I guess it says something about my state of mind lately, that my blog was down all day yesterday and most of today, and I’m just now getting around to doing something about it. Yesterday marked the three-week anniversary of this stomach bug, and I think at this point it’s officially drained my will to live. I’m sleeping over ten hours a night, and still, I can barely move and function. A task as small as going to the supermarket drains me of what little strength I have. There’s just nothing left in me.

So: it’s not a parasite. (Sorry, Angie, you don’t get to name it.) After a week of tests, a consultation with a gastroenterologist who didn’t know a blasted thing about treating pregnant women, and a cross-reference of everything the GI doc said with my obstetrician, I now (drum roll)… have a prescription. Two prescriptions, actually. It’s a small step, but at least I feel like there’s some hope, and I might not wither away to nothing before this baby arrives and figures out entirely new ways to destroy what’s left of my body.

What kills me is that even after all of this, no one knows for sure exactly what’s wrong with me, just “hmmm, seems like it’s bacterial.” Nice.  

Tomorrow, Dave and I have our first (and only) childbirth class. I’m getting increasingly jittery about it, because for the past couple of months I’ve managed to pretty well convince myself that I’m just going to be pregnant forever. The idea that this class is going to force me to acknowledge that there’s only one ultimate end to this whole pregnancy thing… well, quite honestly, it scares the bejeezus out of me. Denial has been working ok for me so far, I’m not sure I’m ready to think about the alternative.

I know Dave is dreading the class too, mostly for the much-feared childbirth video, but I’m honestly glad that husbands/partners are required to attend, because I think I’m going to need someone to hold my hand, pat me on the head and tell me that everything is going to be ok.

Wish us both luck.