Honest Review of the First Trimester, 0/5 Stars
Because my first trimester of pregnancy was a black hole of doom.
Every body reacts to growing tiny humans differently. Many people have told me they enjoyed their own pregnancies, only suffered from mild morning sickness during a few early weeks, or were not painfully impacted by many physical changes beyond growing a beautiful bump as the weeks passed until the final month of general discomfort and aching. I wish those were my stories.
My intention with this post is not to scare away mothers-to-be, but to be brutally honest in expressing that what I have experienced during pregnancy so far has been mostly miserable. The second trimester has been much better, but not enough to bring me to declare quite yet that I am feeling great. I did not expect my pregnancy symptoms to be so debilitating, especially in my first trimester; a period when the outside world saw no physical changes while I simultaneously began the most violent transformation of my life. All that I am is unseen.
I felt silly for feeling so useless because I didn’t know anyone else who shared similar experiences, or I was given empty platitudes like “sounds like a pregnancy.” I felt like I should have been “rising above” or “pushing through,” but I physically couldn’t. My first trimester symptoms were unfortunately severe; so severe that I was bedridden, skipped Thanksgiving travel to stay home alone, and only ate bananas and Goldfish all winter. I see now that I wasn’t weak for staying in bed for three months because it was my only option to grow this baby inside of me in the way she needed me to.
Responding truthfully to a question about pregnancy with a less than enthusiastic response does not take away from the obvious appreciation I have for my developing baby. And other women’s varying responses to these questions do not necessarily mean that every person will experience pregnancy in the same way. I believe that raw answers to these questions provide us future mothers with more context and much-needed knowledge of a shared experience to help manage expectations about pregnancy and what may become of it for all of our vastly different wombs.
If my first trimester were a book, I would give it 0/5 stars. I share this honest review to scream I SEE YOU to those who have felt invalidated by others who have pressed upon them unrealistic expectations of perpetual gratitude about their pregnancies and the frustrating ignorance of those inner convictions you have that perhaps pregnancy could indeed feel physically worse than the newborn phase. Nobody else can understand the pain your own body is causing you. Nobody else lives with your health risks and ailments that pre-existed or co-exist with your little fetus. Nobody should ever make you feel ashamed for being truthful in responding to a question about how you feel if your response is, “I feel like shit.” Because if their only reply is, “At least you know a baby is growing!” then run far, far away from them, dear reader, before your hormones spark an unintended supernova like mine have.
Morning Sickness All Day Sickness
I started puking on week 5 of my pregnancy and didn’t stop until week 13. Did I have morning sickness? Yes. Did I have mid-morning, lunchtime, afternoon, evening, and night sickness? Also yes. I had no idea that morning sickness could venture…beyond the morning. For some bodies like mine during pregnancy, apparently it can.
There is a severe type of morning sickness called hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) that often requires hospitalization. I was never given this diagnosis by my OBGYN because I did not require IV treatment or suffer from dehydration. I was somewhere in between; too severe to be considered having “normal” morning sickness, not severe enough to be diagnosed with HG. Still, I could not eat, I could not exercise, and I could not stop my perpetual nausea. All day. Every day.
I was bedridden for the near entirety of my first trimester. When I say I could not eat, I mean it sincerely. My breakfast was three cups of ginger tea with a low-dose of Levothyroxine and my pre-natal vitamin, paired with some saltine crackers. My lunch was a banana, usually mashed - sometimes accompanied by 1/3 cup of plain oatmeal. My dinner was Goldfish and saltine crackers, washed down with another cup of ginger tea. Those were the only foods I could physically swallow. Anything else came right back up, or my aversion was so strong that I would dry-heave just thinking about it. I couldn’t have breakfast with my husband because the smell of his fried eggs sent me into another dimension. I couldn’t walk my dog because I was too scared to be anywhere outside of my comfort-zone (inside) and the smell of dog waste was horrid. I was gratefully able to drink a lot of water as long as it was the iciest, coldest water imaginable, and I think that was my body’s only saving grace. When I finally was able to eat a bowl of rice, I drenched it in spicy mayonnaise and cried - it was the best thing I ever tasted in my LIFE.
Some takeaways from this dreadful experience:
My body told me to rest and hydrate. For months. Not “maybe I can throw in a workout once a week.” Not “I’m going to eat at least one healthy meal per day.” Indeed, I had to fully succumb to rest without movement and without question. I was constantly panicked that I wasn’t fueling my baby’s growing needs, but I ate what I could, when I could. I took my thyroid medicine and vitamins to ensure I gave my baby her essentials. And eventually, I trusted my body to do the rest (woefully).
B6 is an elixir for night-time sickness.
Ginger tea is an elixir for all-day sickness. It also kept me hydrated and helped ease my persistent spinning during waking hours.
Tums (in moderation) helped my sour stomach.
Dramamine is a wonder drug. It worked on me for only about 4 hours, but in those 4 hours of reprieve, I felt like I could actually make it downstairs to peel my banana, put on some clothes, and ensure I got a few hours of work done.
Big shoutout to Goldfish crackers for keeping me going when I thought I couldn’t. If you also feel like you cannot do anything except watch every Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Jurassic Park, and Maze Runner movie like me during your first trimester, you are still strong. You are still capable. And I know for a fact that you are doing everything you can for your baby.
Pregnancy Anxiety
Paired rudely with my perpetual nausea during my first trimester was pregnancy anxiety. Am I fueling my body? Am I still pregnant? Am I going to cause myself to suffer another miscarriage? Am I ever going to feel excited about the things people keep asking me if I’m excited about yet? Are these symptoms actually going to go away? Am I going to stay pregnant? Can I look forward to week 8 if I didn’t make it to week 8 the first time?
I think this was the worst symptom, and it exacerbated my stomach pains, which then exacerbated my anxiety. The endless cycle! While I understand that it may be difficult to see an embryo on an ultrasound, the U.S. healthcare system’s general requirement of a waiting period of at least 8-10 weeks before the first office visit is…unnerving for women like me. I had a positive test, but no confirmation that my baby was growing beyond wicked symptoms that felt like they were preventing me from growing my baby. There’s really nothing to be done at an appointment before this point?
I wanted to know what my body was doing each week, so I read the pregnancy Bible (What to Expect When You’re Expecting). I wanted to track my progress, so I downloaded a few apps (I use Flo and Ovia). I wanted to make sure I took the proper prenatal vitamin, so I did my research, consulted with my OBGYN, and ordered a subscription that felt best for me (I love you, Ritual). I wanted to understand what my body was doing every day, so I logged all of my symptoms and planned this newsletter to prevent my brain from overloading. I wanted to find the right doctor for me after cancelling my first (Kaiser Permanente can kiss my ass and you can read about my traumatic experiences with their awful practices in a few weeks). I had to manage my symptoms. I had to mentally prepare for a life upheaval. I had to run my business. I had to breathe. I had to, I had to I had to…it’s a lot.
I wish we were given the resources to manage symptoms like this during prenatal care check-ups before pregnancy. I was already pregnant, dealing with that news in and of itself, when I had to start from the ground up to build a base of knowledge (and to save the money, to find the right doctor, to research more things after already being overloaded on researching all the other things, to do what felt like everything in the entire world).
I wish I was counseled about the realness of the pregnancy process during my women’s well-visits (not just, you know, that you grow a baby and it kind of hurts). I wish our education system would do a better job of teaching us how our bodies work. I wish our social framework didn’t overly coo about baby blankets and forget about the health of the mothers themselves. I wish our government provided pregnancy leave. I wish, I wish, I wish.
Hormonal Rage Against the Machine
If I’m being told “Just you wait!” by everyone, does this mean that this Hell somehow gets worse? Short answer to self: absolutely not. There is nothing more invalidating than sharing your truth with someone who asked to hear about it and receiving “just you wait!” as a reply. Apparently, being pregnant means all semblance of social decency flies out the window. I would never tell a friend with the flu, “Just you wait until the fever hits!” So why do others do this to those expending all of their energy growing another organ and a whole human (or multiples)?
To avoid these social interactions and any other questions about my pregnancy that I didn’t have the answers for, I isolated. I didn’t want to hear about the women who “loved being pregnant” or who told me to “stock up on sleep.” This happened…a lot. Unable to have a firm grip on my own hormonal fluxes, I felt extremely sensitive to these comments and was confused about why if everyone was such an expert, they weren’t sharing comfort or support instead? I was not expecting sympathy or coddling from everyone I interacted with, but if someone specifically asked me how I felt, and I said, “Horrible,” and they replied, “Oh no! Well, I loved being pregnant. I’m so jealous of you!” I knew I could not talk to them again until I felt ready to fend off these types of insensitive words and apathies.
I have complained about these types of comments to others. I do often hear in retort that some people are simply being “well-meaning.” But in reflecting on my experiences, I don’t feel these types of comments are well-meaning, and I feel very strongly that my discomfort is valid. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” applies here: “If you don’t want an honest answer, don’t ask the question. And if you don’t know what to say, say ‘I hope you feel better’ and move on.” Is it really so hard? Like I said - hormonal rage against the (social) machine.
Every new symptom during my first trimester was an exercise in patience. Patience in the process that takes nine months for a reason. Patience in steadily acquiring the information I felt like I needed all at once. Patience in letting my body do what it needed. Patience in waiting to finally see my real baby on an ultrasound monitor. Patience in waiting for my brain to grasp the concept of patience.
I understand that I cannot control the controllable. But when I couldn’t eat, and my anxiety turned my stomach into knots, and I didn’t know how to interact with other humans, I really wondered if I was in control of anything at all.
If you’re having a mild first trimester, your struggles and anxieties about bringing a new life into this world are still valid even though your physical symptoms might not be present, and I recognize that your fears may be entirely different than mine.
If you’re having a rough first trimester physically, you will make it out, and it is only temporary. Everything is temporary.
If you’re nervous about your first trimester, your body will do whatever it needs when the time comes. You may not feel the way I did, and I hope you don’t, but if you do, you are not alone and you are free to do whatever you need to ease your pain.
If you have loved ones who are pregnant, or who want to get pregnant, or who sadly can’t get pregnant, give them the space to share the things that ail them, haunt them, frighten them - the smallest of caring and comforting words, and a listening ear, can make all the difference between having a breakdown or finding hope among the chaos.
Xo,
Violet Carol
You’re a strong woman 💪🏼🩷