The first time I was sick, I was six weeks pregnant with my one and only son.

I was glad – which is strange, right? But as a woman I have been conditioned to believe that being sick when pregnant is welcome – until it isn’t.

Seven days later my nausea and occasional vomiting had progressed until I was being sick 20-30 times a day. 

If only I had known then what I know now: that I wasn’t suffering from morning sickness, I had hyperemesis gravidarum (HG), a pregnancy complication that affects one per cent of pregnant women.

I was signed off from my job as a marketing consultant. I couldn’t wash or shower and if my husband came near me I cried because the smell of him made me sick, too.

I vividly remember crawling out of bed on my hands and knees and screaming at him to turn the oven off because the smell of grease was slowly killing me. 

It didn’t matter what scent it was, in fact – flowers, food, candles, deodorant, to me they all had the same rotting, putrid aroma.

I was a prisoner in my own home, confined to my bed or asleep. My GP wouldn’t do a home visit, so I was forced to go into the surgery. The energy I needed to make the five minute journey there, to sit and wait in a brightly lit room, set me back for days.

The GP told me I had ‘really bad morning sickness’ and eventually prescribed antihistamines, which can relieve symptoms and is safe to take in pregnancy. They did nothing apart from knock me out.

At this point, I had stopped eating and my body would no longer allow me to drink water. In fact I couldn’t even stomach my own saliva. I recommend counting how often you swallow – I bet it’s a lot more than you think. Then imagine ejecting your stomach contents every time you do.  

On some days, the isolation and loneliness was worse than the sickness. I missed my husband when he went to work but hated it when he came home because he reminded me of what I was missing out on: a life.

But the person I hated more than him was myself. How pathetic was I that I could not handle morning sickness? I told myself that I did not deserve to be pregnant when I could not get through this.

HG is often referred to as ‘morning sickness’ but it is not. Firstly, a more accurate term would be ‘pregnancy sickness’ as it can happen any time during the day.

But more worryingly, when women with HG are told they simply have bad morning sickness, they can be prevented from getting help as we are preconditioned to think that morning sickness is normal. 

Not only has it been proven that this term trivialises the condition, it’s patronising, inaccurate and manages to pass off female suffering as a mild nuisance.

Not being able to eat or drink, coupled with continuous vomiting, is a type of torture, and intrusive thoughts plagued me. I would fantasise about just not waking up because it would be easier on everyone if I were dead. 

I was traumatised, not only from the sheer destruction to my body from being sick every day, but from the lack of support. 

I dreamt of ending my pregnancy daily, and when I was admitted to hospital at 10 weeks for severe dehydration, with my husband by my side, I begged the doctor to help me do it. 

She asked me to give her time to help but I was reluctant. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to help me. 

It wasn’t until I was admitted to hospital for a second time two weeks later that I was finally given some relief and prescribed an anti-sickness medication called Ondansetron, which is usually reserved for chemotherapy patients.

The drugs saved me – but it took me 20 weeks of battling preconceptions, miscommunications, and a general lack of desire to help because I was ‘only’ pregnant.

Of course, this isn’t everyone’s experience. Some women do receive good treatment from medical health professionals but my understanding is that they are in a minority.

The rest of my pregnancy ran smoothly and my son, Henry, was born at 41 weeks. There were no complications and he was unaffected by everything I had been through. 

For me, however, the trauma of HG left me with severe anxiety and PTSD and it’s because of this that my husband and I will not have any more children. When you have a history of this condition you are likely to have it in subsequent pregnancies, so it has robbed me of the pleasure of extending my family.

In 2018, I decided to make a documentary about HG. I had some previous experience of presenting on TV, but had never produced a documentary before so it was a real change of direction.

It’s been worth the risk to validate every woman who has ever been dismissed, disbelieved and told that nothing can be done.

My hope is that the documentary will force HG into the spotlight. The rest is up to the incredible (but all too few) scientists who are trying to find a cure. 

If I can at least raise awareness – if I can speak out enough to enact change so that no more women are left untreated – then something good will have come from my hell.

Sick – The Battle Against HG will be available on a video demand service in Autumn 2020. Charlotte also hosts The Hyperemesis Files podcast, which is coming to Spotify at the end of July 2020.

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