In the summer of 2020, I went to the doctor because I hadn’t been feeling well. I thought it was something simple, maybe the flu or stress. But after a short visit, my doctor told me I was pregnant. I remember sitting there in shock. It was completely unexpected, and I didn’t even know what to say at first. Once it started to sink in, I felt a mix of fear and excitement. I called my boyfriend in, told him the news, and after the initial shock, we both started to smile. We were going to have a baby.
At first, I thought the nausea I was feeling was just regular morning sickness. I told myself it would pass soon. But it didn’t. I started throwing up about twenty times a day. That number quickly jumped to eighty. I couldn’t keep down food or even water. Every trip to the ER ended the same, the doctors told me to eat crackers, drink ginger tea, and rest. They said it was just bad morning sickness, but deep down, I knew something was really wrong. I’d lost twenty pounds in just a few weeks.
At seven weeks, I saw a nurse practitioner who finally listened. After some tests, I was diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum HG. I’d never even heard of it before. It’s a rare, life-threatening condition that affects only a small number of pregnancies. My heart sank when I learned how serious it could be.
Even with a diagnosis, getting help wasn’t easy. I kept ending up in the ER, severely dehydrated. Some doctors treated me like I was being dramatic. One even told me to “cut the dramatics and drink some water.” That comment still stings when I think about it. I left that hospital crying, feeling completely hopeless.
Soon, I could barely walk to the bathroom. I had lost over half of my body weight. My muscles wasted away, my bones hurt, and I was scared all the time. I wondered if my baby or I would make it through this. Nights were the hardest lying there, exhausted and weak, I’d pray for just one good day.
Eventually, I was hospitalized for longer stays. I had more than 100 IVs before they finally placed a central line in my chest. My infusion nurses became like family. They showed me kindness when I needed it most even threw me a small baby shower. I’ll never forget them.
But HG took a toll on me. I had internal bleeding, anemia, and heart damage from malnutrition all before I even turned 20. There were nights I didn’t want to wake up, nights when I begged for it all to stop. It’s hard to describe the kind of loneliness you feel when your body is shutting down while trying to create life.
Then, on March 16, 2021, after 26 long hours of labor, my miracle baby girl was born healthy and strong. The moment I saw her, every tear, every needle, every sleepless night was worth it. She’s the reason I fought so hard. She’s my proof that love can survive even the hardest battles.
Now, I’m home with her and doing better than anyone expected. I’ve gained most of my weight back and can finally eat again. I still have moments where I break down thinking about what we went through, but mostly, I feel proud. We survived.
Today, I speak up for other women fighting HG. I want people to understand this isn’t “just morning sickness.” It’s serious, and it can take lives. If you know someone battling it, don’t dismiss them help them. Listen. Advocate for them.
To every HG mom still fighting: you are not weak. You are not overreacting. You are a warrior and you’re not alone.
