Saturday, June 13, 2009


When we last left Shopgirl and family, Shopgirl was on yucky hormone therapy 3 weeks a month to try to prevent any more miscarriages.

January 1st was the day I got to test for pregnancy. I was almost excited for the inevitable negative because it meant I could stop the pills for my one week's reprieve before starting up again.

I woke up early, took the test, then sat down on the bathroom floor to read the literature that came with it (I had recently begun buying a new type of test in bulk online). After reading for about 5 minutes, I stood up to reach for my toothbrush and caught the test out of the corner of my eye. Its big fat positive line caught me completely off-guard to the point where I let out a "Whoa." Ever the skeptic, I went and took another test of a different brand, figuring there was some mistake afoot. Another dark positive almost immediately. I began to hate hormone therapy a little less.

I was initially elated, but (and I'm sure anyone who's experienced multiple losses can relate) that quickly turned to anxiety. "Here we go again," I thought. I wasn't sure if I was ready for all of this again. The waiting and worrying and wondering before the eventual let-down. So what if it was positive? I'd been pregnant before. Why should this be any different? Sure, I had hormone therapy backing me up this time. And true, I'd never gotten a nice dark positive before. It still seemed very unlikely to me that anything good would come of this in the end.

When it rains, it pours...

January 3rd, morning sickness kicked in. It was unpleasant, but not enough to keep me from scrubbing the house top to bottom in preparation for our foster care homestudy.

January 6th, we had the homestudy. It went great. We were totally prepared, to the point where the licenser kept making fun of us. Each question he'd ask in the beginning began with, "You probably haven't thought much about this yet, but..." and soon turned to, "I don't know why I'm even bothering to ask as I'm sure you've probably researched this more than I have, but..." He didn't seem too bothered about checking to see if we'd prepared our home up to regulation. In fact, I had to practically beg him to look at the fire extinguisher we'd spent so much money on and the posted emergency contact lists I'd agonized over. Perhaps it wasn't necessary to scrub out the freezer and rewash all the towels in the linen closet after all...

January 7th, mild morning sickness turned into an all-day, all-night vomitorium, which was eventually diagnosed as hyperemesis. (more)

Overnight, I became so sick I couldn't get out of bed. What little food and drink I could manage to force down never stayed down for long. Within two weeks, I'd lost 5 pounds.

It wasn't just food that sent me off. I couldn't handle any motion whatsoever. I couldn't look at the TV, read, or allow anyone to move quickly or erratically around me. I laid in bed for hours at a time, staring at the ceiling. Even shifting positions was a nightmare. At one point, the pitch of Fritz's voice set my stomach off for some reason, so he whispered all of his conversations.

I didn't have the strength so much as to sit up for more than a few minutes at a time and would have to crawl to the bathroom. Since Fritz worked such long hours, he and my mom set me up with an ice chest of convenience foods and a microwave next to my bed.

It was a terrifying and lonely time. My mom made efforts to come up to visit a couple of times a week, always bringing new foods to try to tempt me with. She'd gone through hyperemesis with both of her pregnancies, so she understood the position I was in. Fritz spent all of his non-working hours sitting stock-still on the floor next to my bed, trying to come up with something to talk about to keep my mind off of being sick.

I began to feel like I just wasn't meant to have babies. It was obvious my body didn't want to cooperate with my plans. I was terrified that I would be feeling this way for the next 8 months. I felt isolated and depressed with nothing to occupy my mind but how horrible I felt. I didn't care a whit when people said I needed to eat/drink/what for the baby. The baby I was certain still wasn't coming.

And on that happy note, January came to a close.

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