Here We Go Again: Prenatal journey begins with a retch

Editor's note: This is a first in a series of monthly columns called "Here We Go Again" by Holly Ramsey, wife, mom and McDowell News staffer, charting the progress of her third pregnancy.

Having been encouraged by fellow co-workers to document events that will occur within the next nine months of my life, I, Holly Ramsey (uber-news clerk to The McDowell News) will share with the world (or county, what have you) the trials and tribulations of my third pregnancy. In writing this column, I am currently in my eighth week of this grueling prenatal journey -- and loathing every minute of it.
Now, for those of you who know me, I have a unique tendency to blow every little thing out of proportion. So with the announcement to friends and family of this newest pregnancy, combined with nausea and vomiting, fatigue, two children, a husband and a job, I guess I could see the possibility of churning out an interesting tale or two.
Now, if memory serves correctly, I don't remember with my past two pregnancies receiving so many "risky" questions. Like last week, while at my house for a visit, my mom asks, "So do you feel you're beginning to show yet?" This, while I'm standing directly in front of her, and only six weeks along.
"Um gee, I don't know. Do YOU feel I'm beginning to show?" I responded, in which she assured me that no, I was not, and she didn't mean anything by it. The skeptic that I am, eventually I took her by her word and decided I wasn't going to let the comment bother me, until I was outside the very next day playing with my kids. My husband had a friend over to help him work outside, which usually means the two of them end up playing ping-pong all day in our storage building. Anyhoo, after checking on them I turned to walk away when my husband yells that his friend wanted to know if I should be showing yet. Apparently it wasn't intended the way I took it, but nonetheless, I took it the WRONG way.
So what if I'd been eating every hour on the hour? It was the only way I could keep from retching. And yeah, I may have traded my morning fruit and spinach smoothies in for McDonald's egg biscuits, and salads in for any unhealthy substitute out there, but for some reason, absolutely nothing sounded good unless it involved heavy, saturated fats. And exercise? Completely absent from life for the past few weeks, unless you count channel surfing on the couch, in which case, I would be a definite candidate for the Olympics, if there was such an event. In all of my pregnancies (God help my husband), nausea accompanies me well into the fourth month.
I have 31 weeks left to fight the weight battle and already it's me, beaten, bruised and nauseated on one end of the ring, and Weight, victorious on the other, growing larger by the minute.
"What to Expect When You're Expecting," the pregnancy Bible for stricken women, lists several "helpful" ways to combat nausea, although I have found none that work. I've tried them all: sea bands, vitamin B6, ginger pills (which, by the way, are the absolute worst to throw up) and the list goes one. The only thing that seems to work for me is a very expensive little dissolvable tablet known as Zofran, coming in at $521 for 30 tables (take one, twice-a-day). And lo and behold, insurance companies will not pay for this prescription -- imagine that. Picture if you will, a group of male figures, sitting around the corporate table discussing my case. Do you think they'll shell out big bucks for some whining woman and her "female issues?" Obviously not.
Now this column isn't intended to be an attempt for handouts, but please, if you see me on Main Street panhandling, don't call the law. Better yet, drop a penny or two in my bucket and feel good knowing you contributed to the amazing miracle of life that is growing in my belly … and making me vomit.