The waves keep crashing....

... and not the lovely ones of the Pacific. No waves of nausea. They started when I woke up yesterday. I greened to the smell of my husband's coffee. I gagged at the smell of my towel when I got out of the shower. I put on my best dress, which is teal - a color I now realize is not flattering against a pale-green complexion, and headed to work.

I should have stayed home. I should have gone home after my first quick stroll to the bathroom to stare at the toilet praying that my body quickly and efficiently purges whatever evil was lodged in my stomach. No I kept working, with a bucket under my desk, because I had a secret hope that maybe this was morning sickness.

Yes a very irrational hope, but hey it was morning and I was sick and technically it had been 7 weeks since my last period (which is actually more like 3-4 weeks early for me, but in my semi-delusional state I was opting to use the 28 days norms that have never once applied to my own pattern).

I also had this silly idea that queasiness due to food poisoning, flu, or other 'medial' issues is grounds to excuse myself from work and go home --- however morning sickness is a 'natural' experience that you just work through. Yes shoot me now wiser women who know that when you are about to hurl, for whatever reason, you aren't much good at work and just as uncomfortable.

At 10 I was sent home. I just barely made it home in time to start a 24 hour love fest with my toilet (thank goodness I cleaned yesterday). I am now a tad better, although hungry and dehydrated, and working up the courage to try to eat. Supportive friends have brought paper and audio books over.

My mind has cleared up again... I know I am not pregnant. This sickness is probably related to the fact that I've been around at least 3 kids this week who've puked in my presence. But the whole time I was sick, I worried that if I was I am ever lucky enough to get pregnant with donor eggs, could I survive months of feeling that sick? Today I say of course, because the agony has more or less passed. But yesterday I was less sure of my strength – just as I was when I was in the midst of the post-op pain from my ovarian surgery. I had no idea how I'd survive that week of pain, hunched over unable to stand straight, dreading every laugh, cough, and sob.... but I did. Yet in spite of all I've survived, physically and emotionally, I still doubt my strength some days.