Deana Nall has been writing features for magazines since 1994 and contributes to a number of nationally-distributed publications.

She has also written newspaper features and a weekly humor column, for which she won an award from the Texas Associated Press Managing Editors. Deana completed her master's in professional and technical writing at UALR in May 2013. She lives in Bryant with her husband Chad and their daughters Julia and Jenna.

That Sick for That Long By Deana Nall

Crumpled in a heap on the bathroom floor, I decided to just stay there. Crawling back to bed would require a bigger effort than I was willing to make. I slowly rose up on one elbow and reached an emaciated arm up to the bathroom counter. A streetlight through the window illuminated the brown, yellow, and purple bruises along the inside of my arm. I must look like an anorexic junkie, I thought. I felt around on the counter, located the ponytail holder I was looking for, and tied my hair back before dropping to the floor with a thud. *** I had gotten pregnant. Thats all I had done.

Just a few weeks earlier, I had stumbled out of the bathroom holding a pregnancy test that showed an unexpected extra line. I couldnt say the word pregnant; it was too unrealtoo unbelievable. So I stammered to Chad, my husband of five years, Honey, I think you knocked me up. I was a healthy 26-year-old with a fun job coordinating alumni events at a university while Chad worked on his ministry degree at seminary. We had meant to wait until he had graduated to start our family. But it was happening now. That was OK. We were elated. When you are newly pregnant and overjoyed about your condition, the symptoms of pregnancy are greeted with near-giddiness because they serve as confirmation that the pregnancy is truly happening. My period had disappeared, so I gleefully threw boxes of tampons into the back of the bathroom closet. Wouldnt need those for a while! Coffee and toothpaste began to smell funny. Because I was pregnant! I started feeling queasy. Because I was pregnant! When I threw up one Thursday evening, I proudly told my husband, I just threw up because Im pregnant! Isnt that cute? Life can have a way of taking joy and crushing it to dust. When I threw up that Thursday night, something began that neither Chad nor I saw coming. Something that would strip everything away from me and leave me nearly dead. I would never be the same. That Friday morning, I woke up and kept vomiting. It never stopped that day, or that night, or the next day. Every half hour or so, I threw up. Even when there was nothing to throw up.

I tried to go to work the next week, but there was no restroom on my floor. I would stay only a few hours and come home. My doctor said nausea and vomiting were normal in pregnancy, but he was concerned about how badly I had dehydrated. Even one sip of water would come right back up. He admitted me to the hospital for IV fluids and Phenergan, a strong tranquilizer. The vomiting seemed to let up, and I was sent home. I had been there a few hours when the sickness came back with a vengeance. Then I remembered something. In one of my pregnancy books, I had read a short paragraph about a pregnancy complication called hyperemesis gravidarum. Thats the name given to morning sickness when it escalates to life-threatening levels. Other than IV therapy and tranquilizers, not much could be done for this condition at the time. The paragraph ended with the reassurance that this condition is extremely rare. Surely this was not happening to me. Surely the vomiting would stop at any moment, and I could start eating again, going to work, and having a healthy, normal pregnancy. My life had become a miserable succession of vomiting for days, going to the hospital and getting rehydrated, and returning home to start vomiting again. I missed more worksometimes days at a time. The weeks turned into months. I was a prisoner inside my own body. I was so weak that getting out of bed required monumental effort. And there was no escape from the unrelenting nausea and vomiting. My pregnant friends were wearing cute maternity clothes and picking out colors for their nurseries while I wasted away on the bathroom floor, so sick that I wanted to die. Chad was at a loss. This had blindsided both of us, but he did everything he could to take care of me. I was too weak to stand in the shower; so he would get in with me so I could lean against him.

I began praying for God to either let me miscarry or to let me die in my sleep so I wouldnt have to wake up in the morning and face another day of vomiting. My doctor had never seen anyone so sick and did not know what to do with me. My weight dropped. I had started the pregnancy at 133, which was a healthy weight for someone with my height and frame. As my weight plummeted into the 120s, and then below 110, my doctor became exasperated with me. You really could stop this if you tried, he said. I believe at least half of this is in your head. Why would anyone choose to live this way if they had any control over it at all? I had been healthy and active before this happened. Did he think I enjoyed being this ill? My weight neared 100, and I hadnt weighed 100 since junior high. If it gets below 100, we may need to consider terminating this pregnancy, my doctor said. On September 19, I threw up for the last time.. I had thrown up for fifteen weeks, missed two months of work, been hospitalized seven times, and lost thirty-five poundsmore than a quarter of my body weight. I slowly began eating again and eventually gained my weight back, plus some pregnancy weight. On January 19, I gave birth to a baby girl who was and has always been in perfect health. I will never know how she was not harmed by that pregnancy. ***
Comment [J1]: This will have to connect stronger to the prayer at the beginning. The impact is diluted here because of the foreshadowing.

When youre that sick for that long, you change. When youre that sick for that long, abortion stops being something to vote against and becomes something that could have saved your life. When your daughter is five-years old and gives you a flowerpot with her handprint on it for Mothers Day, or when shes twelve and the two of you are laughing at YouTube videos together, a haunting voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you once considered ending her life to save yours. Thats what hyperemesis does. It steals your joy and tears it to pieces, and once youve wrestled that joy back and pieced it together, its not the same. And thats something a mother can never reconcile.