Facing Hyperemesis Gravidarum: A Journey of Faith, Resilience, and Finding My Voice

From the earliest days of my childhood, a foundational truth was instilled in me by my loving parents: that I was a beautiful and perfect little girl, precisely as I was. Their words, “God made you, and He doesn’t make mistakes,” became an unwavering anchor, teaching me about inherent self-worth and divine acceptance. This profound understanding of my identity, and whose I belonged to, became a guiding principle throughout my life. Later, as I became a mother and worked with young people, I consistently felt compelled to remind them to know who they are and whose they are. This deeply rooted belief, however, would soon face its ultimate test in the crucible of unexpected adversity.

The Unexpected Storm: The Onset of Hyperemesis Gravidarum

Life has a way of presenting us with challenges that question the very core of our convictions. For me, that challenge arrived with a severity I could never have anticipated. I was navigating the seemingly ordinary task of house hunting, but the extraordinary symptoms that began to emerge quickly overshadowed everything else. What started as discomfort escalated into an unrelenting illness. Packing our belongings, a task usually mundane, became an insurmountable obstacle. My husband, Cade, stepped in, patiently holding up items and asking, “Donate or pack?” His quiet strength was a beacon in a rapidly darkening landscape, as my physical health declined at an alarming rate.

The severity of my condition soon reached a critical point. One morning, the fragile balance I had been desperately trying to maintain completely shattered. I was immensely grateful for the unwavering support of my close girlfriend. Without a word, she would quietly enter my house, checking on me with gentle concern. She would take my daughters only if I gave explicit permission, ensuring I never felt pressured, always leaving behind a palpable sense of love and care. This understanding was vital, as I learned that patients suffering from severe pregnancy sickness, known as Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG), desperately need to feel some semblance of control amidst the chaos.

Many well-meaning individuals, in an attempt to help, often take charge, inadvertently creating more distress for an HG patient whose life already feels utterly beyond their grasp. When every aspect of your existence is spiraling out of control, having others step in and make decisions for you can be overwhelming and debilitating. My girlfriend intuitively understood this, respecting my occasional need for everyone to be home, even if it meant I wouldn’t be desperately alone. But after she left that day, a stark realization washed over me: I knew, with an unsettling certainty, that hospital admission was imminent.

Admitted: The Ordeal of Hospitalization and Feeding Tubes

A quick text to a dear friend brought her to my side. She drove me to the hospital, silently witnessing my tears as my doctor confirmed the inevitable – I had to be admitted. The next devastating pronouncement was that it was time for feeding tubes. This wasn’t just a hospital stay; it was an urgent intervention to prepare my severely weakened body for life-sustaining support. As I lay in the hospital bed, which was designed to weigh me directly to prevent my atrophied muscles from crumbling further, a profound sense of isolation enveloped me. I was alone again, physically separated from my family, and metaphorically, without a home as our old one was packed away, and a new one not yet secured.

For those unfamiliar with Hyperemesis Gravidarum, it is a debilitating pregnancy complication characterized by severe, intractable nausea and vomiting, leading to significant weight loss, dehydration, and electrolyte disturbances. It is far beyond typical morning sickness, often requiring hospitalization, intravenous fluids, and sometimes even feeding tubes, to sustain both mother and baby. The experience of having a feeding tube, a lifeline intended to provide nourishment, and then throwing it up, is a nightmare unique to HG patients – a cruel twist of an already agonizing condition. This hospital stay was about stabilizing me, preparing me for a new level of medical intervention, and enduring an unimaginable physical and emotional toll.

A Mother’s Deepest Fear: Our Baby’s Heart

Amidst the relentless physical struggle, weekly ultrasounds offered fleeting glimpses of our sweet baby, a constant reminder of the precious life I was fighting for. But during one of these routine checks, the medical team delivered news that sent a fresh wave of fear through me: his heart didn’t look right. The words hung heavy in the air, instantly triggering a torrent of guilt and self-blame. “Did I do this to him?” I agonizingly wondered. “Did my illness, my inability to nourish myself properly, hinder his development?” This profound heartache, the fear that my suffering might have harmed my unborn child, added an unbearable layer of anguish to an already overwhelming situation. It’s a primal fear for any mother, magnified exponentially by the powerlessness of severe illness.

The Darkest Day: A Glimmer of Divine Purpose

That day was one of those indelible days, etched forever in my memory. The kind where the sun rises but never truly breaks through, leaving the world cloaked in a perpetual twilight. Rain lashed against the hospital window, then trickled down the glass, blurring my view of the parking lot into an indistinct, sorrowful tableau. This imagery felt deeply symbolic. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, rain had always been a source of comfort, making me feel cozy and at home. Now, it only intensified my longing for normalcy and my resentment for what Hyperemesis Gravidarum was doing to me, stripping away every ounce of peace and autonomy.

I remember feeling an almost unnatural stillness that day. My mind was consumed by thoughts of my baby boy and the troubling news about his heart. The cafeteria phone rang again, a jarring intrusion, urging me to order something. The mere thought of food, however, was abhorrent. My body craved the comfort of turning, shifting in bed to escape the relentless nausea, but I was utterly glued in place. The slightest movement, I knew, would instantly trigger another round of violent vomiting. So, I lay perfectly still, my gaze fixed on the ominous, dark clouds outside, mirroring the storm raging within me.

The blog, “Oh Sweet Basil,” a passion project that Cade and I had poured our hearts into, seemed utterly insignificant, a forgotten dream. I had no desire to continue creating, writing, or sharing. Life felt tragically short, even if we were all to miraculously make it through this ordeal. All I truly wanted was to be home again, to reclaim some semblance of the life that had been so cruelly taken from me.

But then, amidst that profound despair, something truly miraculous happened. Suddenly, from the seemingly impenetrable darkness of the clouds, a tiny, almost imperceptible ray of light pierced through. It was a fleeting moment, a spark of hope in an abyss of gloom. And in that instant, I felt the unmistakable whisper of the Spirit, a clear, powerful message that echoed ancient scripture: “I have a work for thee. Your ministry is not yet complete.” Just as God spoke to Moses, so too did I feel a divine purpose being revealed. In that profound moment of clarity, I understood. There would be a way forward, and this platform, this blog, had been given to me for a reason. It was time to start sharing our story, to use our pain for a greater good and to illuminate the realities of Hyperemesis Gravidarum.

The Unveiling of Truth: Facing Resistance and Online Attacks

However, when one chooses to share their light, to bravely speak their truth, there will invariably be those who cannot bear the brilliance of that honesty and goodness. This was a truth I was about to learn in the hardest possible way. Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, I immediately texted Cade: “Bring me my laptop; I need to write a blog post.” And, true to his supportive nature, he did, understanding the urgency in my voice.

That post, titled “Hyperemesis Gravidarum, it’s not morning sickness,” was born from the depths of my suffering and newfound resolve. It was an attempt to educate, to shed light on an invisible illness, and to connect with others who might be silently enduring similar battles with severe morning sickness. But instead of the understanding and empathy I hoped for, this powerful piece of writing brought on an onslaught of negativity and attacks against me that I could never have imagined. It was the worst of the worst, a stark introduction to the harsh realities of sharing vulnerability in the digital age, especially when discussing a misunderstood condition like HG.

The Bison Mentality: Charging Towards the Storm

Though I couldn’t articulate it at the time, the analogy perfectly captured the constant internal struggle I faced during those two years – searching for a house, enduring multiple pregnancies with Hyperemesis Gravidarum, and battling the despair. It was my dear friend @caleereed who shared a profound lesson that resonated deeply within me. She taught me that when a severe rainstorm approaches, cows instinctively turn and attempt to outrun it. This reaction, however, only prolongs their discomfort, as they end up running *with* the rain, trapped in the prolonged misery of the storm.

Bison, on the other hand, react entirely differently. Studies have shown that when faced with an oncoming storm, bison turn and confront it head-on. In fact, they charge directly into the storm, pushing through its fiercest elements, emerging on the other side much sooner. Their pain is significantly shortened precisely because they choose to face the discomfort and push through it with unwavering resolve. This powerful insight became a guiding principle for me: “You can’t outrun the rain, so lift your arms open wide, feel the cleansing that comes through the rain.” It was a call to embrace adversity, to find strength not in avoidance, but in direct confrontation with the challenges of chronic illness.

Surviving the Physical, Enduring the Emotional: The Cost of Vulnerability

Hyperemesis Gravidarum inflicted upon me the most excruciating physical and emotional pain I have ever endured. Yet, by my third pregnancy – knowing that each subsequent HG pregnancy tends to be worse than the last – I was determined to apply the “bison mentality.” I decided to push hard through the suffering. My unwavering desire to find the good, to maintain a positive outlook, and to write letters to my children even when confined to bed, fueled my resilience. These acts of service, however small, helped me to push through the relentless sickness. But the moment I posted a particular picture, a new, unforeseen pain emerged, one that I would also have to survive.

As the intense, debilitating phase of HG began to recede, transitioning into what I called the “good months” – periods of more manageable regular nausea and occasional daytime vomiting – my clothes started to fit again. This was a monumental victory, a sign that my body was slowly reclaiming some normalcy after months of severe illness. I felt an immense sense of relief, of triumph. I was on cloud nine, immensely proud of myself for surviving such an ordeal and humbled by the journey. Eagerly, I anticipated reading messages of support and understanding from my readers, hoping for connection and shared experiences from others who might have faced similar battles with extreme morning sickness.

The responses, however, were a brutal shock. Instead of empathy, I was met with an onslaught of vitriolic comments, a barrage of hatred that pierced my fragile hope. The words were merciless:

• “You are the worst person I have ever heard of. How dare you get pregnant just to become skinny!!”
• “I hope you die, go ahead and do it, you already look like it anyway.”
• “Your children should be taken away from you; they deserve better than you as their mother.”
• “You are disgusting and need help for your mental issues. You clearly just want us to see that you are skinny. You probably aren’t even pregnant; you’re just seeking attention!”

I will spare you the rest, as the language and personal attacks grew exponentially worse, descending into truly vile territory. Reading that flood of emails, comments, and messages left me paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe. It was a cruel reminder that even in sharing our most vulnerable truths, we can expose ourselves to unimaginable cruelty. Yet, in the face of such darkness, the lessons learned from charging into the storm, and the whispered promise of purpose, continue to guide me forward, strengthening my resolve to speak out for those who suffer in silence with conditions like Hyperemesis Gravidarum.