Man down… When nausea strikes

Oh my god.

As I write this, I’m sitting in work unable to look at anything other than the letter H on my keyboard. God knows how many typos I’ve written in the draft of this post as I can’t even look at the screen and follow the letters, that is how nauseous I feel right now.

After my previous posts, where I somewhat boasted of having no symptoms yet (although this was mostly down to me worrying there was nothing actually there), the dreaded sickness has hit me like a truck. I made it to six weeks and one day before it took me down.

No actual hurling yet, which is a saving grace as I’m a real girl when I’m sick. Guaranteed tears and everything, not a good look in the office. But the nausea, and trips to the bathroom because I’m convinced I’m about to knock it, is quite hard to handle.

I can’t concentrate on anything in work, and I’m pretty sure my assistant sitting next to me is on to it – I’ve flicked between the same two screens all day and typing this post up is the most movement I’ve made for the past seven hours. Somehow, it’s helping to write down how I’m feeling in a way that typing an email about budgets and media plans doesn’t. And I don’t have to look at the screen, if I make a mistake here I’ll fix it later, if I make a mistake on work stuff, it could be the difference between me spending £50,000 instead of £5,000 (and therefore the difference between me having a job and not).

It’s 4.30pm, so definitely not ‘morning’ sickness, and I’ve so far had three cups of ginger tea, four dry Ryvitas and forced down a salad for lunch. I’m now sipping cold remnants of ginger tea round three in desperation.

I acknowledge that this is nowhere near the extremes that some of you ladies go to (and for that, you have nothing but my upmost sympathy and respect) but it’s a real shock to the system, and not knowing how many days or weeks it will go on for, and not being able to tell anyone around me what I’m feeling, is a sort of torture.  

 So come on and help a girl out, any words of wisdom or the online equivalent of softly stroking my hair are more than welcome….