Untitled #13

It’s 31 weeks 2 days/29 weeks* for those of you who are keeping track.

Two weeks ago was rough.  I crashed completely and couldn’t carry on.  The sleeplessness, the nausea, the sickness.  They were all too much.  And so I crashed.  And spent two days in a daze.  That Tuesday I called the psychiatrist’s office but apparently there was no way I could see the guy early.  I hate to think what they’d say if I called up and said I was on the verge of slitting my wrists.  Luckily I’m not stupid enough to test that one out.  Instead I took Wednesday off work as well.  There was never any question of me going in.  I couldn’t even get myself out of bed. 

Thursday I made it in to work, Friday too.  Friday was bad though.  The vomiting of the past two days hit a peak and by mid afternoon I felt too ill to even sit and feel sorry for myself.  I managed to get in to see the doctor and she prescribed me anti-nausea pills.  There was hope.

The weekend was bad.  We were supposed to be going down to nan’s for the evening to watch the village carnival.  Lots of walking, lots of standing.  I felt what I assumed was weak from lack of food.  Walking upstairs was enough to make me need to lie down.  Instead we stayed in for the night.  We managed the supermarket on the Sunday but it was too much for me really. 

Monday came and it was back to work again.  I felt completely out of it, almost drunk.  The anti-nausea pills were the culprit.  Then the proof that they just don’t work.  I hadn’t wanted to get on the tube in the first place but due to the in law’s complete inability to say what’s really going on and let everyone else plan around it accordingly, the husband had to take the boy down to Kent at the very last minute and wasn’t around to pick me up from the train station.  I didn’t get very far really and ended up taking a rather long bus ride the rest of the way home.

Tuesday was finally my appointment with the psychiatrist.  He was happy to take me off the lofepramine and prescribed another drug.  Unfortunately I have little faith in this one; I was on it for nearly a year at one point and it did little but make me feel very numb.  Still, the choice is rather narrow and with little over two months to go until I can switch back I figured it was just easier to do as I was told.  the anti-nausea pills still weren’t working well.  I nearly lost my stomach before I’d even gotten on the tube but at least this time I managed to hold on. 

Wednesday was bad again.  By lunch time I was desperate to get home.  Better to curl up in comfort with my own bucket than spend the afternoon, as I had done the morning, in the bathrooms.  I really had been sampling the finer side of our offices in the past few weeks.  So I got home and slept.  Because at least if you’re asleep you don’t know how bad you’re feeling. 

Thursday I didn’t even see the point in trying to get in to work.  Good job as well because I didn’t even make it to mid morning despite not having eaten anything.  Yeah, I don’t think until that point the husband realised quite how bad I was.  Whilst I flaked in front of daytime tv I sent him out for pringles and ginger biscuits.  I could stomach those?  Right?  Apparently not.  Let me tell you, pringles and sickness don’t mix well.

Still, another doctors appointment that evening and he prescribed me some different anti-nausea pills.  Hope again. 

I was only down to work Friday morning with a parentcraft class in the afternoon so I decided to skip on the work idea.  The new pills seemed to be working but I was feeling quite out of it again.  Probably not the best idea to be pushing myself too hard so I felt I had a good enough excuse.  I didn’t manage to eat a lot during the day but we ordered pizza that evening and I felt I should congratulate myself on managing to eat a fair amount.  But I suffered for it.  I’d forgotten the hell of pregnancy heartburn.

But then Saturday morning I proved that maybe these new anti-nausea pills didn’t work quite as well as I’d thought.  Even water seemed to be aggravating my stomach.  It was certainly difficult to get down.  Dehydration we thought.  In Brasil they give people coconut water to help with it so the husband offered to go and get some the next morning.

Of course amongst all my drama, I’d kinda forgotten it was halloween.  We hadn’t thought about taking the boy out trick or treating, but then he seemed perfectly happy in front of Saturday evening TV and wasn’t even fussed when the first group of them knocked on the door.  Because clearly Hole in the Wall is far more important.  Luckily I’d heard them outside and had already raided the cupboards throwing out boxes of stale biscuits and half opened packets of gummy sweets.  I managed to rustle up a few out of date sweets and chocolate coins which seemed to do the job.  At least one of our cupboards is a bit clearer now.  I just hope the local kids aren’t too discerning about the sweets the eat.

And Sunday proved that coconut water is much easier to get down than plain water.  Even though the husband couldn’t manage to get hold of the pure stuff and the cans were loaded with sugar, I could at least drink it easilly enough and managed to get through two litres plus the water I’d started on first thing that morning.  And I held my stomach all day.  We considered it a success. 

So today found me back at work.  I didn’t feel great but figured I was at least functional.  I felt worse whilst I was on the tube but managed to avoid the feeling of needing to jump off the train and heave all over the platform.  There was even a slight sensation of hunger as I got in to the office.  Unable to stomach toast (I won’t even let the husband eat it near me) I grabbed a croissant and picked at it.  But, by 10 o’clock I’d given up on that idea and instead let my stomach do whatever the hell it wanted.

Yeah, I’m not sure these new anti-nausea pills are working either.