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It's amazing what pregnancy can do to a woman in all aspects of her life - physical, emotional, mental, hell, even financial and social. One minute life is complicated but bearable - so long as you follow the plan you've set out for yourself, things can never get too out of hand. Of course it's difficult to juggle school and work while simultaneously apartment-hunting and settling in after a recent marriage. But the truth of the matter is, at least you're in control of your life - you could always just skip class at will, or call in sick for some much-needed R&R.

It isn't until after the first BFP that it hits you like a ton of bricks - I'm pregnant, there's viable life growing inside of me, and good God, this isn't just my body anymore. Even then, things are still bearable - hormones and early symptoms are busy settling themselves out, so at least you still (temporarily) feel like a normal human being. You can still wake up early for work, show up for afternoon classes, eat well and get a (relatively) good night's rest. The invasion hasn't formally begun yet.

Before you know it, week 4 turns into week 5... and all too soon you're forced to realize what being pregnant is really all about. One morning you wake up and it hits you like another (far more painful) ton of bricks - all of a sudden, you can smell everything within a mile radius (food that was prepared hours before, DH from two rooms away, the clump of toothpaste left in the bathroom sink). As if that wasn't bad enough, the nausea has more than likely settled in - a half-full stomach means serious vomit-potential, whereas an empty one spells out imminent doom (bile-rush at nine in the morning is relentless and unforgiving).

Every sound you hear is suddenly too loud, every light in the room incredibly bright. And did I mention the nausea? Breakfast may be on the mind, but it certainly won't stay in the stomach - this is a time of mutiny and betrayal, where all the foods that used to be delicious and appetizing are now an instant trigger for the gag-reflex, where everything from the mention of sandwiches to the smell of fried chicken sends us hurtling before the porcelain throne.

With a humongous amount of luck, this will only last for half the day - perhaps the nausea won't graduate to vomiting, either, so you'll save yourself hours of backwash and discomforted bedrest. For the rest of us, however, this is only the beginning - "morning sickness" doesn't even begin to cover what will follow for the next long, grueling weeks of our lives. "Torture" or "walking death" are more appropriate terms. After all, that's exactly what one feels like after twenty-eight days of unceasing retching, unproductive doctor's appointments, and constant nausea that will. not. go. away.

It couldn't possibly get any worse, though... right?

Wrong. Enter week six, where starvation of two to three days at a time is the only way to avoid vomit-trauma (and even then, bile and blood have a funny way of shooting out of your mouth-slash-nose at the slightest movement). Work and school are impossible now - hell, getting up and out of bed to use the bathroom is a grueling, torturous endeavor, so forget about showering, walking, eating... just about everything one is supposed to be able to do independently. Psh, what independence?

At this point, the danger is already imminent - dehydration has more than likely set in, weakness is preventing efficiency in just about anything, and, even worse, the nutrient supply is running scarily low, posing a threat now to both mom and the growing bean. Enter medical incompetence. After crying your eyes out in distress at the misery you're suffering, Physician A will simply comment that morning sickness is a natural occurence, and that any discomfort you're experiencing now is due to some Freudian desire to terminate the pregnancy.

Excuse me, what? In case you haven't noticed, I'm weeping uncontrollably because I have been forced into natural starvation for days, not because I'm secretly aching for an abortion. Oh, and as an added bonus, crackers and ginger tea are supposed to magically make my nausea (and vomiting and weakness and foul-smelling urine and electrolyte-imbalanced blood and feelings of depression/incompetence) disappear.

Thank you for causing me another three weeks of unbelievable torture with your inability to medically diagnose me with the serious condition I've developed.

At this point in time, the emergency room (with its ridiculous wait times and pocket-emptying rates) has become our best friend. The doctors there are at least competent enough to make an actual diagnosis - hello, how are you feeling, you're about eight weeks pregnant, and by the way, you're suffering from a rare but viable condition called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. The IV is set up, blood pressure taken, and for the next seven hours it's drip-drop torture with DH trying his best to make the experience bearable. At the end of it all, there's a particularly vomity episode (bloody bile mixed with "coffee" grounds) and a prescription for Phenergan in suppository form.

Hooray, Promethazine!

But it's a short-lived victory; two more visits to the ER for more refills and IV hook-ups and, at the end of the tunnel, a single ray of optimism - at eight weeks of pregnancy, an emergency ultrasound reveals that baby is perfectly comfortable nestled in his little amniotic sac, measuring a full week ahead of time at nine weeks of development. So that's where all the energy/nutrients have been going. Take your prenatals and schedule an appointment with an OB/GYN is what I'm advised - why don't you try, with no insurance and a stomach that can barely handle water much less a horse pill?

I'll do my best, thanks. And my best equals ordering oral Promethazine from the UK, staying strictly on bedrest with the energy reserves so low, and eating only what I can hold down - you try taking the recommended amount of Folic Acid with another kind of acid bubbling in your stomach day and night. It's by no means comfortable - aside from the nausea/vomiting, an altered sense of smell and taste plagues my everyday life, along with excessive weepiness, body aches that simply will not go away, and the most distressingly tender breasts/nipples to ever grace this body.

Not sure how much longer this is going to last, or how much more of this I can take before I break down and overdose on Benadryl just to get a good night's rest. Honestly, I've heard that pregnancy is a challenging experience, but I never expected to lose my job, my motivation, my energy, and the ability to control my life quite so early on. For the love of God, I'm only ten weeks!

...but this is pregnancy, or at least the reality of it. There's no baby bump to proudly show off, no glowing, natural expression to face the day with... there's barely any energy (or time, now that I'm sleeping the day away) to look at myself in the mirror, and when I do, I feel like crawling right back into bed - I've never felt so unpretty in my entire life! Damn you, HG... why can't you just let me be?

At the same time, I'm resigned to the fact that this is a necessary part of carrying my baby from week one to week forty - every pregnancy is different, and this just so happens to be the hand I've been dealt. Besides, so long as the little one is developing well and not suffering as much as I am, I think I can forgive my body's ruthless mutiny and learn to just cope until the storm passes. And if it takes all nine months, well... then I'm just in for a very, very long ride, aren't I?

Here's to hoping for the best... and simultaneously preparing for the worst.