I’ve started to dread the well-meaning polite question, “How are you doing/feeling?”
Unfortunately, even I have moments where witty responses and funny-sarcasm completely escape me. I’m not sure how someone can look at me and honestly ask that question: It seems like the lifeless zombie look with super huge shirts, split hair, and chapped lips would give it away. And, if that didn’t, maybe the blue vomit bag, jittery hands, or swaying body (because I’m about to pass out) would.
I’ve struggled with finding a one-liner that would really envelope the situation. You know, when you’re hooked up to IV lines, just had a catheter shoved, and your arms are black and blue… “How are you feeling today?” “Oh! I feel great! I just LOVE this!” A few ironic moments called for a simple stare, but mostly I’ve just replied with “awesome.” Or, “better.”
However, with “better,” it seems like I need a 5 page disclaimer. Because when I say better, it means I was able to take my own shower today or eat more than a handful of food. It doesn’t mean I can go out and play. I’ve been in survival mode for 6 weeks and at this point, I’m hanging on to every tiny improvement…even if it only lasts for that day. So, better to me…probably doesn’t mean what better to most people would.
And then, of course, I feel bad for not having a “better” answer. I want to tell people that after this much time, I’m greatly improving. I want to have something positive!! Unfortunately, not everyone grasps the positives of being able to poop…so I’ve had to let that one go.
Finally, I’ve settled on an answer.
How do I feel?
CRAPtastic.
And, I have a sliding scale. 1 to 10. Let me walk you through it.
10 is… need to be hospitalized and feel so miserable, my mind just kind of shuts down…or I cry nonstop.
1 is… “normal morning sickness” symptoms
The downside to my CRAPtastic sliding scale is that it can change in the matter of seconds…
I won’t walk you through every number, but for those of you really wanting an update, I’ll tell you where I am now with this stuff.
I was ranging between an 8 and 10 at all times. Mostly 9 and 10.
Over the past couple of weeks, I slowly moved down to more of a 7-8.5 range.
For the most part, I can give myself showers now. I am extremely weak afterward, so do not attempt them when home alone/with kids, but it’s an improvement. I gained one pound (after losing over 5 percent of my body weight). I can drink more than 4 oz of fluid. My aversions to food have decreased slightly…I was having aversions to food in general, but have been able to find at least SOMETHING to eat for the past couple of weeks. Occasionally I eat everything off of my plate (like pre-pregnancy). Mostly, I still eat very small amounts. I can sit up without automatically passing out. I can watch TV and read a little without it making vomit uncontrollably. I can drink out of a glass again…before I could smell everything from fingerprints to saliva on the rim and had to drink room temperature bottled water (if it was too cold, it would make me more sick). I no longer sleep with a fan aimed at my face (I needed the constant air circulation to decrease the smells that were attacking me, smells that my super-human nose could only pick up). I can walk to the mailbox (some days). One day, I was able to put on makeup…something I haven’t done since I’d gotten sick. It made me weak, but it was progress! I still can’t go out much and you won’t find me strolling through the park. Each day has its own set of obstacles, and they change.
Someone said something so encouraging to me, “You will never have to do this day again.”
It seems simple, but it’s huge when it feels like life has paused itself in one dark, miserable place. After an extensive time of physically feeling your worst, it takes a huge effect on your mind, and it can take you to a very dark place.
I am very slowly coming out of simple survival mode. I’m not completely there, yet. But, one day, I will wake up and realize I had an entire week of 7′s. And then, one day I’ll wake up and I’ll be at 5, and then 3, and then 1. I don’t know when. It may be tomorrow, and it may not be until I hold my baby in my arms.
But, that’s where I’m at.
Craptastic.
Welcome back!