When you're in a bad place, what's the best medicine?

The best medicine is to talk to someone who's gone through the same thing, and come out on the other side.

By now, whomever is reading knows exactly what's going on here. And, as each day passes, it seems like my body has finally figured it out. The nausea seems to increase slightly every day or so, and I thought it was going to stay that way - feeling really awful all day, every day, with no other consequences.

Oh, how wrong I was. Tune on out if you don't want details (although they won't be too graphic)

Saturday I finally got my call on the big white phone. I had just eaten about a half cup of very mild pasta salad, and was thinking all was well, until the encore performance. Then I worried that perhaps I'd had some contaminated green onions, so I threw the rest of the salad out (my favourite salad!) and went on with living.

Sunday was tough, but better. Monday was actually pretty darn good, and I spent the majority of the day at work being productive. This morning, however, I woke up and just knew it wouldn't be a good idea to leave the house.

Sometimes, it's no fun to be right.

Toast didn't even survive twenty minutes this afternoon. I'm glad I decided to stay home.

The one good thing is that I got to talk to one of my best friends, after my 'episode', and she made me feel better. She has three kids, and was sick with all three, including progressing to severe HG with the third. While I know, intellectually, that this is normal, somehow she encourages me, and keeps me positive.

Thank heavens I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Perhaps some new wisdom will come my way.

I've been debating whether or not to write this post for quite a while now.

I'm not hugely superstitious, but there's something to be said for not tempting fate too much. However, since this blog isn't really for public consumption yet, I figure what the heck.

There's also the fact that everything that works its way through my brain lately tends to come out with a distinct whine. I don't like to be that way, but there's a part of me that wants to start documenting no matter what.

I still don't think I'm going to go whole hog into everything that's been happening lately, but suffice it to say I'm pretty tired. I was hoping that I would end up with an experience similar to my mother's (all three, for that matter), but unfortunately it's gone way past a little tiredness in the afternoons.

Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate the fact that this experience is completely different from last time, and that it's a really good sign. I guess I'm just more of a wimp than I thought.

I know I could have a much more raw deal, and I have so much respect for women who go through HG (love you, C.!). I also know that suffering has a purpose, and so I offer mine up.

Now, for some saltines. Even though they don't really work. Ugh.

Just what, exactly, have I gotten myself into?

Keep on drinking the beer - that's probably the last that'll be around here for a while.

Blech.