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Hyperemesis Gravidarum Took Everything I Thought Pregnancy Would Be
I found out I was pregnant very early — just four weeks in — and almost immediately, I got sick.
At first, I chalked it up to regular morning sickness. I had read that nausea was normal in early pregnancy. I told myself it would pass. But it didn’t. Within days, I couldn’t keep anything down — not food, not water, not even ice chips. I vomited constantly. My body started to shut down.
Eventually, I was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) — something I had never even heard of. No one had warned me that pregnancy could look like this. That something so debilitating, so all-consuming, even existed.
My symptoms weren’t just inconvenient. They were dangerous. I was blacking out. I couldn’t stand long enough to shower. I was shaking, weak, and rapidly losing weight. I was in and out of the hospital multiple times just for IV fluids, anti-nausea meds, and potassium — which my body had dangerously depleted. Each visit felt like a temporary band-aid before the next crash.
And this was 2021, when COVID-19 restrictions were still in place. I couldn’t have anyone with me in the ER. I was terrified, alone, and so physically depleted that I barely had the strength to advocate for myself. I would sit in freezing hospital rooms hooked up to fluids, quietly crying because it was the only time I felt even a little bit human again — and no one could be there to see me fall apart.
Eventually, I needed a feeding tube. But even with it, I continued to deteriorate. And as my physical health declined, so did my mental health.
People talk about prenatal depression like it’s something that just appears out of nowhere. But for me, it was a slow unraveling. The isolation, the malnutrition, the trauma of constantly feeling like I was dying — it added up. I stopped recognizing myself. I started forgetting conversations, missing appointments, losing chunks of time. It was like my brain had gone offline. I felt foggy, distant, disconnected — not just from others, but from myself.
And the guilt. God, the guilt. I wanted this baby. I had prayed for this baby. But I hated being pregnant. I hated what it was doing to my body. I hated the shame that came with admitting that I wasn’t glowing — I was barely surviving.
To make things worse, I was met with skepticism and dismissal. One doctor looked at me, skin grey, barely functioning, and said, “You should consider terminating. This is only going to get worse.” I left that appointment more broken than before — not because I didn’t understand the severity of my condition, but because I so desperately needed someone to believe in my ability to make it through. I needed support. Instead, I was told to give up.
No one talks about what it’s like to grieve the pregnancy you thought you’d have. No belly photos. No shopping for baby clothes. No cravings. No glowing updates to friends and family. Just silence. And survival.
The isolation wasn’t just physical — though I rarely left bed — it was emotional. I felt like no one around me could understand. I wasn’t just nauseous. I was sick in a way that swallowed me whole. People said things like, “Every pregnancy is hard,” or “Just try ginger.” And each time, it chipped away at my sense of reality. I started to wonder if I was exaggerating. If maybe I really was just weak. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this.
But now that I’ve made it through, I know the truth: I was never weak. I was surviving something that most people can’t even imagine. I was living minute to minute through something brutal and relentless, and still holding on.
And that matters.
I want other people — other moms, other partners, other providers — to understand that hyperemesis gravidarum isn’t just “bad morning sickness.” It is trauma. It is medical neglect. It is silence, shame, and survival. And it deserves to be treated seriously.
To anyone going through this: You are not broken. You are not weak. You are doing the impossible. Your experience matters. And even if it doesn’t feel like it right now — you are already enough.
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