At the HER Foundation, stories matter. And some stories are best told in a poem. This poem was written by a member of our community and reflects the reality of experience with Hyperemesis Gravidarum.
HG can change more than the body. It can change language, relationships, and purpose.
The Hurt of Hyperemesis Gravidarum
by Jennifer W.
My life will never be the same
My body, mind, and soul destroyed by the nausea that came
Who you were is challenged and stripped away
As you struggle through every minute of night and day
The pills, IVs, enemas, and starvation
Are just a small piece of the never-ending mutilation
For months, you have no rest
And for years after, it’s hard to be at your best
Every piece of food, every drop of water, was hunted
By my very body that was supposed to grow a new one, unstunted
The insane hypersensitivity to smell
Left me vomiting over and over, in an inescapable hell
Up, down, over, and over
It’s a never-ending death ride rollercoaster
You have an ever-present fear your baby will die
That neither of you can possibly make it through 9 months to survive
The places I explored deep in my mind
Were ones I never wanted to turn over or find
Going through constant torture
Will bring your mental state past its border
I had to dig deeper than I ever wanted
A lingering presence by which I will always be haunted
It’s not only the deep-seated scars
That prey on the physical and mental condition of who you are
I lost my financial stability and job with unemployment
When my Insurance company was renegotiating, and I couldn’t get doctor appointments
Then, there is the mind-altering isolation
When no one understands or can help, it’s pure desolation
Well-meaning people will offer suggestions
As if this was just a case of indigestion
The medical teams who normally should help
Disbelieve you and you feel there is something mentally wrong with yourself
The people around you tell you that pregnancy is beautiful
And that you not being happy is you not being dutiful
HG moms challenge a narrative that having babies is easy
So there is often no help, no kindness, no decency
Because of this, you are alone and must fight
When you are at your lowest, sickest, and nothing is right
And at a time, from your loved ones, you need help the most
Just the thought of being near someone is devastatingly gross
If, at last, you reach your delivery date for the marathon
Your body has given everything, and you’re barely hanging on
There was no plan or consideration given during labor
To my arduous and abnormal journey to deliver
Again, your body and mind are seen as soured
Not unique, respected, believed, or empowered
During both my natural, hard-earned labors
I felt like courtesy or being seen was asking for favors
You again have to advocate with everything at stake
And if not able to be prepared, left alone and afraid
The sickness took more than a few years of my life
It took a toll on those for whom I’m a mother and wife
The time after my babies were born
I was so weak, anxious, and forlorn
In postpartum, I was still invisible and unhelped
There was no awareness, even though I was honest of how I felt
My babies and my relationship suffered
As I withered with no help to support me or others
I will always have a broken piece of my soul
And I can’t forget the potential life it also stole
The ever present guilt and the damage done
Hopefully, will be enough of a price for what has been won
It’s always the things that are the hardest
That take us through life the fullest and farthest
HG was my 3x formidable foe
I conquered it and my two beautiful daughters grew
Jennifer W.
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