I’M PREGNANT!!!

 After five years in the making, #BabyRosenChung is finally going to be a reality! My husband and I are thrilled to announce we are expecting our tiny human #BabyRosenChung2021 in late February, after an emotional and physical rollercoaster of a journey to get to this point. And of course, it’s not over just yet. But here’s the story about how this all came to be:

Being pregnant is not something I ever thought I would experience. Between my congenital heart defect, my compromised lung function and malformed chest wall, chronic GI issues and my near nine-year battle against pelvic pain, I didn’t think my body was strong enough. I knew the risks and honestly, my risk profile was lower than some might think. Women with my particular heart condition generally do well in pregnancy. But I knew myself even better and didn’t believe I could do it – so we went another route: surrogacy and egg donation which did not involve my body at all.

When our surrogacy journey unexpectedly crashed and burned last November, leaving both Dennis and I completely heartbroken and out tens of thousands of dollars, I went back to the drawing board. Could I actually carry myself? Despite receiving a diagnosis of infertility from the clinic we went to, it was an umbrella term they gave to anyone who wasn’t carrying themselves – infertile or not, and how wrong that is! It’s not fair to us and it’s not fair to the millions of women who ARE dealing with infertility! And that certainly wasn’t my issue – tests we had both done three years earlier showed if we chose to try to conceive ourselves, we would actually have a pretty good chance at getting pregnant. By this point, I wasn’t willing to go through another surrogacy journey. I was done. I wanted to be the one carrying my own child.

But there was one final stumbling block which is something I’m extremely embarrassed to talk about: my emetophobia – a crippling fear of nausea and vomiting.  This was the one factor more than any other that kept me from taking a leap of faith. I felt so embarrassed, guilty and ashamed for years. With my health conditions I had more than enough reasons not to take on pregnancy myself but I couldn’t help but beat up on myself for that one thing that was stopping me. How come other women could physically throw themselves into it and even spend thousands upon thousands on IVF procedures to realize their dream of becoming a mother, and I couldn’t even look at the term “morning sickness” without spiralling into a massive panic attack?

Truthfully, my emetophobia all began from a bad buffet experience at a small-town buffet when I was dating an ex-boyfriend (I’m thankful that COVID has pretty much shut down buffet-style dining. It is one of the easiest ways to transmit germs). I was 22, staying at his parents for Christmas and still nervous about being a houseguest. Those nerves quickly went out the window when five hours after our return from dinner, I began projectile vomiting in their guest bathroom. It was so bad that they rushed me to the local hospital where at midnight, I was the only patient and the nurse was working on her knitting when we arrived.

But it had been brewing for years before that – I threw up pretty much every single day up until I was four years old, and no, not baby spit up. I barfed every time my parents gave me my cardiac medication.  There were items in my childhood home covered in barf stains that my mom wasn’t able to get out in the laundry. When I got older, I was severely underweight to the point where I was encouraged to “take two more bites – just two more” every time I ate. But sometimes that second bite went too far and ooops, there went my entire dinner – at restaurants, people’s homes and other public places. It wasn’t my fault. My heart was working so hard, I burned every calorie I ate and more. But I felt like I had to make up for it so I would force myself to eat. Unfortunately, this is exactly how my anxiety began 26 years ago. I’d experience panic attacks in restaurants that would cause meltdowns. I’d be afraid to walk through malls in case I became sick. And although I had stopped vomiting on a regular basis by the time I was 11, I was still scared it would happen. I’d gag on my toothbrush at least once every few weeks, swallow too much air and then stand over the bathroom sink for 10 minutes, waiting for the feeling to pass. It’s something that still happens on a regular basis to this day.

I went a total of nine years without throwing up before that fateful incident in Listowel, ON that sent me to hospital. After that, there was no turning back. I was downright terrified every time I felt a pang of nausea, I was afraid to eat out or try new food for fear of a repeat incident and I would have an extreme panic attack if I knew Norovirus was going around or a person close to me threw up. But weirdly enough, the more scared I became, the more control I seemed to have over my body, and after meeting Dennis who introduced me to a wide variety of new foods and new eating experiences, I finally started to relax a bit. In fact, I had stomach flu twice without ever throwing up, although it was still a rather unpleasant experience. It was another 12 years before I finally vomited again – November 19^th 2018 to be exact – and honestly it wasn’t all that bad (in case you were wondering, I gagged on my toothbrush and that’s what caused it). But it didn’t seem to help calm my fears about pregnancy and morning sickness. Everything I read terrified me. Even though my cardiologist said she believed I could carry safely, even though my gynaecologist told me despite my pelvic pain I was at no risk, and even though friends of mine with as complicated medical histories as I had were carrying babies, I just couldn’t get past the fear of vomiting.

Until our surrogacy journey ended …. Until I felt absolutely hopeless about ever becoming a parent.

Before COVID-19 was a household name, Dennis and I began seriously talking about whether this was something I could attempt. We talked about the ground rules – I would do this only once, and if I miscarried or it didn’t work out otherwise, we would go back to the drawing board. Because of my advanced maternal age, we would try for a year and if it didn’t work, we would move on and explore adoption or go back to surrogacy (unfortunately as I have mentioned in previous posts, IVF is actually riskier for my heart condition than pregnancy and most fertility clinics are not comfortable with high-risk patients). We consulted with my doctors and did the rounds and got the green light to proceed. I worked with my psychotherapist to go through all the “what-if” situations. I spoke to my friends who were currently pregnant – and boy did 2020 have a baby boom. Just as we were finally ready to go, COVID hit and we were told by our original fertility clinic that “this is not the time to get pregnant.”

Keep in mind that back in March, we all thought COVID would blow over in a few weeks to a few months. Long-term scenarios seemed absurd – there’s no way we’ll be in lockdown for six months! The plan was to wait a few months, re-evaluate and then figure out our next steps. There was also the possibility that I would need reproductive help in the form of an unmedicated IUI since my pelvic pain makes certain activities rather difficult, if you catch my drift on that one. But when May came around and it was obvious COVID wasn’t going anywhere for a long time, we decided I wasn’t getting any younger and that what the hell, we might as well stop trying to prevent and just see what happened …

Imagine the surprise when less than four weeks later, we got two blue lines on a pregnancy test.

I was in a state of shock and I will admit – I was downright terrified because I didn’t expect it would happen that fast. I wasn’t ready yet. I was too terrified of nausea and vomiting to get excited. And to my absolute horror, the nausea kicked in two days later as I hit the four-week mark. I immediately went into a state of panic, called my doctor and asked for the strongest anti-nausea drugs available and when they only took the edge off, I told Dennis I wasn’t going to go through with this. I had to end it. For nearly a month I was in a massive mental health crisis. While I lay on the couch in a nauseated, panicky heap, I called a bunch of abortion clinics to see who could end my suffering the quickest (one thing to note about abortion clinics – if you have underlying medical conditions then they will refer you to a hospital which has much longer waiting times and can be very difficult to access). I was depressed, I blamed myself for being so stupid as to take this leap and I felt like a complete failure.

However, as nauseated as I was 24/7 – some days even water made me gag – I never actually vomited. I somehow held it together despite feeling the sickest I had ever felt in my life. I managed to get my work done. I managed to get through the days. I ate, I showered, I dressed. I even bought some new clothes. And when I went for my first ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy, I saw the little heart beating and my perspective started to shift. This was worth fighting for. This was what I wanted. This is what I had hoped for years ago, but could never mentally get to that point.

As of today - my 36th birthday - I am 17 weeks and 5 days along. It has been an extremely challenging journey so far and the nausea only started to improve this week. I’m now extremely fatigued, I have gained a ton of weight and I don’t feel like myself. But despite it all, I have not thrown up once. I have slogged through the awful days and not given up. I have pushed myself to keep going when I was on the verge of a full-fledged breakdown. And it has been worth every minute.

I know the actual cardiac symptoms and the fatigue will get worse. I know it’s going to get even more challenging to move around. I know my bladder will soon feel like it has a fiery bowling ball sitting on it at all times. And I accept it. I’ll get through it. Less than five months to go. This is the biggest challenge I’ve ever taken on in my life but when have I been one to back down? That’s right. I don’t do that. And I want my child to grow up knowing anything is possible.

I am still scared something will go wrong, but that’s only natural. But I am so proud to say that if all continues to go well, I will finally become a mother at age 36.

My dear baby, as the Arkells say in one of their most recent songs, you’ve been years in the making. And we cannot wait to finally hold you in our arms.

I realize there’s a lot more to talk about, especially since there’s little information online about pregnancy and disability. I haven’t discussed the screening procedures for the baby as I have a one in 20 chance of passing my congenital heart defect onto them. There’s also the whole COVID aspect, especially as Ontario enters a second wave which is one of the biggest challenges at the current time. I’m going to try the best I can to document my journey through this blog to give others with physical disabilities – AND emetophobia – that they, too, can get through pregnancy. Stay tuned to this blog and to What’s the Difference Podcast for the latest details.