As Independence Day approaches with all its watermelon-ing and rocketeering my mind is pulled away from thoughts of patriotism to what the fourth was like for me a year ago. It was, in my estimation, a very memorable holiday weekend for me. Not because of anything red white and blue, but more due to the fact that, for three days, I thought I was going to die (jeepers I'm so dramatic).
Dan had left the Friday before the Fourth (which was on a Monday) to help his folks move out in Denver. I was about 13 weeks pregnant with Sammy and had Eli in tow. I decided Saturday morning to drive up to SLC and meet my folks at the Farmers Market. My morning sickness had seemed to be getting a little better and I thought I could handle a little outside, normal people activities. As you may recall...I had not been having a very glamourous pregnancy up to this point but I thought things had been getting better.
After about 10 minutes navigating the market with my folks in almost 100 degree weather I knew I was in trouble. I could barely walk and was feeling so so tired and sick. My mom decided I needed to get home and we started to the car. Right outside Pioneer Park, with Saturday morning hipsters enjoying their freshly purchased lettuce and what-nots, I started puking. I still can't look those bushes in the face when I see them. It was...not good.
My mom loaded Eli up in my car and drove me up to my parents house in Bountiful. I staggered into their house, collapsed on the couch, and didn't move for three hours...loosing any remaining nutrients I had in my system about every 30 minutes. I was worried for Baby...I was worried for me...I was worried for my parents house...
I tried to stand up once and blacked out. My dad decided I needed some professional help. Dan and I are big Instacare people so we found one in Bountiful and my pops drove me down. The doctors were very friendly...but not super helpful. I told them I hadn't been able to keep anything down in hours and that I was afraid I'd gotten heat stroke. In a grand act of demonstrative cooperation my body decided to puke 2 or 3 more times while I was at the clinic. I did make them hook me up to a little sonogram machine so I could hear Baby Boy's heart beat. It sounded good...so I felt a little better. They didn't want to give me an IV...for whatever reason..and just gave me a shot of Zofran and sent me home.
The next day or so I couldn't get off the couch. I was so sick I felt like I would barter anything to get the nausea away. I talked to my doctor brother and he projected that the heat had exacerbated my morning sickness and things would hopefully get better.
By the actual holiday I was feeling a little more person-like and was able to enjoy some festivities with my fam. Eli didn't seem phased by Mom's sickness. He just wanted to see the fireworks...that made me happy.
SO....why am I regaling you all with tales of puke and wimpiness? Because. I will tell you what. Now that a year has passed and Sammy is here and that whole pregnancy thing is history I don't even think about all it took to get him here. Even now as I watch him roll around on the carpet and giggle at his toys the trials seem like a far off memory. Five months of intense morning sickness and the inevitable c-section seem like dots on a road. I would do it again in a heartbeat to get my little boy to us.
Mostly I'm writing that to remind myself next time I get pregnant that there is a purpose to the suffering. My body hates being pregnant and likes to remind me of that pretty much every day of the pregnancy. But at the end it is so worth it. I don't look forward to the time when I have to endure all that again...but I need to remind myself that it will be ok, and somehow it will work out.