The great repost, part two

My iTunes is taking ages, so ... I'll talk about before I got sick, or the build up to getting sick, since it won't take very long.

My grasp on timings isn't great. I remember at university, I was sick most nights we went out. I know some people would say I obviously can't handle my alcohol, but I was coherent, I never got paraletic, I got more affectionate and used bigger terminologies than my day-to-day conversations. But I was still ill - I even got kicked out of the student union once, for being sick ... well, near the loos. But then again, we went out so rarely, since I had a complete spendthrift for a housemate and we were always broke, that it was something I didn't notice a lot.

And then I goofed up and got pregnant. And while I was pregnant, I was sick more than I should have been. Morning sickness only lasts first trimester. I blamed it on so many things - heartburn, my boy's position ... I used to get really intense stomach cramps, but I thought they were just Braxton Hicks.

I gave up being vegetarian when pregnant too. I just didn't want my kid to use my lifestyle choice as a reason not to eat his dinners, like 'I won't eat peas, because mummy doesn't eat chicken'. My midwife pushed hard for me to eat beef, since I was constantly, badly anaemic. It felt so weird to embrace that again.

About three days after I had my son, I had the worst stomach ache yet. I fought so hard not to scream, but I was yelling pretty badly anyway. They told me day three is when your womb contracts back to its original shape, so I thought I could just really feel it.

A few weeks later, I went out with some friends, to celebrate having my boy. I didn't drink much, maybe three, four drinks? I was ill that night. I couldn't get out of bed the next day. I woke in the middle of the night with those same pains.

It happened again and again, more noticeably when I went out for friends birthdays, but sometimes when I'd had a heavy meal (though I didn't make that connection at the time). Mum was worried how I'd cope back at work if I was having problems socialising infrequently. I told her it was different.

And it was.

I was working evenings, and my family were looking after my boy when I worked. I had him all day. But increasingly, I would get out of bed, come lay on the sofa and fight sleep as he amused himself while I tried to get the strength up to do anything. I felt horrible for it at the time, and I feel worse for it now - I missed out on a lot with him, even if I was there. I remember when he was a newborn, I'd wash up and goof about to nursery rhymes while he watched and giggled on his playmat. I remember trying to get him to raise his head, to sit, to crawl ... but at that point in time he could have walked and I wouldn't have worked up the enthusiasm.

We couldn't work out what was going on. Mum thought I was just being lazy. I started to get these bruises on my legs, but my work is such that you do come home with new bumps and cuts and burns every day. I passed it off as nothing.

We went to Lanzarote for a week, and I just wanted to sleep the entire time. I had some huge fights with mum, because she thought I was pawning my son off on her and she kept reminding me it was her holiday too. And it wasn't that I didn't want the time with him, or to give her a break, I was constantly exhausted. I wasn't staying up late, I was getting up at okay times, as far as she could see there was no reason for the tiredness. There was one bad incident where my boy hurt himself on the coffee table, and when I took my time reacting she accused me of not caring. I mean, we've cleared it up since, but that was awful. I cared, so much, but I just couldn't do anything about it.

A few days after we got back, I had those pains again, and woke in the middle of the night, waiting to be sick again. Mum asked if it was pregnancy again - but since my boy was concieved, there's been no chance of that - anyway, I ended up passing out on the bathroom floor. I was due in work the next day, for 5 hours, so I thought I could endure it.

But I was so hot. And any opportunity I had to go near a window made me shiver with cold. I couldn't get the breath out to talk to customers. I couldn't work out what hurt where. I wanted to go home so badly, but they'd called in a manager from another branch and I didn't want to make it difficult for her. I'd never felt bad after being sick, that normally cleared it up. I hadn't realised at the time, but this was the big turning point for me.

I had a day off next day, and apart from aching where everything had hurt, I felt fine. Until I looked - not ate, just looked - at dinner, and had to run off and be ill again. And my son had witnessed so much of this, and not reacted before, but he was suddenly unconsolable, and I couldn't make myself well enough to cheer him up. He was put to bed, and I stayed in the bathroom for hours, listening to my parents debate whether I could have a stomach ulcer or kidney stones. They made me go to hospital at 11 that night. I crawled to the front door, had my eyes closed the entire ride (and it felt like we were flying, though I was promised my dad drove slowly), and got to a&e, doubled over. Mum gave my name to the desk, and when we sat down I decided I'd prefer to sit in the foetal position on the floor. I didn't tell mum, and when I moved, she grabbed my sides, and I ended up screaming in pain. Next thing I know, they've got me on a bed in the examining room, giving me morphine and asking me questions.

And that's the start of the whole escapade, so I'll leave the rest for another night. And yes, it gets worse.