I grew up believing that being pregnant would be one of the best experiences of my life. I heard about the glow and all that bliss that comes with it. I expected nothing less than the pure joy of anticipating a baby, and I never imagined that my pregnancy could be brutally different from the way I had always imagined.
Almost anything — watching TV, listening to music, reading books or walking — could make me vomit. Sometimes I threw up 20 times in a single morning. I tried everything the nurses suggested: bed rest, acupuncture, breathing exercises, herbal tea, ginger chews and therapy. A shelf in our kitchen was overrun with Pepto and Mylanta bottles. Nothing helped. I felt betrayed by my body.
Though I could eat, my life was stagnant. I was still too sick to do much of anything but doom-scroll between bouts of vomiting. I read about other women’s experiences with HG to feel less alone. I learned thatbut the only information about the Duchess of Wales’ treatment was a vague statement about how she “may require supplementary hydration, medication and nutrients.”.
So many of the people I knew persistently told me that good nutrition was the most critical thing in pregnancy — as well as “peace of mind.” I had neither. Instead, I constantly worried about my baby, and every trip to the doctor’s office was filled with tremendous anxiety. Was the baby OK? Was she growing? Was the bread I was eating enough to sustain her?
We need more clinical trials, faster research-to-medication pathways and multiple approaches to relieving HG soI can picture a better reality where no mother suffers what I endured. I desperately hope it comes soon.