They say that every little girl dreams of her wedding day. But all I ever dreamed about was becoming a mom. My mother was one of seven children; there was always somebody having a baby in our family, and I loved spending time with the cute, chubby-thighed little things. I remember my older cousin at her baby shower. She was wearing a red, calico-print maternity dress. When she walked outside, it was as if there was a second sun, that’s how much she was glowing. I thought that’s what pregnancy looked like, red calico and radiance. No visions of bridal gowns for me—that’s what I wanted.
So when I finally found out I was pregnant, my husband and I were overjoyed. Granted, the circumstances were unusual: We were in Florida visiting family, but instead of hanging out on the beach, I was in the ER with bronchitis and, unbeknownst to me, the beginnings of morning sickness. Right before I was supposed to have an X-ray, the doctor asked if there was any chance I was pregnant. One urine test later: “No X-ray for you today. Congratulations!”
We were beyond thrilled, but by the time we flew home, I was in pretty bad shape. I couldn’t stand up without making myself motion sick, and started throwing up four or five times a day. I was so happy to be pregnant and so miserable at the same time. I thought the misery was temporary, though. Soon I would be glowing and wearing red calico.
But it turns out that morning sickness can last an entire pregnancy as a condition called hyperemesis gravidarum (HG). Roughly 1 percent of pregnant women experience its symptoms: nausea, vomiting, weight loss, dehydration, and feeling like you’re losing your mind.
I tried all the usual remedies like saltines and ginger ale. Nothing worked. I tried acupressure bands on my wrists—no luck. The doctor prescribed Zofran, an anti-nausea medication, which was my savior… for about three days, until it stopped working.
At work, teaching second grade, I relied on colleagues to watch my class while I ran to the bathroom, hand slapped over my mouth. (I may have even thrown up once in the classroom trash can.) I drove more than an hour each way for work. I prayed I wouldn’t have to stop on the highway, but there I was flinging the passenger door open daily to throw up with traffic rumbling past.
The weeks came and went and morning sickness stayed. I was eating like crap, not gaining weight, and couldn’t keep down prenatal vitamins. I worried about my baby. The doctor assured me that the hormones making me sick were keeping the baby healthy and safe and that my body would make sure the baby got what it needed. The lack of nutrition was only going to impact me. Great.
Sometime during my second trimester, with an empty stomach and seriously dehydrated, I went to the ER. The IV drip made me feel better than I had in weeks. I wanted to take the stupid thing home with me, which many women with HG end up doing. The doctor prescribed a different anti-nausea medication. It worked for a week, before the nausea came roaring back like a Mack truck to flatten me again. Several weeks before my labor, I was throwing up every day. I discovered I could keep green beans down—until I couldn’t. My husband grilled steak when my doula worried about my iron and protein levels, and though I’d been a vegetarian for years, my body convulsed with relief as soon as I tasted it. I ate meat steadily until I went into labor.
During my pregnancy, I heard from other women who had experienced HG but went on to have other children, experiencing HG all over again. They assured me that once I was holding my baby, I would forget all about it and would perhaps even brave another pregnancy.
In the delivery room, I threw up about five minutes before I pushed the baby out, at which point the relief from the nausea was immediate. Some women with HG have a hard time recovering from childbirth, but I felt like a million bucks. After nine months of definitively not glowing, I was finally glowing. Somebody bring me my calico!
People were wrong. As you can see, I didn’t forget about the misery of my pregnancy. They were right, though, that it was all worth it. Damn if they weren’t right, too, that I’d do it all again for another baby.