What Goes Down Must Come Up

"How are you feeling?"

This is a common question that I get these days, much appreciated albeit sometimes hard to answer. How am I feeling...right now, this second? In the past hour? Day? Week? Month? They would all produce different answers. I also try to guage just how much my concerned friend wants to know. Not everyone wants to see my hobbit feet, cankles, or new stretch marks. Actually, I can guarantee that nobody does. And I'm sure they're not wanting details on what my GI tract is or isn't doing, either. Which is okay, because like I said, things vary to a great degree, and it's hard to summarize.

Take vomiting. Classic pregnancy symptom. I would like to be the first to sign a petition for the banning of the term "morning sickness," because time of the day ain't got nothin' to do with when or where I hurl.

I am well-aware that every woman is different. Some never get so much as a twinge of nausea, while others are draped over the toilet bowl (or the steering wheel, the parking lot, the kitchen sink...) several times a day for the entire 9 months. My experience has been somewhere in between, usually recalled with a slight air of amusement. I can identify a whole spectrum of types of emeses.

In the beginning. Nausea. Couldn't puke if I tried, and I tried. Michael received nearly daily phone calls at work from his tearful wife: "I just (sob) can't (sob) do this (hicccup) for another (sniff) several (sob) months!" I claimed that I would just feel better if I could only throw up. But alas, I couldn't, and nausea sat in the pit of my stomach unbudging despite chewing gum, sniffing peppermint aromatherapy, and eating Saltines.

2nd trimester. How many well-meaning people, wanting to give me hope that this was all just temporary, told me, "just you wait until your 2nd trimester, you will be feeling sooooo much better." Right. Tell that to the bathroom sink that I christened here and there with (applause!) vomit, finally! Michael would be in the shower, shouting, "hey preggo, knock it off, it's the 2nd trimester!" I glared a look of equal parts despair, fatigue and daggers towards the shower door as I continued to hover gripping the counter's edge.

The onset of gagging, (spastic, oblique-tearing, make-your-eyes-water-and-blood-vessels-in-your-face-pop gagging), also made its debut in the 2nd trimester. It was sometimes brought on by seeing something mildly gross (not hard to do as a nurse), and always brought on my cold weather. Perfect for Minnesota. If I parked more than 30 feet from a doorway, you could be guaranteed to see me dry-heaving in an entrance lobby or behind the wheel once back in my car.

Then there was a 3-day period of frequent vomiting, the onset coinciding with a course of strong antibiotics that I was taking to conquer the World's Worst Sinus Infection. It started on my birthday weekend, culminating in a very sick day at my surprise bowling party that Michael had arranged. I tried to smile past my fever and stomach cramps, and after bowling 6 gutter balls, lumbered towards the bathroom where I reunited with the last 12 hours of celebratory food. After cleaning up, I sat in the bathroom stall, pathetic and pale, just to be able to lean my head against the tiled wall, close my eyes, and think "poor me" thoughts until rejoining the crowd. The next day I thought I was doing well enough to work, until walking into my office building led me to walk first to the bathroom to puke in that sink (I never seem to make it as far as the toilet).

The episodes that linger nowdays are the ones that occur when actually trying to get my mouth clean. I will be feeling just fine, pick up my Sonicare, and by minute 1 I know I have 2 seconds to shut off the toothbrush and lead forward. These are mild episodes that usually make me laugh, or at least mumble "not sure where that came from," followed by a wondering of what to do next- my mouth has just been left a lot less clean than when I started, but I'm certainly not introducing more toothpaste into my mouth.

Puking, overall, has gotten much better, and nausea is rare and fleeting. I was ever-so-grateful for a more stable stomach two days ago when I encountered the nastiest, heebie-geebie-causing sight as I was preparing to leave for work. Without unnecesssary details, I must begin by saying that before using it, I found the toilet to be clogged. In itself, pretty disgusting. With my eyes half-shut, my head turned slightly away but just enough to see my general aim, I took the plunger and went to it. I'm proud to say that I fixed it in a mere 5 shoves. But as I returned the pluger to its holder, out of my still-half-shut eyes I saw something sitting in the holder that I had not noticed before. Something small and grey. I cautiously leaned over to see a dead mouse. There he was, a tiny Stuart Little lying on his side, his little front mouse feet curled as if his motorcycle had just run out from under him. Now, if I were a mouse and needed a place to curl up and die, it certainly wouldn't be underneath a toilet plunger. Never mind what he was thinking; I danced and hopped around the bathroom, exclaiming to nobody, "Gross! Gross! Gross! Eew! SICK!" Deciding that throwing dead mice away, even in the most indirect of ways, must have some risk to the pregnant woman, I left it for Michael to deal with. And though I had seen two of the most disgusting scenarios I could lay eyes on before a 7:30 am departure, I left for work grateful that my stomach was strong enough to withstand the unfortunate adventure and keep down my waffles. I suppose that the Stuart Little incident put things in perspective: yes, friends, I am feeling better, thank you.