Hi my darlinghearts,
I’m still here. Still hurling. Still spending my days laying horizontal, praying to the vomit gods that this particular wave of nausea doesn’t end in a tidal wave out my mouth.
I’m managing to keep enough food and water down that I don’t need to head back to hospital right now. Small wins!
Sometimes my spirit feels really low. I sometimes feel
scared terrified about this lasting for another six months until the end of this pregnancy. I sometimes feel hopeless, miserable, depressed and anxious about how out of control my body is right now, and how little control I have of my life.
(This is all totally normal feelings to experience during hyperemesis gravidarum.)
Sometimes I feel at peace. Sometimes I have enough bandwidth to gently coach myself through the hard moments “Okay, we can do this, let’s stand up and go to the bathroom now, you can do this. Okay, you’re vomiting now, that’s okay, you’re going to be okay. You’re doing great honey. I know this sucks. Yep, we can do this.”
Sometimes I don’t have enough bandwidth. Sometimes I have faith that even if it goes for another six months, we’ll be okay. Sometimes I don’t have that faith at all.
Sometimes I have to lean on Chris’ faith. I have to lean into him and cry and tell him “Just tell me that everything is going to be okay. Just give me a pep talk.”
And sometimes he finds the right words and sometimes he doesn’t. And either way, it ends up being okay.
I remember reflecting back on my first pregnancy, during my first experience of hyperemesis gravidarum. And how my prominent memory was of being so sick I couldn’t even read a book. And part of me would think “How is that even possible? Maybe I was overthinking it.”
Nope. Nope, I really wasn’t. It’s a real joy when I feel well enough to read.
With reading and writing and my usual brain facilities off on holiday somewhere, my ears seem to be the ones most able to delight in something.
These songs have been playing on repeat and bring me an enormous amount of pleasure in amidst it all:
And because this tickles my funny bones:
I’m living in a dreaming land at the moment. A hazy, soft world where the usual Leonie personality, drive, ego and identity don’t really exist. I’m too sick to talk and do do do. I’m sure this is a good lesson for a person who loves doing so much. A person like me.
So I lay. I lay, sometimes patient, sometimes bored, sometimes pissed at God.
I wait. I wait for the wave of nausea to pass so I can try to eat.
I wait for the crappiness to pass so soft tendrils of peace can find me again.
I wait for the illness to end.
And I sleep. I sleep because I am growing a whole new body in my uterus. I sleep because I’m on three different anti-vomiting medications and all of them are drowsy-making ones. I sleep because my body is tired from vomiting.
I sleep deeply, my body pinned down by the tired, liquid limbs into the mattress.
I sleep and I dream. I dream wild, vivid dreams. Dreams of the past. Dreams of hurt and pain, of all the ones that couldn’t love me the way I needed. Dreams where I finally voice: I’m angry. This wasn’t okay with me. Dreams of all the forgotten possibilities.
It’s Groundhog Day in my dreams. Where I follow the loops of my life and try out all the different options again and again.
And I come to realise:
No matter what, I would have chosen what I chose. The life I have is the life I always would have chosen. Even if it isn’t perfect. Even though it’s splendidly human.
Ultimately, they are dreams of healing. Resolving.
Sometimes I am whole and unhazy enough to see that this new little soul must have chosen me for a reason, and I chosen it. And that part of that preparation is cleaning out the decks of my body and spirit.
Sometimes I am grateful for the gentle washes of new wisdom that arrive at the shores of my soul.
About how I can accept the duality of this situation: that it is good and bad and awful and painful and enlightening all at once.
I don’t even know if this makes sense out of context, but these words from My Beloved World took my breath away with recognition:
Those things that are true at the same time.
The moments where I crouch on the shower, grovelling, searching for God beneath the cracks. Those few, glistening moments in the afternoon when my crystal sun catcher is flooded by a beam of light and cascades rainbows around my room. Feeling hopelessly alone, feeling deeply supported.
Everything is going to be okay.
So much love and gentleness,
P.S. If I can please make a request – if you have any healing suggestions, please don’t share them with me unless there is evidence that it cures hyperemesis gravidarum specifically. This isn’t traditional morning sickness. It’s a complicated and serious illness with little known cures. I understand you really want me to feel better. Me too, dearest. Thank you for your loving thoughts. xoxo