Before the Storm
A Body That Felt Like an Anchor
From the very beginning, this pregnancy felt different. I was glowing, but I wasn’t radiating energy or floating through trimesters like the women you see in glossy magazines. I was sick — really sick.
The diagnosis was hyperemesis gravidarum (severe morning sickness), but calling it that almost felt like an insult. This wasn’t just nausea that passed after a few hours. This was full days of not being able to keep food down. I was clinging to the edge of the bed, battling waves of weakness. There were mornings when drinking water felt like a challenge, afternoons when the smell of food sent me running to the bathroom, nights when I lay in the dark whispering to myself: just make it to tomorrow.
I wanted to die, it was that bad! By the time I was 15 weeks, I’d already been to the ER 7 times. I got prescription meds from the ER doctors, my OBGYN, nurses, and my midwife. Some being effective for a while, then nothing. I recall wanting to ask my doctor if I could be put into a coma until it was nearing time to deliver. I never asked, but I was serious! I had two other children who needed me, and yet some days even walking from the couch to the kitchen felt like climbing a mountain. My body felt heavy, not from the baby’s weight, but from the sheer exhaustion of survival.
And still — I carried on. I carried her.
Grief in the Midst of Waiting
As I trudged through those final weeks, November brought me a different kind of loss. My puppy died, and I honestly was responsible for his death. I was dealing with my pregnancy hormones, and other things going on at the time. I couldn’t get him to stop peeing in the house. My patience ran thin with him. I put him outside for a couple of days. After we brought him inside, we didn’t realize it until it was too late, but he was ‘off’. I thought he was just down because of being away from everyone. It turns out his body was slowly shutting down.
I remember that weekend, I was doing my daughter’s hair, and my husband just says “I smell death’. Something’s not right, I’m going to go check on Nemi” (his nickname for Nemesis). And sure enough, he was dying. My husband told me that was exactly what he experienced with a dog of his that passed years ago. I asked my husband if I could call the vet. It would have been at least an hour for the emergency ones. My husband said “no, it’s too late, he’s not going to make it”.
We stayed by his side, and I silently broke down inside because I completely blamed myself. He died within 30 minutes in our arms. I gave him a luxurious bath when I brought him in that morning. Although it didn’t make it any better, I felt that I properly ‘prepared’ him for his final resting place.
We never knew for sure how he died, we assumed he contracted parvo. I shed tears as I type this, thinking about my sweet little boy. He was a really good dog. What hurts so much is that I found out later it was my oldest dog peeing everywhere. When I got the chihuahua, I caught my dog marking his territory all over my house. However, the chihuahua still peed and pooped everywhere though. I went through all the measures with the chihuahua, and ended up finding him a lovely home. The family I gave him to had put their dog down the day he went with them. After what happened with Nemesis, I vowed to never allow that to happen ever again.
I remember sitting there after he passed, staring at his empty spot on the floor, and feeling like another piece of me had been taken. Failing at the responsibility of something fully dependent on me, that couldn’t speak my language. It’s a strange thing, grieving while pregnant. You’re holding new life inside you, while mourning another life that’s gone. It left me torn between sorrow and hope, my emotions swinging like a pendulum from one extreme to another.
Before moving forward, I need to pause and acknowledge something heavy on my heart. I take responsibility for the loss of my puppy, and I carry deep regret for the choices that led to that outcome. This isn’t easy to admit, but it’s important to me to honor the truth, however painful. My hope is that by sharing openly, I can continue to heal and grow.
To: Nemesis, my sweet boy
I’m so sorry. I know I failed you, and I carry that weight every day. I wish I could go back and do better by you. Please forgive me. Everything happens for a reason, and at that time, that version of me wasn’t what you needed me to be. i am truly sorry nemesis. you were loved, and you always will be. 🖤
The Financial Squeeze
While I carried sickness and grief, money seemed to slip through our fingers faster than we could catch it.
Between November and the start of the new year, vehicles became our constant burden. We’d been using my mother’s car. She was worried that we wouldn’t have a dependable vehicle when the baby came. My husband and I purchased a used vehicle in November. The night the paperwork was signed, I drove about 3 miles up the road. I went to my grandmother’s house to show her the vehicle. After sitting with her for about 30 minutes, it wouldn’t start. That would be the start of our problems. Ultimately the guy wouldn’t give us a refund, but went half on the repairs. We still have it. After 2-3 trips to the mechanic shop and more spent money, it’s been parked in our backyard for months. It is inoperable. We bought another vehicle a few months later, a Chevy Suburban, and it went to crap shortly after. One broke down, we fixed it. Another failed, more money gone. Repairs, parts, more repairs — it was endless. Each time we thought we could breathe, another problem pulled us under. As I write this, the suburban has several new issues that have surfaced over the past 72 hours.
There was money owed to us that should have been returned (someone actually owed us money). It wasn’t. That money could have been the cushion we needed, the security to handle all those car troubles and unexpected bills. Instead, we felt the pinch with every passing week.
Bills piled. Groceries stretched thin. Even something as simple as keeping gas in the car became a calculation.
Holding Onto a Vision
Through all of this — the sickness, the loss, the financial strain — I clung to one vision: the homebirth I had dreamed of.
I pictured myself surrounded by love, with my older children there to witness their sibling’s arrival. I pictured the midwife by my side, guiding me through, keeping her word. I pictured warmth, safety, and the beauty of welcoming life in the space I had prepared.
That vision was what carried me through. It was the light I fixed my eyes on, even as storms gathered all around me.
I didn’t know then just how strong that storm would become.
Zenified Healing 