December 16, 2014

I failed.  An there is nothing quite as wrong as a combination of pervasive morning sickness and gestational diabetes.  No, I haven’t seen the dietician yet.  I’m hoping she has some good ideas for food that is easy on the morning sickness and acceptable in the carb count.  Because I’m having a hard time stomaching a lot of food this pregnancy.  I can’t eat raw vegetables without feeling sick.  My mom thinks the morning sickness is worse this time.  She recalls that I was able to keep down a more varied diet at this stage.  And I definitely have been taking more Zofran than last time.  At the higher dose, I should add.

And I’m angry.  I found out when Lori read off my results in the exam room.  No one ever called with my results.  They always call with a negative result.  But no one called.  So it must have been fine.  She was a little surprised that it was the first I’d heard.  (And before you ask, yes, I did check for my results online; they’re pending until 1:30 tomorrow morning.  And, yes, I said morning as in the middle of the night.)

And I’m scared.  I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next nine weeks.

I wanted to enjoy every minute of this pregnancy because I know that might be all the time I get with this baby.  And instead I’ve been miserable.  I’ve been sick.  It hurts to walk either because the sciatica is acting up or my pubic symphysis is screaming.  I’m lucky to get six hours of sleep each night because it takes me two hours to fall back asleep when I wake up to the go to the bathroom.  And closing my eyes to take a nap either results in me realizing that, despite how exhausted I am, my eyes won’t stay closed or a nap that leaves me feeling groggy and even more tired afterward.  And now this.  Because I’m not miserable enough.

My mom drove me home.  We left her car at the hospital, and she drove while I cried.  And I texted Nicki.  And I know she’ll help me get through.  But I’m still crying.

And there are so many things that I want to say that I know will be misconstrued.  I want to say that I wish it were all over.  I want to say that I’m done.  I want to say that I can’t do this anymore.  I want to say that it’s too much.  But I know that people will hear those things and think “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!”  I don’t mean them literally.  Please take them with the hyperbole in which they were intended.

I just wanted one thing in this pregnancy to go smoothly.  That’s all.  Just one thing.  But apparently, that was too much to ask for.


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