Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

So it turns out I really shouldn't have spared the inlaws the worry re: last weekend's Fun With Hemorrhaging. I have since learned of several bombs the MIL dropped while I was indisposed. First, I am clearly "milking" this for all it's worth. She never experienced any nausea, so obviously it's just a myth and I just need to buck up. In the same vein, bone-crushing fatigue = urban legend, so again, buck the fuck up. My favorite? "She would feel so much better if she just got some fresh air." I believe this followed my not wanting to take a 2.5 mile walk for coffee while spotting and cramping. The kicker is that I really was trying to be a trouper while they were here. I ate dinner cheerily despite feeling like death was imminent. I grocery shopped, cooked fancy homemade pizzas, made sure they had fresh linens on their bed and plenty of freshly washed towels, made the house as nice as I could, all while feeling like shit. And I like my inlaws! I really do! Sure, week long visits are longer than I prefer, especially when I know they are just puttering around the house while we're at work, but I deal. This just felt mean, criticizing me for feeling like crap, especially when she had no idea what was really going on or how hard it was for us to get here. It just stung and made me SO angry. Ragey, really. I'm trying to let it go though. Chalking it up to total ignorance of reality. (Oopsie, that sounded bitter, didn't it?)

Anyway, I had the mental health ultrasound on Tuesday and the blob was still alive and well. It was measuring a couple of days ahead of schedule and had a nice, strong heart rate -- 152. The nausea kind of took off this week too, unfortunately. In the beginning, it was manageable assuming I ate often enough. Now it's just kind of constant, like my gag reflex is in overdrive, and it seems to get really bad just in time to drive home from work. The B6/unisom combo no longer seems to help, and the zofran does nothing other than cause crippling constipation. Altoids give me a few minutes of relief, and warm baths are pretty soothing, but otherwise there is a lot of sucking it up going on. Every minute at work is torture; it's one thing to feel like crap a home, but another entirely to feel that way outside of my comfort zone when I have to appear professional. I'm praying every day that this gets better soon. I have never handled nausea well (HOOOO: UNDERSTATEMENT), so the constancy of this is wearing on me. It's depressing and isolating to feel sick all the time. My sweet husband has been amazing. He cooks, cleans, brings whatever I need to wherever I am lying in a heap of misery. I feel so terrible for sucking so hard lately, but I'm sure I'll get mine -- he is planning to have rotator cuff surgery this winter and he's a notoriously terrible patient. Poor little bunny.

Summary at 8w1d: This kid better be awesome, because life sucks right now.