9w0d: Not for the party puker

This first part is a bit awkward to write. I don't want to complain, but I don't want to lie, either. So let me state up front: As un-enjoyable as all this puking is, I would not trade it for the world. I would rather vomit 8 times a day for 9 months straight than the alternative. And the other symptoms--the boobs that feel like they've gone 8 rounds with Muhammad Ali, the being so tired I have to fight with myself to stay awake every morning, every afternoon, and every early evening, the constipation, the POSSIBLE increased irritability (psh, what do husbands know?), the fact that the only thing I wanted to eat yesterday was Spaghetti-Os (WTF, what grown-up even *thinks* of those)--they are no problem. They're kind of awesome, in a way, because they remind me that I'm not making this up.

But the puking. I will take it, I will own it. But...did I get hit hard with the vomit-stick. I spent some one-on-one time yesterday with an IV drip and a brand-new diagnosis of "Hyperemesis gravidarum". From my nursing school and my ability to speak medical-ese, I can tell you that literally translates into: "way too much puking, seriously". Woohoo!

I'm on Zofran. I went on it at about 6 weeks. My RE gave it to me. My OB and I discussed it at my last appointment. It went like this:

"How often do you vomit?"
"Well, when I only take the Zofran once per day, about 6-8 times. When I take it twice, maybe 3?"

Her eyebrows went clear up. She recommended always taking it twice, possibly even 3 times. (You can take it every 8 hours. I take it right when I wake up and then 8 hours later. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to puke. Good times!) And she told me to keep an eye on my urine, which is actually a hobby of mine anyway. If it's dark, it's bad. She told me that my babies will do just fine at stealing all their nutrients from me, so dehydration is our main concern. (But maybe she's just saying that since I'm fat.)

Yesterday was just a bad day. I slept in, and when I woke up, I was already puking. And I couldn't stop. I almost passed out--maybe I even did for a few minutes. My husband works Saturdays (until August 18th, anyway), and our cats are useless in an emergency. I couldn't stop puking long enough to let the damn Zofran dissolve in my mouth. I drove myself to the ER with a plastic bag on my face. It's only about 5 minutes away, and all down-hill. They didn't even make me wait the usual 4 hours. And they put a call in to my OB's office (which is on the 4th floor of the hospital's "women's wing"). I don't know what the OB's office said, but I assume something like, "Yeah, she vomits a lot. Give her some drugs and send her home."

So, 3 liters of saline poured into a vein it took them forever to find, and some IV Zofran, and I was on my way.

And now I'm taking it 24 hours a day.

All of which means, I really should have known better a few nights ago.

***********

Remember my intrauterine bleed/SCH thingy? Well, I was put on pelvic rest for it a long time ago. Pelvic rest is not what it sounds like--a nice, relaxing beach vacation for your pelvis, where it consumes whiskey sours and smokes clove cigarettes while watching lovely sunsets. Pelvic rest is a euphemism for NO SEX FOR YOU, BITCH.

And a dirty little secret: it's not just about taping up "Crime Scene--Do Not Enter" over the vagina. (Because, of course, the Crinone and dildocam enter whenever they please!) It also includes the following restrictions: no nipple stimulation, and no orgasm. And of course, because I was scared and bleeding, my response was "yes, of course, anything".

(For the record, I did not ask if anal was ok. I figured it wasn't, since that also involves the pelvic cavity. And also, I didn't want my RE going "Oh...*that* is why you couldn't get pregnant!" Because that was not what we were doing! We're not idiots!)

And while I'm still on the "anything to keep these babies" train, the pelvic rest restriction is really irritating. My hormones are like a teenage boy's. I've never wanted sex more. Some of that could be the forbidden fruit angle, and maybe some of it is my body trying to replace lost fluids from vomiting. And I've been having lots of sex dreams and even sleep orgasms. Which, there's no way to prevent that, so I'm trying not to feel guilty. But also, if I'm having an illicit orgasm every now and again, it sucks that my husband doesn't get to be a part of it.

So we've got a junior-high type relationship. Some making out, some cuddling, no second base, and every now and again I give him a hand job. Sound fun to you? Nice and fulfilling? Didn't think so.

Which is why, on Thursday night, I decided to give him a blow job.

I think you can all see where this is headed.

And yes, that's where it went.

The very second he began finishing, I began vomiting.

OMFG.

I have never, ever, ever killed the mood quite like that, quite so quickly, quite so awfully.

I learned my lesson, and will probably be getting served with divorce papers on the grounds of severe inflection of emotional distress.

In the mean-time, off to study for finals.