If I heard or read that morning sickness is misnamed once I heard or read it 1,000 times--in the months after I got pregnant. Before I got pregnant, morning sickness seemed like an almost romantic pregnancy symptom. Throw up every morning before you go to work as your husband lovingly holds your hair and massages your back. Get on with the rest of the day.
Unfortunately, morning sickness is more than an occasional fit of dawn vomiting. Morning sickness can be--and was for me--a knock-down, drag-out and totally incapacitating problem.
Morning sickness started out the first few weeks as a vague feeling of queasiness. I felt a little flu-ish. And there were certain foods I didn't want to eat. I could live that way.
Over the course of the next few weeks, morning sickness turned into smell aversion. Climbing the stairs in our multi-ethnic apartment complex at dinner time was like running a gauntlet. I'd race into the door dry heaving--but only once a day. I could live that way, too.
Then, I remember one fateful night about two months into my pregnancy. I hadn't been able to bear the thought of eating anything all day. About 10:30, I got into my head that I could eat a crunchy granola bar. I drove myself to the 7-11 to buy one. I ate it in the car in the parking lot... and threw it back up before I could make it to the door. I sat down on the steps and cried I was so miserable and so sick. I was beginning to think I couldn't live that way after all.
And it got worse.
It got to where I couldn't eat lunch in the school cafeteria because there were too many different smells.
It got to where I had to stop brushing my back teeth because my toothbrush made me gag.
It got to where I couldn't eat anything for Thanksgiving dinner except cheese and crackers.
It got to where Adam and I gave up all social activities so I could lie on the bathroom floor at night.
The real problem, I realized later, wasn't the morning sickness--or at least it wasn't just the morning sickness. The bigger problem was my refusal to ask for help. I felt so tired and alone because I refused to let Adam into the bathroom when I was getting sick. And I couldn't eat because I kept trying to cook for myself and Adam.
I couldn't have made it through my first trimester without a group of supportive co-workers who covered for me when I couldn't make it to class and students who were willing to self-supervise for the sake of my health. And I couldn't have made it without Adam's continuing love and support. But next time, I'll ask for those home-cooked meals I needed. I'll accept those offers of help keeping the house clean. And, for heaven's sake, I'll let Adam into the bathroom to rub my back and hold my hair out of the way.
Poor Alison! That sounds awful. At least it sounds like those symptoms have mostly gone away?
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