I spent nine long months in a state of perpetual nausea while pregnant with my son, a delightful experience that turned my life upside down. The medical jargon for this extreme form of morning sickness is “hyperemesis gravidarum” (HG). Thanks to a certain royal, more folks now know just how debilitating it can be.
The first trimester had me in bed like a scene from a comedy-drama mashup—think Groundhog Day meets The Hangover. While everyone oohed and aahed over my growing belly and radiant skin, I was trapped in a tormenting, alien world where every morning greeted me with a hangover that would make even the most seasoned party-goer cringe. My 5 a.m. wake-up call was a symphony of barfing and, well, more barfing, sometimes into a trash can because it was my only option.
Every pregnancy manual promised that morning sickness would vanish by week 14. By week 15, I was frantically searching the internet for tales of reprieve by week 20. When I was still uncontrollably losing my lunch at week 30, I’d accepted it as my new normal. I managed to throw up all over New York City—behind dumpsters, in Central Park during a St. Patrick’s Day parade, and even in a cab on my way uptown. I made several trips to the ER for IV fluids and an expensive prescription for Zofran, which replaced nausea with migraines that just made me feel more nauseated.
No matter what I tried to eat, I was met with relentless waves of nausea. If something worked once, it was unlikely to work again. Medical professionals kept telling me this was just a regular pregnancy symptom, but I was hurling until the very moment before my emergency C-section.
They assured me that once my baby was born, the nausea would disappear, and it did. However, I had forgotten what it was like to feel “normal.” I couldn’t remember enjoying food; it had become associated with my misery for so long. At first, I tried to convince myself that it was the pregnancy making me sick, not the food, but my mind didn’t buy it. I was left with a lingering anxiety.
You won’t find a chapter about HG-induced PTSD in any pregnancy guides, but after years of self-reflection, I’ve come to realize how those nine months of nausea shaped my psyche. Even after six years, I remain easily nauseated, recoiling at certain foods for fear they might trigger a bout of vomiting. Everyday smells from my pregnancy can still send me spiraling into a panic, reminiscent of my time in that hellish state.
Some people assumed I struggled with an eating disorder, but that wasn’t the case; I wasn’t worried about gaining weight. In fact, for the first time in my life, I didn’t obsess over my body. I would have gladly taken on 20 extra pounds if it meant losing the nausea.
Sometimes, I feel like this diagnosis is just another piece of my mental health puzzle—a chaotic concoction of OCD, hypochondria, anxiety, and panic disorder. At the core of it all lies a fear of losing control and facing death. While I feel a sense of triumph in understanding this complex reaction, I’m still frustrated. The phantom nausea seems to linger just out of reach, making the day I finally feel free from it feel like a distant dream.
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In summary, hyperemesis gravidarum can lead to lasting emotional impacts, including PTSD-like symptoms. Many women, like me, experience anxiety and food aversions long after their pregnancies end. While understanding these feelings is crucial, the path to resolution can still feel frustratingly far away.