Gathering Strength

I haven't had the energy to post, but I've been wondering the past couple of days if I should.  I took my Zofran and Phenegren at 9:00, then I spit in the sink, checked on the boys, and went to bed, and I ended up just laying there with words running through my mind, and I knew I needed to post if I was going to get any sleep tonight.  I have to post, because I've had some horrible thoughts the last few days, and if Alyssa ever has those thoughts, or if this baby is a girl and she ends up having those thoughts, I want them to know that I've been there, that they're not alone.   I have to post because I started this blog not to show off what a perfect life I have or how incredibly cool I am, but to truly chronicle my life, and that means not just including the fluffy, happy thoughts, but the ugly ones as well.

Life is not easy right now.  Really, I shouldn't complain.  Brian is able to help more than he has during any of my other pregnancies, both of our families have jumped on board to offer any help that is needed, and I have a good doctor that believed me when I said I get sick and is working with me to fix things.  But still, life is hard.  The Zofran keeps me from throwing up, but it doesn't keep me from feeling nauseated all of the time or from gagging and dry heaving when I move too fast or stand up.  It's gotten so bad that I've taken to yelling at my body when it happens, too keep whatever is in my stomach, down.  "Stop," I'll yell, or "NO!" really loud.  I probably look like a crazy person.  My mouth is full of saliva, and it makes me just pukey to swallow it, so I spit into a garbage can all day, and when I move that garbage can it makes me sick just feeling how heavy it's gotten.

I'm tired of laying on the couch, or in bed, but it's about all that I'm able to do each day.  Today my accomplishments were taking a shower and washing Alyssa's bedding.  Even then, my mom was there to watch the boys for me, and she was the one who made Alyssa's bed once the sheets were clean.  Oh, and showering is hard.  I try to shower when I'm feeling my best, and I also try to shower quickly so I can get out of there fast, but I'm not able to move fast, so the shower drags on.  Most days I just shampoo and condition my hair and get out of there, but even then I have to lay on my bed for a while to recover afterward.

Needles to say, as thrilled as I am to have this new life growing inside me, I hate being pregnant.  Brian and I knew we wanted another child, so we tried to get pregnant over the summer so the worst of it would be over when school started, but when I wasn't pregnant in September, we decided to stop trying until the spring, and of course, this is when I got pregnant.  And I am happy.  I really am.  I'm glad that we get to welcome one more baby into our family, and I'm excited to meet this little person, and I know that once we get through the worst of this, eventually I will feel well enough to function normally.

Yesterday was a bad day.  It's the day I need to post about.  I spent the day on the couch, being loved (i.e. crawled on) by Ethan and Marcus, and I just didn't feel well.  So when Marcus decided to help himself to the bag of Cheez-Its on the counter, and decided to help himself by dumping the whole bag on the kitchen table, and I had to jump up and say, "No, that it not what we do," and try to get the Cheez-Its into a bowl while running to the sink multiple times to gag and dry heave and scream "No!" at myself and not at Marcus, I just lost it.  I stood at the sink and started to cry.  I then composed myself long enough to make sure the Cheez-Its were contained, and I went up to my room and locked the door, went to my bathroom and locked the door, and went to my closet to cry where my children couldn't hear me.

I would love to say at this point that I prayed, but I don't think you could call it praying.  Flat out murmuring is how I remember it.  I was mad at Heavenly Father - really mad.  I was mad that I get sick, that other women get so sick while they're pregnant.  I was mad that I'm given this trial, when I want children so badly.  This is our last pregnancy.  Brian and I decided even before we started trying that we were only going through this one more time, and I can tell you now, it will not be happening again.  But I wouldn't feel this hostile to adding children to our family if my pregnancies weren't so miserable.  So, yeah, I was mad, and I just sobbed over and over, "I can't do this.  I'm not strong enough," and "It's not fair!"

Then I called my mom, and when she heard the hysteria in my voice, that I couldn't even stop crying enough to let her know what was going on, she said she was coming over right away.  My sister, who was at my parent's house, called me back after I hung up, so I wouldn't be alone while I waited.  And this is when I said horrible things.  I said that if Heavenly Father wants me to have this baby, then I will hang on to the very end, but that even though I will love this baby, I don't feel close to it yet - all I feel is sick.  I said that if Heavenly Father wanted me to have a miscarriage that I would be sad, but that I would also be a little bit happy to feel like a normal person again.  I know that is a horrible thing to say.  I know it is.  I cringe just thinking about this baby growing up and reading this, and feeling like it wasn't wanted.  It is wanted - wanted so badly.  But I have to write this for my myself, for my daughter who might someday be sick and have a moment when she feels the same way, for the many women out there who suffer as I do, for the people who don't understand - who need to understand just how consuming and debilitating hyperemesis gravidarum can be.

I have to write this to give myself strength to carry on.  To remember that I want this baby, that I love this baby, and that I can make it to the end of this horrible pregnancy.  To remember that soon I'll be able to feel the baby move, and that is one of the greatest parts of pregnancy.  To remember that someday, sooner than it feels right now, I will hold this baby in my arms and think, "It was so worth it.  You were so worth it, and I would do it again, a thousand times if I had to, if it meant getting you."

So there you have it.  Carrie, in all her horribleness.  I'll leave you with that, partly because I've run out of things to say, but mostly because I'm tired of running to the bathroom sink to spit and to gag, and I know I need to lay down soon or I will definitely throw up.  Don't worry about me, though.  Brian's mom is scheduled to come over tomorrow to help.  I have an ultra sound scheduled fro Thursday, which the doctor wants me to do each week until the end of the first trimester, since I have a history of late first trimester miscarriages.  I've had two ultra sounds so far, and every time I see that tiny little heart beating, it gives me purpose.  I'm really okay, and I'm going to make it through this.