Eight weeks. That's my countdown. Technically 8.5 but neither of my other kids waited that long so I'm praying this one doesn't either. Eight weeks seems so short looking back at the long road I've traveled but it also seems like an eternity.
I have told my husband countless times I can't do this anymore yet here I am stuck. I have never wanted to do something less in my life. I know the outcome is worth it in the end but for now I feel stuck. A prisoner in my own body. Helpless to stop it from making me feel awful. At best I can pray my medicine will give me a good day, one day at a time. The regimen I'm on takes its toll on me. I have to worry about tardive dyskinesia. I can no longer use the phenergan suppositories and must rely on the tablets. If I miss a dose of Pepcid the heartburn is overwhelming. I barely sleep. I have little patience with my two year old. I have a spot at the bottom of my rib cage that hurts almost constantly now. I had the same spot hurt with my son and took muscle relaxers for it. But I'm on so many drugs already I don't dare add another for fear I am hurting my unborn child. When she moves it makes me sick to my stomach sometimes. Once again the sight of raw meat makes me feel ill. I walk for not even five minutes and I'm winded. I constantly have to lean over the shopping cart and concentrate on breathing slowly to get my heart rate down while I'm out.
I try not to dwell on all these things. I don't want to be labeled negative Nancy. I know there are women who have it much worse off than I do. Fortunately for me, my doctors were able to find a drug combo that helps me function. Some women are not so lucky. Some are bedridden, hooked up to IVs or PICC lines. Feeding tubes down their noses or TPN through their PICC just to keep them alive. This disease is so ugly and so unknown. I pray they can find a cure so women could stop suffering just for wanting to have a child. It seems so unfair, being punished for bringing life into this world.