I’m not going to post any adorable pictures of me holding up a piece of fruit the size of my fetus to illustrate my progress thus far, mainly because I’m stuck on the couch and not really encouraged to be walking around – even to the kitchen to get a food prop. Also: selfies of people over age 30? Ugh, please.
But the wee one is apparently the size of banana. Which is, subsequently, a food that I have a better chance of keeping down at the moment.
I had a real scare earlier in the week. There was blood. There was a trip to the emergency Maternal Assessment Unit. There was a quick transfer to the actual Labour Ward where I sat in triage all day. There were tests. There were prods. There was poking. There were tears. But in the end, baby seems to be okay for now and I’m on strict bed rest for two weeks until the 22 week scan, where we’ll see if everything is hunky dory.
I did see my midwife the next day, who also seems to think that I may have injured myself internally due to how often I’ve been sick to my stomach. Hyperemesis Gravidarum is no joke. It’s like having food poisoning and the norovirus at the same time, yet for weeks at a time. It’s not ‘just bad morning sickness’, but an actual debilitating condition. I’ve read about TWO women alone here in the UK dying from HG complications ONLY THIS WEEK. 2! In one week? The deterioration of throwing up every single day for weeks on end can lead to organ failure, dehydration, and god knows what else. I’m grateful that my midwife is so understanding of how physically and emotionally draining HG has been on my body, so at least I have her in my corner if things don’t pick up. But I’m staying positive that they will improve, because it’s not going to do much good to worry while I’m stuck on the couch for the next two weeks.