't predict what will walk in the door and how long it'll take to patch 'em up and get 'em out. But I was fighting for my life in that waiting room. 

I was dizzy, tired, and nauseated. I clocked the trash cans I could possibly throw up in, and was doing everything I could not to nod off. 

Finally, I got to see a lovely nurse practitioner (NP) and her physician assistant (PA) student. At five weeks pregnant with having no visits with an OB yet, they had some things to recommend that I got in a discharge packet, but they weren't comfortable prescribing anything. 

Instead, I got a bag of IV fluids, ginger ale, and saltines. My mom also brought Unisom and vitamin B6—after inspecting my IV—something the midwife recommended when I got a callback in the waiting room. 

I know that IV bags are typically just a concentration of water and salt that help hydrate you, but I do believe this particular bag also had magic in it. The NP told my mom that I looked rough when I came in and like a different person after the fluids. And that was nice to hear. Very validating. 

As the child of a nurse, I was trained from a young age to walk most things off. My mom didn't see the point in going to a doctor unless something was wrong enough. Other healthcare parents go the other way and see deadly illness in every sniffle, but not my mama. 

But the difference I felt in my own body after getting some fluids was dramatic. My stomach actually growled, and I felt a real hunger pang while waiting for the discharge papers. The idea of food was appetizing rather than chore-like. Driving in felt more like a hazy dream than reality, and driving out felt like being human again. 

Urgent care had cured me, given me a packet of things to try to keep my food down, and a Pepto Bismol pink basin to take home in case I did keep throwing up. 

On the way home, I asked a friend to bring me Chick-fil-A nuggets. Another friend asked if something greasy like that was a good idea so soon, and I promptly ignored that. 

So I came home, got into bed, and fell asleep. My friend left the chicken nuggets in the fridge, and I destroyed them as soon as I woke up. And they stayed down!

I knew I wasn't out of the woods quite yet, but I was doing better that day than I did the day before, and that felt like a big enough victory. 

The Whole Damn Aisle 

Now, you may be asking where my boyfriend was in all of this. 

He was at work, earning money, of course. I kept him updated the entire time, and he offered to leave work to take me, but I knew we had many appointments ahead of us, and it made the most sense to me for him to save his call-outs and PTO for then.

As soon as he got home, though, he looked through my discharge paperwork and took off to the drug store. What did he buy at the drugstore, you ask? Everything. 

He bought the whole damn aisle. 

He came home with Preggie Pops, ginger root capsules, sea bands, essential oils, everything that wasn't bolted down or stuck behind the counter. Did he stop there, you ask? No! He went to the counter, told the pharmacist what I was experiencing, and bought everything she suggested. 

The man came home with half the pharmacy spread out on the table, a morning sickness relief kit that rivaled the hospital itself. He had a mix of worry and pride on his face, worried for my well-being and beaming with pride at the things he was able to find at the store. It was like my brave caveman showing me his successful hunt. Adorable. 

I felt then like I couldn't thank him enough for everything. His immediate support for whatever I wanted to do with the pregnancy, the way he jumped on board the parenthood train, and how he looked after me in my sickness are all things I will remember forever. 

Sadly, he would have many more chances to help me through more throwing up, though.