Salt relief
Salt is where I’m at right now. I wake up and eat a saltine. I lie in bed to test my state of queasiness. One morning I woke up with a little vomit in my mouth. Of course, R. was alarmed and brought up Jimi Hendrix. It wasn’t like that, I said. It was just a little backwash. What I can eat and not eat isn’t the issue. It’s what I want to eat. Which, today, is salt.
Yesterday I felt fairly good. My acupuncturist fastened these electromagnetic strips to my wrist (after laughing at my ill-placed Sea Bands — I’d missed the pressure point by half and inch). They are basically circular band aids with an electromagnetic ball in the center. Much more comfortable than the bands, and more fashionable as I can forgo the fuzzy terrycloth tennis look. They seem to be more effective as I don’t feel queasy ALL the time now. But if I don’t watch it, I can push myself over the edge.
Last night R. and I ate at Rice, one of my favorite little restaurants in the city. I was starving, and because we shared most of the dishes, I ate too fast (for fear of not getting my share?). I was full by the time my main dish came — a pho, a big bowl of beef and noodles in broth. I have never ordered this before in my life, but I think I wanted the condiments that come with it. Plum sauce and hot sauce and lime and cilantro and basil. I was less interested in the noodles than the plum sauce. I felt sick immediately after eating. Too much, too fast. My body can’t digest the way it used to, not that I have a super efficient digestive system. At home, I crashed and waited to throw up. My stomach was in revolt. I went to bed early, but got up after midnight and took refuge on the couch with the trash bin nestled nearby.
I didn’t throw up. But I’m suspicious of all that I put in my mouth now, however hard to control what goes in there. But salt is like a magnet. Pretzels for breakfast, even the salty crumbs on the bottom of the bag. I made a grocery list and only afterwards noted a pattern: saltines, cheese, fresh ham, whipped butter (w/salt). Hmm. I’m usually more of a sugar person.
I’ve been taking an independent survey of morning sickness patterns. I read that morning sickness tends to be more severe with women carrying girls than boys. I think about my oldest sister, mother of three, who terrorizes me with her stories of morning sickness. The first time, pregnant with twins, she threw up six times a day. By the end of her first trimester she had lost thirteen pounds. During her second pregnancy, she was sick for five months and couldn’t even drive. I read that morning sickness can run in the family, so I call my other sister. Yes, she too had it bad. With her first son (there goes the girl myth) she felt nauseous but didn’t throw up a lot, but with the second son she threw all the time. She told me she threw up in her lap while driving. And since she couldn’t eat, she was throwing up bile. A good friend told R. it is good that I’m not throwing up, that she felt nausea too, but didn’t heave. I don’t know why I am obsessed with this vomiting thing. I don’t like to, and I’ve never been a bit heaving. It takes a lot to make me sick like that. I can keep a lot down. But I suppose I think it will provide some relief. Or maybe it seems like that’s what is supposed to happen, perhaps that I’ll have some closure.
Instead, I continue to make a dent in a family size bag of Baked Lays chips.
