Oh, the sickness

Almost immediately after transfer, and especially during the bout with cellulitis, I was exhausted all the time. I was still teaching of course, and the end of the year is always tiring anyway. But I felt like I got hit by a bus. And then backed over. Again. And again. 

I was too tired to cook, to clean, to function. At the end of the school day, it was all I could do not to sob from sheer exhaustion. 

Well, maybe I did that too. My poor husband. Where was the glowing, happy pregnant lady? Yeah, she is passed out on the couch. 

The other wonderful realities of pregnancy had also hit me. I had to pee all the time. Oh my goodness! I thought that happened waaaaayyy later! Like third trimester there is a kid stomping on your bladder of course you have to pee all the time! I usually sleep like the dead, but suddenly I am awake three times a night to use the bathroom. 

On a more painful note, my breasts became two objects whose sole purpose in life was to make me miserable. Even gravity hurts. 

Whine. I know.

At six weeks along, I almost instantly traded tired for nauseous. I still felt tired sometimes, but the extreme fatigue had faded away and given leave to something much worse. Food became the enemy. Eating sounded horrible, but if I got hungry, I started to throw up.

Lovely. 

We ate out a lot for those two weeks at the end of the school year. The idea of cooking food made me feel wretched, but I needed to eat something. One day one thing sounded good, but the next day it was something different. 

I am still struggling. Some days I am throwing up all the time, food or not. 

My pharmacist told me something funny: He said that he would rather be in pain than feel nauseous. He said he would rather snap his femur in half than feel nauseous for months on end. 

That’s one way to put it.