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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I thought the whole “morning sickness” thing was pretty self-explanatory - pregnancy makes Jo feel sick in the morning. ‘Nuff said, right? Well, not exactly. Seems like a 24/7 sickness to me except without the ralphing. Constant fatigue coupled with lots of discomfort. Sounds like fun!

For a while there, it seemed like Jo would be one of the lucky few to navigate the dangerous waters of trimester #1 without morning sickness. The first 10 days or so were very peaceful - only a little insomnia to contend with. Unfortunately, no one was there to shout “iceberg right ahead!” as a warning of the impending gloom of what can only be described as feeling really shitty all the time.

What is a father-to-be to do? I mean, besides taking a page from our last good President (”I feel your pain”) in a futile attempt to comfort the restless lady carrying your offspring. The best I can come up with is to treat her like I’d want to be treated (minus the sex and beer of course). I’m tackling the daily tasks Jo normally handles along with my own, giving her space, and trying to stay away from saying “how ya feelin’?” every 2 minutes.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch apartment, the guys with the white-trashasakis have been at it again, running around the complex at midnight with their really loud engines and really tiny brains. Ugh, crash into a wall already.