Eating for Zero: A Chronicle of Pregnancy with Hyperemesis Gravidarum

Week 4: Congratulations! It’s two lines on a pee stick! You share the news with your wonderful, supportive husband, Brian.

Week 5: Your appetite is a little off. You have some ginger tea to settle your stomach.

Week 6: Hmm, that was weird. You had a light breakfast and promptly threw up. But at least now that’s over—uh oh, where’s the closest bathroom?

Week 6, Day 3: You send Brian out with a shopping list of 37 Googled home remedies for morning sickness. He returns with the wrong brand of vitamin B6 and no hypnotist. You are annoyed, but tell yourself he’s trying his best. It’s not his fault that it takes two people to make a baby, but only one to puke into trash cans because you can’t always make it to the toilet.

Week 7: You develop the nose of a bloodhound. Your heightened sense of smell makes every scent overpowering. Has your saliva always tasted like scrap metal? Is it supposed to reek of industrial fertilizer whenever you pee? Why does Brian suddenly have the body odor of a wet dog corpse?

Week 7, Day 2: There is an unbearable stench in the house that disgusting, oblivious Brian claims he cannot smell at all. Through a revolting process of elimination, you discover you can no longer tolerate even the faintest whiff of onions, a food you’ve never found objectionable before. You go on a rampage to rid the house of them and realize there are onions in guacamole. And Doritos. And ketchup. And all the entrees from every Italian, Mexican, and Chinese takeout place within a three-mile radius.

Week 8: Your OB-GYN diagnoses you with hyperemesis gravidarum, which you’re pretty sure is a Harry Potter spell. Probably the one that makes Ron vomit slugs? The doctor prescribes you several drugs for the nausea-thirst-headache-vertigo-exhaustion that plagues your every waking hour. You realize that it’s true what they say: You can eat whatever you want while you’re pregnant. And what you want to eat is nothing. Brian asks, “What’s wrong?” and you feel a sudden urge to strangle him.

Week 10: You can no longer keep down anything taken orally, including anti-nausea meds. Your OB-GYN puts you on IV fluids and a medication pump. You want to cry, but are too dehydrated to produce tears.

Week 13: Your periods stopped when you got pregnant, but you have started bleeding from all sorts of other places: your stomach (ulcers from puking too much), your eyes (broken blood vessels from puking too much), and your scalp (passing out in the bathroom and hitting your head on the toilet from puking too much). Sometimes your gums join in, because they’re sympathetic bleeders.

Week 14: You officially announce your pregnancy at work. Everyone is relieved they no longer have to pretend they don’t hear the loud retching sounds coming from the ladies’ room. Jen from Marketing, who had a baby last year and now considers herself the ultimate pregnancy expert, suggests you try ginger tea for nausea. Your overwhelming fatigue prevents you from punching her.

Week 16: You’re down 20 pounds from your pre-pregnancy weight. This is the most effective weight loss program you’ve ever been on. For some reason, your OB-GYN seems unimpressed and continues to threaten you with IV drips at every prenatal checkup.

Week 21: Your hyperemesis has finally been downgraded to regular emesis! You can now finish a toddler-portion cup of applesauce for dinner, provided you lie down afterwards in a dark, quiet room for two hours. You are too weak to scream, but you type angry, all-caps texts to Brian—that inconsiderate asshole—whenever he makes earsplitting rackets downstairs, like opening the refrigerator door or turning on a light switch.

Week 25: You manage to go 48 consecutive hours without throwing up, a second-trimester personal best!

Week 32: The uncontrollable vomiting returns, probably because the fetus has gotten so big that your stomach has been squished into the shape and size of a potato chip.

Week 40: You deliver the baby! Your internal organs start migrating back into place. Your sense of smell returns to normal. You feel hungry for the first time in months. As you lie resting in the hospital recovery room, you look over at Brian and think maybe he’s not so bad after all, even if he does have totally useless nipples. Brian brings over a warm, tightly wrapped bundle and places it gently in your arms. You turn to him with a look of wonder and amazement.

“I went out and got you a Chipotle burrito,” he explains, “With extra guacamole.”

Your eyes fill with tears of joy. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” you whisper to the burrito as you devour it whole.