Monday 18 December 2006

Stop It

OK, this has got to stop.

My masseuse was asking me how things were, and I was telling her, yet again, how scared I am, how hard I'm trying to prepare myself for the worst, and she, bless her, reminded me about manifestation.

I suspect we disagree slightly about exactly what manifestation is, but she reminded me of what I know is true: Mind affects matter. And then I remembered how anxiety makes me nauseous, and how there's a 40% chance I won't get ill, and my life and body are different this time round, in several significant respects.

I have to start telling myself I won't get ill.

I won't get ill. I don't have to get ill. And even if I do, it doesn't matter. I can cope. I've done the hypnotherapy. I can manage the nausea in a way I couldn't before. Maybe I can stop myself from vomiting, or make myself sip water, or at the very least cope better with constant nausea.

And I have to stop telling people it's life-threatening. "I nearly died!" This is what I say to anyone who will listen, because it's dramatic, and it turns me into an Interesting Heroine.

There's this part of me that wants to get ill. Because it will make me Important, and Dramatic, and I'll get loads of time off work. This is STUPID.

I do NOT want to get ill. I did NOT nearly die. Yes, Charlotte Bronte died of it. Yes, I would have died if I hadn't been put on a drip. Yes, the only reason they put me on a drip is because my life was in danger. But I never would have actually died. I was always only five minutes away from an IV drip. And, most importantly, I won't die next time. Not now I know the signs. Not now I understand. But even more importantly than that, I probably won't get ill.

And if I do it doesn't matter.

So. From now on I am banned from talking in melodramatic terms about illness. I am banned from assuming I'll get ill. I am banned from assuming that if I do it will be awful. It won't.

We have everything in place to cope if I get ill. I don't need to plan for it any more. I need to shoo the negative thoughts from my self-defeating brain and focus on the positive.

Sex and babies.

It sounds pretty good to me.

Sunday 17 December 2006

Nope I

Not pregnant.

Miserable.

Terrified.

Ill.

Had a sudden attack of Fear. I was ill with 'flu on Thurs, and the temperature made me nauseous. And I remembered how hideous it is, to be nauseous and vomiting twenty-four hours a day for weeks on end. To keep nothing down. To become so dehydrated that you would die if it weren't for being put on a drip. To watch your vomit become peppered with blood. To be unable to talk because your throat has been doused with bile, hourly, for weeks, and it burns constantly. And you can't sit up because your stomach muscles are so sore from the retching, and you can't walk because you're so hungry and weak...

So, anyway. Yes. Scared. Scared of all that. Fucking terrified.

Friday 15 December 2006

Angry

I’m angry.

I’m probably angry because I have PMT, which is characterised by all-consuming irrational disconcerting anger.

I’m angry because I probably have PMT, which means I’m probably not pregnant.

I’m angry because I want to drink wine to make me feel better because of the PMT, but it might not be PMT, I might be pregnant, and if I am pregnant I can’t drink wine, but I’m probably NOT pregnant, for fuck’s sake. But I might be. So I can’t drink wine. Fuck.

Tuesday 5 December 2006

Drugs

I worked out (by the simple fact that I never throw anything away, and still have the packets in the medicine cabinet) that they already gave me the expensive drugs, the ones I thought I might have to fight for, last time I was ill. They didn't work.

Phew. No fight needed there then.

Sunday 3 December 2006

Gifts

Sex for procreation is different than normal sex. It’s more moving, more intimate, and (thankfully) sexier! The anticipation of him coming, really coming, inside me, turns me on. And when he does, I feel as though he’s giving me some wonderful gift. I feel so thankful, and so loved, that he would do this for me - that he would give me the most precious thing he owns. All of which is terribly cheesy of course, but that doesn’t stop it being true.

And then there’s the dark side. The knowledge of what it might bring. And when I went to the hyperemesis website today, it confirmed what I already knew but refused to acknowledge. That I don’t have any control over it. That I can’t stop it. That a lack of toxins, hypnotherapy and all the alternative medicine in the world is unlikely to make a blind bit of difference. But worse than that, I also found something I didn’t know: That hyperemesis can cause real damage to both foetus and mother. And that in order to avoid this, I really need IV vitamins and / or serious pre-emptive medication. But that IV vitamins can in themselves be dangerous, as can the medications which stand any chance of working - quite apart from the fact that both these things are expensive and unlikely to be easily - if at all - obtained from the NHS. I don’t want to have to think about these things. I don’t want a battle. I hate battles. I will always concede and capitulate and conciliate - anything to avoid a fight. And that’s when I’m well. There’s no chance of me managing any of this when I’m ill.

Friday 1 December 2006

Hello

Hello.

I'm trying to get pregnant. I'm occasionally panicking about what will happen if I do get pregnant. I already have one child. I was very ill when I was pregnant last time, but I'm trying very hard not to think about that. Mind over matter. Self-fulfilling prophecies. That kind of thing.

I can't be bothered explaining any more. I think I'll just jump straight in and inflict the contents of my head on you all. I can get a bit longwinded at times. And whingy. You've been warned.