When it’s not “just morning sickness”
Understanding a debilitating pregnancy illness
In the spring of 2010, I became pregnant. I tested positive early — around three weeks. But before I even had much of a chance to process this or what it meant to my life and future, I spiralled into one of the most severe bouts of physical illness I’ve ever experienced.
I knew morning sickness frequently went hand-in-hand with being pregnant, so nothing seemed amiss when nausea and vomiting started. But every day I felt worse. Over a period of about two weeks, I quickly progressed from getting sick in the morning and feeling a bit queasy throughout the day, to vomiting every few hours and barely being able to move or function.
My doctor prescribed some medication to help and told me my symptoms should go away by the end of my first trimester. Being so sick for another two months seemed unfathomable, but I resolved to find a way through it.
The medication seemed to help at first, but its effects were short-lived. As those early weeks wore on I began to feel trapped in my own body. Somedays I was too sick to walk 15 feet from my bed to the washroom, but I was so dehydrated I could go all day without peeing, so my immobility didn’t matter that much anyways.
By the time I was eight weeks pregnant I was vomiting 20–30 times/day, which landed me in the emergency room where I was given IV fluids and then promptly discharged. I began vomiting again before I had even made it out of the hospital doors. At this point, I was down 35 lbs and had transformed into a skeletal version of my previous self.
I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t drink. I couldn’t move.
Two days later, on my second trip to the emergency room, the severity of my situation was finally recognized. I was hospitalized and diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, which is characterized by extreme and persistent vomiting during pregnancy. I spent 10 days in the hospital on a cocktail of powerful IV anti-nausea medications, typically reserved for cancer patients undergoing chemo, that was supposed to stabilize me. But “stable” for me turned out to mean vomiting 3–4 times/day instead of 20–30.
When I returned home from the hospital, I sunk into a routine of popping meds (three different prescriptions, staggered on a four-hour rotation), napping and staring out at the poplar tree that branched over our apartment balcony. Aside from one friend who visited me in the hospital and helped me to doctor’s appointments, I don’t think my friends understood or wanted to confront what I was dealing with — so I spent my days alone, isolated and despondent. It was agonizing to watch the summer pass by and the outside world carry on with business as usual.
As my pregnancy dragged on, I had days that were bad, and days that were better — but my symptoms, and my hospital visits, persisted for the duration of my pregnancy. As it turns out, the only “cure” for hyperemesis is the end of pregnancy. This leads some women to terminate their pregnancies, as the symptoms can be intolerable. Finally, the day came where my son was born and my symptoms instantly disappeared.
Looking back now, I realize there’s no way to know what I didn’t know. I had never been pregnant before, and I had no sense of what was normal and what wasn’t. As hyperemesis is relatively rare, doctors often mistake it for morning sickness, leading to delays in intervention and proper treatment. However, thanks in part to Kate Middleton’s experience during her pregnancies, awareness of the condition has increased substantially over the past decade.
I’m grateful that, despite the challenges of this condition, I made it to the finish line. But what I and so many others like me have experienced is not just “morning sickness.” The sooner we collectively recognize that, the better we can make things for women who are facing down this beast in the future.
