Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother - Part Two
December 12th 2006 17:15
I was in my fifth month when the doctor told me my cervix was fully effaced and one finger (one centimeter dilated) so I had to have an emergency stitch. I was back in bed for the remainder of the pregnancy. Pregnancy two. Stuck in bed round two. I had to lay flat or on my side until I hit my ninth month and then I could get out of bed, they said. I had to lay there for all those months, except for two twenty minute periods when I could sit up to eat my lunch and my dinner. Oh and once a month I got to actually get out of bed and leave the house to go to my doctor visit where they’d shove a finger inside me to make sure the stitch was still holding. And did I mention that I was salivating. I mean hyper-salivating, as in drooling into a small hospital dish designed for vomit, nonstop?
There I was lying in bed and drooling like a dog. At least most of the hyperemesis (nonstop morning sickness) had subsided and I could eat solid foods again. Then again try eating and then lying down immediately thereafter when you’re not pregnant and think about how much more awful it would be if you had to do it when your stomach was growing to the size of a watermelon, pressing on your bladder and your esophagus and you already had continual nausea to begin with. Not pretty.
And what about Josh? He wasn’t even eighteen months old. I know he saw me lying in bed. But what kind of mother was I? I couldn’t take care of him. He didn’t understand. I used to take care of him. I used to take care of everybody and now I couldn’t even take care of myself.
First I’d lost a full scholarship to law school (when the same thing happened when I was pregnant with Josh) and now I’d lost the perfect job. How could this happen again to me? My doctors had told me it was rare to see this much sickness twice. They had a huge Obstetrical practice and they told me I was their sickest patient. I’d finally earned the title of “special” and all I could feel was depressed. Really. Really depressed. I was five months pregnant and I’d run out of options. I felt sick and gross and lonely and sad. All I had left was waiting.
There I was lying in bed and drooling like a dog. At least most of the hyperemesis (nonstop morning sickness) had subsided and I could eat solid foods again. Then again try eating and then lying down immediately thereafter when you’re not pregnant and think about how much more awful it would be if you had to do it when your stomach was growing to the size of a watermelon, pressing on your bladder and your esophagus and you already had continual nausea to begin with. Not pretty.
And what about Josh? He wasn’t even eighteen months old. I know he saw me lying in bed. But what kind of mother was I? I couldn’t take care of him. He didn’t understand. I used to take care of him. I used to take care of everybody and now I couldn’t even take care of myself.
First I’d lost a full scholarship to law school (when the same thing happened when I was pregnant with Josh) and now I’d lost the perfect job. How could this happen again to me? My doctors had told me it was rare to see this much sickness twice. They had a huge Obstetrical practice and they told me I was their sickest patient. I’d finally earned the title of “special” and all I could feel was depressed. Really. Really depressed. I was five months pregnant and I’d run out of options. I felt sick and gross and lonely and sad. All I had left was waiting.
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