NewPlew

Yeah it’s, a big word. How ’bout we call it HG for the rest of this post?

As much as it pains me to say it, I am convinced Joanna is an HG sufferer. I was doing my usual future-dad homework when I came across the HER Foundation, an organization that “provides education & support for mothers suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum and those who care for them.” Nice website. Nice folks.

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Last night was quite an interesting experience. Five hours in a crowded (26 people ahead of us when we arrived and no beds) emergency room isn’t my idea of a nice relaxing evening. And to think - if my insurance company would have been a little flexible, we never would have gone.

That’s right - the folks we all know and love (insurance companies) put my wife in this dangerous situation. Yes, that sounds a little harsh but I really believe its true. Y’see, the wife has been taking a wonder drug called Zofran for her extreme morning sickness (nothing else works). She started out taking 4mg twice a day, but when that wasn’t working our OB recommended bumping the dose up to three times a day and combining with Promethazine if needed. He also wrote a script for an 8mg dose of Zofran in case the thrice-daily 4mg didn’t do the trick.

All well and good, except: when Joanna went to refill her perscription on Saturday, the Pharmacist told her our insrance company will only allow a certain number of Zofran pills to be dispensed per month, and she’d have to wait an entire wee before they would cover our prescription costs. Of course, being the non-complainer of the family, Joanna didn’t tell me of this development until 8AM Tuesday morning as I was headed to work. She had been feeling sick most of the evening (which is typical) and mentioned her predicament as if it weren’t a big deal. Ten hours and eight vomit-sessions later, my office phone rang. It was Joanna.

“Shawn, I need you to come home. Something’s wrong. Please hurry.”

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