We left for Rome on Thurs. I was sick. We were waiting in the departure lounge when, as usual, an early queuer decided to ruin things for everyone else (we were flying Ryanair of course). So I stood unnecessarily in a queue for half an hour before boarding time (had forgotten to book priority boarding) and thought I was going to pass out. Then, as if all my Christmases had come at once, an angel from heaven came and ushered us out of the queue and towards the plane. And as soon as the plane took off, I was cured.
I ate dinner at about 11pm, stayed up until after 12pm and felt no pain. After a quick vomit the next morning, I was fine for the day. I did manage to enjoy it for a while but by the evening I was getting worried, especially when I had some pains in my lower right abdomen. There were some tears that night and the next morning but I kept going, did all the sight-seeing, went out for nice dinners and generally had a good time. I had a scan booked for yesterday morning so knew that one way or another I would be put out of that particular misery before long.
I didn't have to wait that long. As soon as we touched down in Dublin, it was back. By the time I got home, I was heaving and retching and went straight to bed. Have been feeling horrific ever since. Don't know why all my symptoms went on holiday when I did.
And it doesn't matter. My baby is still growing, its heart is still beating and that's all that counts.
I am sick. Since Wed I have been feeling so terribly nauseous that I can't concentrate on anything else. All I can do is get through the day minute by minute and hope for a lull so I can get some work done. It eased up a little over the weekend and of course the familiar dread took advantage of the gap in my attention to make itself know again. So for now, horrible as it is, I am very happy to be sick. It's not that I think that strong symptoms guarantee a healthy pregnancy - I know well that they don't. It's more that when I am sick, I have no time, space or energy to worry about anything else. And I would rather feel like shit than feel the fear.
Today is International Baby Loss Awareness Day. Anyone affected by pregnancy or neo-natal loss is invited to join in the "wave of light" and light a candle at 7pm.
Six weeks today and starting to thaw out. I've been pretty knackered, had sore boobs and queasiness so have started to relax (not a typo!) and hope for the best. What else can I do? Of course the fear is still there but it is not the fear, as most people think, of losing my baby. It is the fear of returning to the horror of infertility, the pain, the bitterness, the minute-by-minute struggle to get through the day. I can't go back to that, I just can't. I have to keep going, I have to have this baby.
I want to be sick. (Or should that be, I want to want to be sick.) I want nausea, vomiting, cold and hot sweats, knee-trembling, earth-moving sickness. For those of you who have been there, done that and think I don't know what I'm talking about, then maybe you haven't experienced the sheer terror that is pregnancy after recurrent miscarriage. Or maybe you have! I'd be interested to hear your opinion.
Today is the first day that I haven't had breakdowns on the hour, every hour. That is because I am quite tired (a little smile is escaping as I type - yay, a symptom!). It's impossible to imagine but I sincerely hope the day will come (soon, like tomorrow) when I am exhausted, sick and aching all over. Please.