A blessing

I have no idea how this will read, but here goes nothing.

As difficult as all my pregnancies have been, even after Duke, I knew we'd have another. The more Duke developed, the more tender and loving he became and I knew he had the capacity to be an incredible older brother. He was meant to be an older brother. He'll be the kind of brother that looks out for you, invites you to hang out with his cool friends, and gets that special birthday present for you. I just knew he'd be that kind of brother and I wanted to have another baby because I wanted him to be able to be that person I knew he had the capacity to become.

Before I got pregnant this time, I knew it would be hard. In fact, Cort and I prayed for months about doing this and every time we prayed, we got the same answer, "It's going to be awful, but it will never get any easier." I knew full well that we were in for a long fight, but in the back of my mind I sometimes thought, "ok, I can do this one more time, but what if this isn't our last and I need to do it again." Thinking about being pregnant two more times was enough to make me crumble. I knew I only WANTED to be pregnant one more time, but was I in the right to say, "that's enough. I don't want to do it again" when maybe that wasn't what was in our family's plan? It might sound crazy, but questions like this worried me, and then some. My greatest fear was to go through my life like normal, only to find out after I die there was someone else who was supposed to be part of our family, but we never knew them because I said "no more."

All three of our pregnancies have been physically straining, but this one takes the cake. I feel so many parts of my body being physically stretched to their limit. A majority of hyperemesis pregnancies end in abortions because they are so extreme, and not too long ago, hyperemesis was fatal to mothers. During this pregnancy, I have definitely felt, more than a few times, that my permanent health was at risk. My body was telling me, and I listened. She {my body} had given it her all, to house these little babes, but I knew she could never do this again. At the age of 27, she was at the end of her childbearing life. She had fought the good fight, and given more in 3 pregnancies than most would in 8, but I knew she was saying, "this is it for me. There's nothing left in the tank. This is all I can do, Hun."

And when I realized that was the final message, I cried.

I cried in relief and gratitude. My greatest fear of making a wrong decision had been made for me. By my body. With a wave of peace. And no guilt.

I was so proud of my body. She fought so hard and she gave it everything she had. We worked together to house these little spirits until they could live on their own. And the end results were some pretty amazing kids. Such a great team, she and I!

This knowledge was a precious gift from God, so I never had to wonder "what if?" He knew I had given it my all, too. And He was so pleased. Even as I toiled about whether or not to have this baby, I felt time and time again that Heavenly Father was letting this be my decision, and He would be happy with whatever I decided. I've come to know my Heavenly Father so much more through my pregnancies. Again, an odd thought, but it's been true in my case.

So that leaves me with saying this is our last pregnancy. And how wonderful and happy that makes me.

Hyperemesis gets worse with age, which is probably why this one has been more difficult. And maybe this was the reason Will came so quickly to us. Maybe if I had waited like I wanted, my body would have only been able to be pregnant twice. She needed all the youth on her side she could get. Things God and my body knew, when I didn't.

And on horrible days, when I can't move and lie still in my bed for mind numbing hours, I think, "But this is it. You'll never have to feel like this again" I can usually fight on for another few hours, or until my medicine forces me to sleep again.

Hyperemesis Facts

It's that special time of year again! That special time when I talk about shooting myself to put me out of my misery (only half joking). You guessed it: I'm knocked up. So just for documenting's sake, here are some facts for this time around:

I'm due Oct 6 (so, really, late Sept). I'm 10 weeks along.

I went on a lovely cruise with my beloved, and I spent the day after we got back in the ER getting fluids. Time and luck was on our side. I was only "really" sick 1.5 days on our cruise. Had it been more, they probably would have life flighted me off the ship. True story.

Mom and Dad stayed with the boys while we were gone. They were amazing. Will was supposed to have his tonsils out the day after we got back (day I was in the ER), but couldn't because he had a cold. We, now, feel it was a huge blessing he couldn't have the surgery then because my health deteriorated so quickly.

The next day, my mom and dad left to go back to CA and I truly felt like a part of me had died when they left. I was devastated. And very sick. And I had no clue how I'd ever be able to handle this.

48 hours after I went to the ER, I had another appt with my OB (Gaynecologist). He took one look at me and said, "I'm admitting you. Right now." Luckily a good friend was with me and heard it the same as I had and forced me to go home and pack my things and then drove me to the hospital. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I would have tried to talk him out of it.

I immediately call my mom and tell her she needs to come back. She agrees and buys a ticket on the red eye the following day.

I call Cort next and stutter through the Dr's orders and he acts like its any other day and says he'll be home in time to get Will off the bus. Cool as a cucumber, this one. This ain't his first rodeo.

I made it to the hospital and after a few regular hospital mistakes (is it possible to go to the hospital admittance process smoothly?), I finally made it to my room. It felt like a hotel. Perk of living in an affluent place.

They gave me an IV, after finally finding a vein (a few tries were unsuccessful-I never have that problem-because my veins had collapsed). I also peed in a cup. It was brown. TMI, I know. Two nurses told me they had never ever seen anything like that before. I heard one nurse call my Dr right after that and said, "Her urine was brown. Like, brown, brown." in a worried voice.

I spent 9 days in the hospital. The first half of my stay I wasn't allowed to eat anything besides ice chips and broth. And I had to beg for them to give me that. They wanted to give me stomach a break after the trauma it had been through thus far. I went through 3-4 bags of fluid a day.

The difference with this pregnancy and the last two so far is that being rehydrated didn't make me feel that much better. Usually I feel like new after a few bags of fluid. This time around, I felt marginally better.

I lost 1-2 lbs a day in the hospital.

All my nurses were SO nice. Angels.

A few days in, they decided to give me a midline, which is a shorter version of a PICC line, so that when I went home, I couldn't give myself IVs.

This procedure hurts. They shove a tube up your bicep and I had a dead arm for two days.

I almost got discharged twice, but then I'd start vomiting again and I'd have to stay longer.

Truth be told, I didn't mind my hospital stay. I never once felt stir crazy and never even desired to leave my room. Proof that I was weak and in bad shape. I just wanted to sleep all the time.

Mom had to leave two days before I left the hospital. I was really sad, again. But, holy smokes, my ward picked up where she left off, and then some. The boys have had the time of their lives since I've been sick. They'll be disappointed when I start feeling better.

Historically, I have about 5 more weeks of nastiness.

Sometimes I wake up at night because my body is gagging in its sleep. So gross. I dry heave all the time. Gross. Gross. Gross.

Will has been super protective of me. On days I feel horrible, he won't leave me for anything. Kind of sweet, yet kind of annoying when all you want is to be left alone.

Some days I literally can't move. Others, I can at least walk around my house. I usually judge how good the day has been if I want to shoot myself or not. Best case scenario is I feel 50%. Most days I'm in the 20-30% range.




My Picc line taped up, ready for a shower.




All of my bags and syringes and vitamins and everything else to get my IV started for the day.




Naked PICC line.




The little parasite, whom I'm sure I will love a lot, one day. But right now, it doesn't even register there's anything to bond with, besides a toilet.