HG: What does "better" mean, anyway?
Every poor, unfortunate soul who has to endure the purgatory that is hyperemesis gravidarum will go through an individualized arc of good, bad, ugly, bad, and back to good.
You start out, generally speaking, “well.” Then you gradually (or not so gradually) move through varying stages of unwell, and eventually will arrive at a state of “well” once again.
Nine months is a long time. That really ought to go without saying. But there you have it.
I am currently 5 months pregnant. It’s been a really, really long five months. However, I am happy to report that I am currently feeling “better.” But what does “better” mean, anyway?
Not long ago, I was bedridden. I was on multiple antiemetic medications whose side effects were a whole other blog post’s story for a future date. I survived on daily IV fluids and the love and support of family and friends for two straight months. I couldn’t take care of my children, my house, or myself. I wondered if I would die. I wondered if the child inside me would die. How could any living thing survive without food or water for this long?? I’d wonder to myself.
Along the way, friends, family and neighbors would ask, “Is she feeling any better yet?”
No. No. No. Still no… the answer would be.
Yet, baby and I survived the worst of it.
One day, the vomiting let up and the nausea was such that I felt I could run one or two quick errands down the street and get back home without vomiting. I planned to be out of the house for a maximum of 30 minutes. That was survivable, right?
It felt amazing to go down the street, to see the Wasatch Mountains from a different angle than the one I could see from my couch, to feel the summer sun warming my clammy skin.
My goal was to drop a few things off to neighbors - things I’d been meaning to return for far too long.
One neighbor greeted me, “Hey! I’m so glad to see you’re all better!”
The next neighbor said, “You’re up! You’re out! That’s great you’re finally doing better!”
I didn’t even make it to the third house.
I knew they each meant well and simply wanted to celebrate the small victory. To be honest, I’m sure I would have said the same thing and I don’t fault anyone for being cheery.
“I’m so glad you’re all better!” The words haunted me. They stung.
Would people all of a sudden expect me to jump back into real life? To reengage in schedules and carpools and play dates and get togethers and other normal activities?! If I could be up on my feet, returning borrowed things, surely that meant I should also be signing my kids up for soccer, making dinner, going grocery shopping, attending family events, fulfilling my church responsibilities, etc.
For the record, not one single person said that. Yet I felt a heavy weight of perceived expectations, and I feared potentially looming misjudgements. I owed so many people so much as it was, and the thought of people I cared about thinking I was “all better,” but still hermiting of my own accord, made my blood run cold.
I went home and vomited.
Fast forward to this point, 5 months into my pregnancy. I am no longer on daily IVs. I am functioning as a human being. I can shower AND brush my teeth without vomiting! It may be the bare minimum, but I am finally taking care of my three children, the dog and the fish. I may not be performing to supermom standards, but praise the Lord, I am functioning!
But am I better?
Well, in a sense, yes! I am much better than I was during the worst of it (namely, weeks 7 to 16). In addition to the improvements mentioned above, I’m not worried about organ failure any more. I’m not losing weight anymore. I am eating three small meals a day... and most days I keep most if not all of it down. I haven’t been blacking out. I’m up on my feet. I can drive. I can tuck my kids into bed at night. I am incredibly grateful for the progress we’ve made.
But am I better?
Well, in a sense, no. I’m far from “cured.” My past pregnancies have proven that birth is my only true delivery from this condition (see what I did there?). I still can’t manage a walk down the street and back without feeling like I’ll faint or vomit, or both. I can hardly get up and down the stairs without getting seasick. I’m never sure whether eating breakfast will be a good idea or a bad idea. I’m still experiencing spontaneous panic attack symptoms. I still feel most of the time like someone has lassoed me around the middle with barbed wire. And generally, I feel really icky ALL of the time.
People ask at church every Sunday, “how have you been feeling this week? Any better?”
I love them so much for caring. Honesty can be awkward. Dishonesty can be disconnecting. The answer is completely dependent on how we’re defining “better” in this conversation. But no one has time to hash out the particulars. So we’ll settle for a middle ground.
“We’re hanging in there!”
When mommies get sick, and sometimes they do, how do things change for me and for you?
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When mommies get sick, and sometimes they do, how do things change for me and for you? 〰️
“When Mommies Get Sick”
written and illustrated by Jayne Ann Osborne
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