Like a macabre Bo Peep. . . (PG for illness)

. . . I carry a bucket wherever I go.

Things that have caused me to vomit:

1. Walking past food.

2. Sitting at a table (as opposed to lying down, which is where I am for twenty hours of each day).

3. Taking a shower.

4. Brushing my teeth.

Last Friday my period would have been due. One of the best things about pregnancy is having no periods. I was especially looking forward to that, since Curtis women have rather nasty periods. However, I observed last time my period was due that I had absolutely everything I’d normally have in a period – cramps, illness, etc – except the blood. This “period” was similarly unpleasant, except I’m much sicker than I was a month ago.

And so it was that I threw up, on myself, in front of a student (he’s fine; handily distracted by going downstairs to play with Ana, and by my ability to calmly converse while spewing).

The rule of thumb is that if you can’t keep anything down, you go to hospital. Since I was throwing up water, and had lost over three kilos in two weeks (it’s now 5.5 kilos in three weeks), I thought, “Maybe I’ve done enough now and can get better treatment.” My doctor was closed for the weekend, so I found a health advice line to ask whether I should go to hospital or not.

The lady on the advice line asked a few questions about other minor symptoms (some of which I knew could be portentous), then said, “Yes you should go to hospital – within the next four hours.” I figured something had thrown up a red flag, and wasn’t concerned – just hopeful that I’d get me some more betterer drugs.

When we saw a doctor, she did absolutely no tests (not even for dehydration) and said, “Yeah, those health lines tell every pregnant woman to come in – otherwise you might have an unrelated miscarriage and sue them.” (Something which, incidentally, clearly didn’t concern HER.)

And that was our second hospital visit.  The doctor did say a lot of women improve in week ten (that’d be one week from now), which I’m clinging to in hope despite the fact she was almost certainly lying through her teeth in order to get rid of me more quickly. She also made the valid point that hospital doctors don’t know me, and can’t treat me as well as my regular GP – who should be “monitoring” me.

And so it was that my Mum made a Tuesday (yesterday) appointment with the doctor who has treated my entire immediate family since time immemorial (ie NOT the one who said if I was “really sick” I’d have acupuncture).

Usually mornings are my best time, but the whole “period” period had been unusually bad, and I was unable to eat at all that morning. I had a shower and threw up – nothing but bile and air, since there was nothing else (I also hadn’t had anything for dinner the previous night, and nothing but an energy drink for lunch the previous day).

Mum picked me up and drove me the half hour to my childhood doctor. I told the doctor I was pregnant; she was thrilled (she knew I was trying – she keeps up to date with all our family gossip). I told her I was on Maxolon but still hideously ill; she immediately prescribed stronger drugs (namely, Ondaz Zydis). Then we had a brief chat about how barbaric it is that medical professionals continue to say, “Oh, you’re pregnant. Whatever illness you’re going through is therefore normal.”

So here I am at Week 9, on much better drugs. I ate solid food for dinner last night (for the first time in two weeks), then got overexcited and brushed my teeth like a mad fool. That didn’t end well.

At this stage, I don’t know if I can stomach a second pregnancy (probably I can, considering I get a human being at the end). I do know I’ll be seeing a doctor who actually believes me when I say I’m sick, and who cares enough to want to make it stop.

In unrelated pleasant news, a children’s book I wrote was shortlisted (ie it came either third or fourth) in the “Voices on the Coast” contest. That’s the third time one of my novels has placed in a contest (all different novels, too).