And there I was thinking proper puking was behind me, captured for eternity in a trimester I don’t plan to enter into again. But alas, no. I hadn’t banked on food poisoning. Once-loved chicken curry I will eye you suspiciously forever more (or at least for the foreseeable future anyway. That abstention plan never worked long-term for wine or beer either....)
Last Thursday was a day-us horribilis. Of course, there’s always some long overdue task to perform on days like that. For me, it was taking the car in for a service at an ungodly morning hour. I hadn’t slept well the night before (nothing new there) but upon awakening, my insides were churning and something told me to stay off the cereal and water before embarking on the car service jaunt.
After dropping off my car, Husband N looked as green as I did when I asked him if he had any plastic bags for the journey back home in his car. As he busied himself finding something suitable in the Nissan car lot, I got that familiar surge of salty saliva to the mouth. Hang the plastic bags, looked like this round wasn’t going to wait....
I peered around me. We were parked right at the front of the glass-fronted car showroom. I didn’t feel I’d make it inside but surely this couldn’t be performed outside, in front of not-yet-fully awake staff as they supped morning coffees. So I trotted round the back of the car and squatted down. Thankfully, the surge had abated and I was able to amble back into the car to the plastic bag sea Husband N had found for me.
But moments in the door back home and it really bit me. I’d eaten late the night before and hoped it was maybe my system just objecting to that – a nasty but one-off thing. But it wasn’t. Anything I forced inside myself thereafter – dry toast, sips of water, a handful of grapes – came back up inside a fifteen minute window.
Husband N had gone to work on the proviso that I’d promise to call if things got too bad. But I’d figured we’d get through the few hours before toddler Eliza’s nap time with her DVD’s – anything so I could get horizontal on the couch for a little bit.
Still obsessed with her potty, Eliza had to keep trotting into the bathroom with me so she could sit down and read her books. If it hadn’t been so awful, it’d have been hilarious. She was terrified by my retching sounds and started crying so in between bouts with my head down the bowl, I had to cajole her with jokes and Guys and Dolls numbers to pretend everything was okay. Oh, that it was!
Her naptime finally arrived like a beacon of hope in a sea of murky despair. With Eliza tucked up in bed, I rang my obstetrician who assured me that as long as I continued taking fluids, everything would be fine with the baby. She explained that dehydration from vomiting can irritate the uterus and make it contract, in some cases even bringing on early labour. God forbid – we still didn’t have a crib! If I didn’t manage to make any pee in 12 hours, I’d have to go to the ER and be put on an IV. But otherwise, she reassured, the baby would be unharmed by a bout of puking.
I was greatly relieved as was still managing to eke out pee. The doctor had said if I couldn’t keep tap water down, to try popsicles, flat Coke, apple juice, Gatorade... anything. Our freezer revealed a box of Trimester One popsicles. Given my Trimester One ‘morning’ sickness joys, I then and there welcomed eating the box’s contents about as much as I fancied a second helping of aforementioned chicken curry. But I’m glad I didn’t toss them aside. They worked at hydrating me and once Husband N came home that evening with Gatorade and Vitamin water I was pretty much home free.
By the next day, the sickness was over but I was wiped out and still feel shattered. My tummy was sketchy all weekend and I just wanted to crawl into bed. Not so easy with a toddler!
Normal service resuming in my stomach today though. I’ve just contentedly chomped through a bowl of chips. Not chicken curry flavoured of course.....