We left for Rome on Thurs. I was sick. We were waiting in the departure lounge when, as usual, an early queuer decided to ruin things for everyone else (we were flying Ryanair of course). So I stood unnecessarily in a queue for half an hour before boarding time (had forgotten to book priority boarding) and thought I was going to pass out. Then, as if all my Christmases had come at once, an angel from heaven came and ushered us out of the queue and towards the plane. And as soon as the plane took off, I was cured.
I ate dinner at about 11pm, stayed up until after 12pm and felt no pain. After a quick vomit the next morning, I was fine for the day. I did manage to enjoy it for a while but by the evening I was getting worried, especially when I had some pains in my lower right abdomen. There were some tears that night and the next morning but I kept going, did all the sight-seeing, went out for nice dinners and generally had a good time. I had a scan booked for yesterday morning so knew that one way or another I would be put out of that particular misery before long.
I didn’t have to wait that long. As soon as we touched down in Dublin, it was back. By the time I got home, I was heaving and retching and went straight to bed. Have been feeling horrific ever since. Don’t know why all my symptoms went on holiday when I did.
And it doesn’t matter. My baby is still growing, its heart is still beating and that’s all that counts.