During the worst of the throwing up early Saturday morning, Mr. Turtle took me to the hospital. We were in a smaller city for the weekend, however, and there was only a nurse at the hospital. (I guess there is a doctor on call too, but she didn't call him.) The nurse talked to me for about 5 minutes and then gave me a handful of Zofran and Gravol tablets. She said to take those (first the Zofran, then the Gravol if that didn't work). If it didn't stop the vomiting, come back and they would do an IV. I suppose that was a reasonable response, but I rather felt like she didn't care much - she didn't even take my vitals or anything. I had the impression she was lazy. That didn't make me feel better later on. Still, after being assured the medications were safe for first trimester, I agreed to take them (I was pretty desperate after all.)
Took a couple Zofran, threw up some more, took a Gravol, threw up some more, wished I was dead, and then abruptly fell asleep for several hours. I woke up Saturday morning and actually didn't have to throw up. I continued to take the oral meds every six hours though, hoping to stop any more throwing up. I spent Saturday in bed feeling OK and then had a long, queasy evening and night (the only way I could fall asleep was by leaving the hotel TV on to infomercials. It led to some interesting dreams.)
By Sunday morning I was feeling sufficiently better to become worried about taking anti-nausea medications. So, I googled Gravol and Zofran! I don't recommend doing this ever because it is utterly confusing. Try it and you'll see why. Anyway, Dr. Gnomish said that Gravol and Zofran are used short-term to control severe nausea in pregnancy, but are not approved (in Canada) for pregnancy long term. He assured me that no, taking a few tablets once was not going to do any harm. (exhale. New mantra: Gravol did not kill my baby. Gravol did not kill my baby. Yes, I am most likely still pregnant. Oh hello again nausea, you heard I missed you?)
Dr. Gnomish also gave me 2 weeks prescription for Diclectin, which is approved (in Canada) for longer-term use during pregnancy.We'll see how that works. I do feel better taking something that my doctor prescribed me versus a handful of pills given by a distracted night nurse.
I am feeling better today (so far) and actually ate a real meal (small serving of chicken soup and a half a small spinach salad). It actually tasted pretty good after nothing but yoghurt, ginger ale and juice boxes for the times I could keep anything down. Finally acquired some cheese today too and oooh, sooo good. I really hope I don't throw that up. Oh, and please nobody tell me to eat saltine crackers. I tried that. I'm so sick of them. And my bed is full of crumbs.
I also have a note from Dr. Gnomish saying I'm unfit for work for a week. So, once I've allowed my colleagues to talk me out of going in just for a little while, well, I guess I have a week to recover. Two actually, as the week after is spring break. But we are supposed to go to San Diego for a family trip with Mr. Turtle's mom and brothers next week. I was looking forward to this until last weekend. After spending my weekend away in the mountains lying in bed puking/sleeping/watching daytime TV/late night infomercials, traveling seems somehow less enticing.
I'm feeling a bit better, physically and mentally, and trying to have some humour and optimism here, but crap. Just when I think I'm out of the Twilight Zone, ready to experience some confidence and happiness, it's like something grabs me and yanks me right back in. It's hard.
All my life I've liked the expression "The body is the rocket ship of the soul." (Not sure who said it, and I've done enough googling for the day.) Minus a few inevitable teenage insecurities, I think I've always had a pretty healthy body image. I remember briefly worrying that I had fat thighs, for example. Then one day I was on a cross-country ski trip, and I was climbing the steepest, hardest trail in the park: about two hours' climbing brought me to an amazing 360 degree view of the mountains and the valleys. As I pounded up the hill thinking how much I like mountains, I realized: My thighs are fat for a reason. They have muscles in them! Duh! Rocket ship for the soul.
Except these days, I feel a lot more like this:
A bloated, leaky, dangerous dirigible.
I remember watching a TV documentary some while ago about the airship Hindenburg and the history of airships. At the time, my main thought was: How on earth did anybody have the nerve to get in one of those things? Although everybody knows about the Hindenburg disaster ("Oh, the humanity!") the track record of other airships was hardly confidence-inspiring. The Hindenburg and the German fleet actually had the best record for safety. But despite a history of accidents a lot of people still thought it was awesome to attach themselves to a giant bag of explosive gas and fly through the air hoping for the best. You couldn't pay me to ride in one of those things.
Except, well these days, I feel a lot like I've booked passage on one of those airships, on a very long ocean crossing voyage, hoping on a prayer that I make it to destination city without crashing or immolating. And I have to find a way to be OK with that.
I'm trying. I really am.