First Trimester
Morning sickness hits at almost exactly seven weeks. In some ways, I've been training for this my whole life: I used to get motion sick a lot, and when I get ill, it often comes with nausea. I know when the nausea is just nausea, and at what point to run to the bathroom. I know I will have reprieve right after, but that the lassitude will return—so I must do what I will in the immediate minutes. I take a slice of gingerroot, thinking of my sea voyage two years ago: if I could change out a sail on a stormy night with raw ginger between my teeth, surely I can get through the day with it now.
...
I am sitting on the floor by the bed, contemplating a bowl of plain beef ramen. It's hard to tell whether food will make the nausea worse or better, but I'm pretty sure I should put something in my body. Even thinking about eggs or meat makes the bile rise a little, but I can manage carbs. I can manage broth.
I was okay an hour ago. I made a smoothie: blueberries and apple, snuck in tofu and kale. I made it to the pool downstairs in our complex. I’ve been swimming most mornings: in the water, I feel okay. I feel powerful, laps there and back across the pool. But when I get out, it’s clear I’ve used up all the energy I had put in. I’m shaking, feel like collapse. I make it up the stairs to our loft. Rob holds me, makes me soup, brings a mixing bowl upstairs just in case I need a place to puke.
Robert has been taking care of me to the point of neglecting his own plans. I've been unable to do my work. I haven't eaten properly in half a week. I'm stronger than this, I think. I can push through, finish the video lectures for my final grad school class. But I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do.
...
It has been about a month since I have looked at food and thought, "I want it."
People have told me,
"You wanted this."
And I did.
And I do.
And sometimes, it hurts to succeed.
...
I sat in the sunshine today, ate watermelon, interacted with a cat. I keep making muffins because I can usually eat them. Waiters in cafes were kind to me. I studied until I lost focus, napped until my head was spinning, thought about painting but didn't. That's okay. Tonight I'll crochet. Hundred percent the homework but bomb the test. Learn while it's interesting.
The truth is, I'm enjoying my life. The lemon tree scents sweetly in the evening, and I have found a stack of good books. Everything I need, I have.
...
It's 8am and I'm laying in bed sobbing for no reason. I'm not even hungry this time. I've got weird little zits breaking out along my jaw and honestly, I'm lucky. A lot of people get the nausea worse and for many weeks longer. I've been mostly functional. I have the insane privilege to not work, and a sweet partner who brings me food and holds me as best he can. I was planning to do this alone, and though I trust myself to pull through, it is hard enough trying and failing to take care of myself.
Robert walks with me in the evenings to the park a few blocks away. The air is good, the cherries blooming. But it's as much as my body can bear to walk home again.
...
Fighting hard not to think of these as wasted days, watching clouds out the window and it's been another hour and I still haven't eaten anything. But it's better to think of this as my faculties fully engaged: not useless, but clearly pushing limits instead. Weakness is easier to accept when it comes from use of strength.
...
This is basically seasickness but without doing something cool on a boat.
...
Either the nausea subsides or I discover a rhythm: ten hours of sleep, six meals a day, lots of fresh air, lying down often. I take walks, get up early to eat right away. Symptoms build on each other: hunger brings headaches brings lassitude, amplifies nausea. Staying on rhythm helps in the short term, but also balances out my confused metabolism over the course of days. I’m not so empty, which means I can eat. I’m feeling okay, so I can go out and enjoy the sunshine. Finally, one day, I wake up feeling like a human person and am filled with joy. Sun shines in the window over the highway, and my heart lifts. I love food, and I can enjoy it again. I get to be me in my body, even as it starts to grow a someone else.
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