Do you want another one?

Today Jeff caught me staring at a new baby on the row in front of us. He must have seen me smiling because he whispered at me, "Do you want another one?"

He's asked me this before. Or we've been asked by other people if we're done having kids. And my answer is always a lie... no.

But the truth is, yes, I do want another baby. 

When I told Jeff, "Yes, I do want another baby but I don't want to be pregnant," he laughed. Which, if you know anything about how babies are made, not wanting to be pregnant again is sort of problematic to the whole having a baby thing.

It sounds simple. Want a baby. Get pregnant. Happily ever after. {Well, until the terrible 2's and 3's.}

But for me, it's not that simple. Now, I will preface this blog post by saying I have no idea how it feels to suffer from infertility. It hasn't been a problem for me when I did want to get pregnant. I've known friends and family members who have and it's painful to see them suffer and know there is nothing you can do or say that will help, unless you've walked in their shoes yourself. And I am eternally grateful and very happy to have two healthy children.

But I do feel like I know somewhat how those suffering from infertility might feel at times... wanting another child so badly that your heart just aches... trying to not feel a tinge of deep pain {and jealously} when someone else is expecting. Only my situation is choosing infertility.

I've chosen infertility.

Why? Why would you ever choose infertility? It sounds horribly selfish to those who can't have children. And makes you feel like a complete wuss because you can't handle the thought of being pregnant again. I mean, for most, they're thinking it can't be that bad! Can it?

It is. For a very small percentage of women, 40 weeks of pure Hell awaits to grow an amazing little human being inside of you. Unless you've been there yourself, you have no idea just how bad it is.... the non-stop 24/7 vomiting, paralyzing nausea, and having what should be the most joyous time in your life turn into a horrible nightmare with no end in sight. The worst part? You have no idea how long it's going to last... you hold on to hope that this must be normal {at least with your first when you don't know it isn't normal to be THAT sick} and that it will end at 12 weeks, then 14 weeks, then 16 weeks, then never.

Never.

The puking never stops. All day. Before you eat, after you eat, after drinking water {Have you ever thrown up cold water? Feeling it hit your stomach and then rocket back up? It hurts.}. Before brushing your teeth, while brushing your teeth, at the smell of anything, in the car, walking, in the middle of the night. So much that four years later and you still can't stomach the thought of eating certain foods {like Subway's Italian BLT} because you can still taste the vomit in your mouth. You learn what foods don't hurt as bad to throw up and it's not what most people will tell you to try and eat unless they've been there before themselves {Rice? Hurts. Noodles, anything tomato or acid based, yougart, Popsicles, all hurt. Plain bagels, bread, and dehydrated potatoes... that's about the only things that don't hurt coming back up.}. 

The only comparison I've found that helps people get a glimpse of what it's like is to imagine having the worst food poisoning you've ever had in your life and multiply that by 40 weeks. NON STOP. {My biggest pet peeve about pregnancy... it's not nine months, it's 40 weeks. That's four weeks in a month multiplied by 40 weeks equals 10 months. For women living day by day and sometimes minute by minute to try and get through it, you know it's 10 months, not nine.}

It's called Hyperemesis Gravidarum or HG. A debilitating and potentially life-threatening pregnancy disease marked by rapid weight loss, malnutrition, and dehydration due to unrelenting nausea and/or vomiting with potential adverse consequences for the mom-to-be and the newborn(s). It's real. It's not something you make up so others feel pity on you that you have "morning sickness." I would have given anything to just have "morning sickness." Or that you can somehow think your way out of.... "just toughen up and make up your mind that you're going to get out of bed - more accurately get off the bathroom floor - today". 

With Pearl I was so, so sick. I had no clue you weren't supposed to be that sick. That it wasn't normal to lose 11 lbs. in a week. It wasn't normal to call your doctor {who by the way, did absolutely nothing to help me... yeah, sucking on saltine crackers doesn't work} hysterical, crying, and begging for help. It wasn't normal to throw up so much that you couldn't even keep water down, let alone anything of nutritional value. To stay in bed for weeks at a time, crying and puking, wondering when it would stop. I was so dehydrated that I honestly felt as if my organs were starting to shut down... I felt like I was dying. I switched doctors and luckily, was able to get things somewhat under control {Zofran my miracle medicine that made it possible for me to attempt to function every day} before I ended up in the hospital or on home health care. But that nasty, metal, puky taste never left my mouth until I had Pearl. I couldn't brush my teeth. I smelled like barf. Everything did. I remember one day Jeff literally picking me up and putting me in the shower because everything smelled like barf and who knows how long it'd been since I'd had a bath because I couldn't do anything but lay on the floor or in bed. He bleached everything which only make my nausea worse and I starting puking in the sink to avoid the bathroom. 

Bleach smells still make me cringe.

 

And with Cole, people will often tell me, "oh you weren't as sick." No, it was worse but I knew to not let myself get out of control that early one... we're talking sick, really sick at four weeks people... like when I was pregnant with Pearl. It was awful. At one of my doctor's visits, I asked him - more like begged - to put me in a medically induced coma until it was over because I couldn't take it anymore. I honestly felt like I would end up at the state mental hospital because emotionally, with that first time vomiting after getting pregnant, I spiraled out of control. I couldn't take care of myself or Pearl. It was horrible. Some of the worse months of my life.  The mental anguish is indescribable. I truly thought Jeff would leave me. My sister took Pearl every weekend to try and help free me of the guilt of not being able to feed her, bathe her, play with her... be her mom. And I swear this abandonment happened at just the right time in Pearl's developmental stage, that she has never forgiven me for it, at least subconsciously.

It sounds ridiculous but believe me, please believe me.

I felt so alone. So alone. No one came with meals. No one came to clean my house. No one helped {aside from Jeff and Kimmy}. Had I been diagnosed with cancer, I'm sure an army would have shown up at my door to help {and you can predict when things would get bad with being sick after chemo treatments}. HG is a totally isolating condition. People think you're just making all this up for attention and that if they weren't sick like that themselves, then you're just faking it. I have to bite my tongue when I hear friends complain that they feel a little sick to their stomachs for a few weeks. If only....

And then once you can keep something down, your metabolism is so screwed up your body believes it is still starving. For months and years afterward. The weight gain was huge with both pregnancies... gaining 50+ lbs. in a matter of two months just because you could finally eat something. 

But oh. Oh. Those babies! Of course I will forever say they were worth it. But even now, I don't know that I could say they were worth it in the midst of my pregnancies. That sounds horrible but it's true. I had faith, hope that it was worth the pain and anguish but that didn't make it "worth it" in the moment. 

That's the dilemma. The thought of getting pregnant again by choice nearly sends me into a panic attack. I don't know if my daydreams are just that or a hint that I'm supposed to do something differently. Sometimes I secretly hope that Heavenly Father would just send us a little surprise so I didn't have a choice in the matter. 

But He doesn't work like that. I'm not sure Jeff could handle a third time being pregnant with me {me neither for that matter} and for me, I'd rather keep him. I kinda like him and want him to stick around.

Choosing infertility comes at a high cost. But for me, so does choosing a baby. 

{For anyone reading this who has had HG themselves or knows someone with it, please refer them to the Hypermesis Education and Research Foundation. I recently stumbled across their Facebook page and website and finally felt like someone believed me. They felt the same things I did and knew exactly what I'd gone through. I wish I had known about their support during my pregnancies.}