Between weeks 5-15 i threw up 24/7. Normally when you’re sick you get that initial relief but the nausea was worse that the actual being sick. It was relentless. “It should pass by 12 weeks, 16 weeks, 20 weeks…” I stopped listening. I was fed up of getting my hopes up that it would go away and tried to focus on getting through one day at a time rather than the far far away finish line. I was so weak that my husband had to help me in and out of the bath and to get dressed each day. He stood outside the bathroom door everyday boking as he listened to me trying to empty an already empty stomach. Don’t feel sorry for him, this was his fault!
I lost a ridiculous amount of weight. i couldn’t keep anything down (and no, ginger, anti sickness bands etc didn’t help – i tried them all!) and come my 12 week scan I was lighter than I was before I fell pregnant! After countless trips to the Doctor and A&E for anti sickness injections, different medication etc I was admitted to hospital at 9 weeks as I was in dire need of fluids. On my first admission I needed so many bags of fluid that my hand/arm blew up like a balloon and my husband had to cut my jumper off me! I bloody loved that jumper! RIP Yankee Hoodie 😭.
I got some fluids on Monday, tried to do a pee on Tuesday, threw up a little bit on Wednesday….and on Thursday and Friday and Saturday, again on Sunday (Craig David style)!
After admission number one I left the hospital quite optimistic that although I still felt awful, give it a day or two and I’ll be cured. I’ll start to glow like every pregnant woman should. I’ll look just like the glamorous pregnant ladies in the soaps. People will say “you look so well, you’re BLOOMING”. Blooming awful more like.
The sickness didn’t stop. It went on and on and on and on. In the end I had a very helpful GP who tried me on most things available for pregnancy sickness. I was a regular at the chemist. I looked like a junkie. The medication did nothing. I even tried acupuncture. I was too ill to go to the clinic so the lady had to come to me. It also did nothing.
Between weeks 5-15 I was admitted 5 times in total. Twice I got Dr Butcher to insert my line. That wasn’t his real name but it’s what I called him as he nearly sliced off my hand both times. “Oh dear, just a little bit of blood” he said. The first time he did it I fainted. The second time, when it came to having the line removed, the nurse commented that whoever had put the line in should have been castrated!
I was even paid a visit and given a leaflet on nutrition. Oh come on, don’t patronise me. The reason I was in hospital was because I COULDN’T eat, not because I didn’t want to!
I had to try and provide a urine sample every morning so they would check how dehydrated I was. After many attempts I finally managed to produce something worthy. The nurse took it away to test it but came running back seconds later saying “I can’t believe I just did that. I poured it straight down the sink!” You’d think someone had just told me Santa wasn’t real. I was gutted. It took me ages to do that!!
My mother kept me entertained as ever. On one visit she was staring at my drip and said “you know it would just be handy if you could bottle that and take it home”. I replied “what, like a glass of water? I can’t drink anything, that’s why I’m on a drip mother dearest!!!!!!” – DOH! 😳
I had two scans between weeks 5-15. This confirmed that I wasn’t having twins (😳) and that there wasn’t some other underlying issue causing me to be so ill. My child was just eating me alive.
Each time I was discharged I was sent away with medication I knew wouldn’t work. It didn’t work. I knew, like Arnie, that I’d be back……….