I became pregnant of my own free will, around the age of 39. I must say that my whole pregnancy was more like a disease; I didn't find all the hormonal changes I had to suffer at all pleasant.
In the first month of pregnancy, my mouth began to smell the strongest and most unpleasant odors. It was a kind of cacosmia.
A dark path to reach the light.
Going into the bathroom and smelling the perfumed aroma of soap and disinfectant made me have to go in with a mask on my nose. I couldn't stand the fragrances.
When I drank water, the taste was the same as when I smelled the rust of metal. You know? That smell when you touch the rusty metal and it soaks into your hands. That same smell I had as a taste sensation in my mouth it stayed there for 7 months.
During my pregnancy, I had to drink water only in the form of ice. I could not absorb the water. I could not bathe with scented soap. I had to look for a neutral soap, and even those soaps have a smell. I stayed with blue soap, you know, panela soap, laundry soap.
After two months, I started vomiting. I was walking around everywhere with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some plastic bags for vomiting.
A week of my son's life.
You can't imagine how many homemade things were recommended for vomiting. I did them and nothing worked. They injected my poor buttocks so many times, I thought it was a good thing I didn't drink water, so they wouldn't come out because of the punctures in my buttocks.
I didn't like to go out in the street because of that; I necessarily had to breathe in all kinds of aromas that kept my nose in a bottle of alcohol. Going to the supermarket was traumatic, so many mixed aromas.
The people who tried to give me some encouragement told me that those discomforts would only last me the first three months, then they told me that it was only the first four months, then they were already going for the first 5 months; they got tired of telling me, and I got tired of listening to them. It was 6 months in total with vomiting.
I had stopped working because I could not cope with my symptoms. The doctor who took care of my pregnancy suggested therapy with certain drugs to minimize the vomiting, since I was vomiting too much and not hydrating enough. I refused the drugs and stayed true to my condition and endured the symptoms.
Along with all this, I was due to have an amniocentesis on my abdomen to look for chromosomal abnormalities in my pregnancy, as I was almost 40 years old. I was past the age for a healthy first baby. Any pathology had to be ruled out.
My son's graduation.
I only thought of my repeated vomiting; of the possibility of miscarriages, infections, and other traumas following this invasive diagnostic method, amniocentesis.
I refused; it is not a mandatory test in pregnancy, but it is required. I just prayed and talked to God, telling him that... if he had accepted my desire to have a baby and my pregnancy, and at my age, it was a risk, he would take care of my son's health. I would accept whatever he sent me.
I was thinking for a long time whether my son would have syndrome 21. I told myself that I would love him just the same, since he was the gift of my Lord. Likewise, if my baby were born with another genetic malformation, I would accept it. What I didn't want was to subject him to amniocentesis and have him die because of my exaggerated symptoms. So, filled with more acceptance for my situation, I was ready to endure my long illness for almost 7 months.
The last month was terrible because I was overcome with a heavy feeling in my abdomen. I could no longer walk much because the baby was squeezing my diaphragm so tightly that I could not breathe. I could not even walk 10 meters when I was panting and sweating from the effort.
I was begging the doctor to move up the C-section. I begged him because my body was in a crisis. I could not sleep. I spent the nights sitting, the day sitting with forced breathing; everything was a disaster. He made my last appointment and told me that everything was fine and that he would do my c-section next Monday. I still had a long weekend with crying fits.
My son was born with a double circular cord; he was suffocating. He did not cry at birth, and my friend's pediatrician rushed him to resuscitation. He also had pooped inside my uterus, because he was in pain. I stood there waiting for long seconds or minutes, I don't know. I only listened to the silence of the crying and the maneuvers that I imagined the pediatrician was practicing on my baby, so that he would emit his first cry.
The clovers of success.
Until she finally cried, I heard a deep breath from the colleagues who were closing my cavity. Then I could breathe again.
Today, my little boy is 24 years old, a computer engineer, a freelancer, and my greatest pride.
Of course, I went through terrible moments, but the thought at the end was to get the fruit of all this disaster in my organism. It is an isolated case of many others that have happened very normally. The final product is the blessing of the living being that God has entrusted me to take care of. That is what I have been doing until now.
My son will have his birthday in a week, I still remember everything like it was yesterday.
I'm older now. I did what I could; now it's my turn to take care of myself, as long as God gives me the strength.
The photographs are taken with the Redmi note9.
The banners are made with the Canva application.