Die! Self, die!

I forgot where my blog was (I really would loose my head if it wasn't attached) so I ran a search on my name. Apparantly there's another Sarah Pavlik out there who is an expert quilter. Wish I could do that. And one at Florida State. And here I thought I was the only one. Anway, as I was trying to track down my blog, I came across a bunch of my old articles and it reminded me of my love-hate relationship with writing.

I think what it was, is that I enjoyed finishing. It was the process that killed me. So, does that mean I liked the alcolades but not the work? How shallow can a girl get?

Reading over some of my old stuff, stirred up something in me. Something that has been knocking around in that over-taxed brain of mine for quite some time. I want to write again. But, not like I used to. See, I used to spout off all this dribble about writing for the glory of God and such and it was just a flimsy excuse to do what I wanted, while still feeling good about myself. But, this time around, I think I might actually have good motives.

You see, I had hyperemisis the entire ten months (you know you actually carry a baby 40 weeks, which works out to ten months, not nine!) I carried my last son. Some days I was so sick, I would throw up 20 times! The day I finally went to the hospital, I was vommitting every seven minutes. Yes, I timed it as odd as that may seem. I tell you all this, so that you'll see how completely desperate I was. Imagine having the WORST stomach flu of your life everyday for 250 days. That's basically what hyperemisis is. My whole life shut down. A friend agreed to homeschool the boys so I could hug my toilet all day long.

Most days I would lie in bed keeping track of the creeping hours by the television shows that came on. I knew the line up for every major station and it wasn't pretty. I could't sleep at night, because the nausea would wake me up, so my doctor gave me a sleeping pill. After that I spent everyday, looking forward to nine o'clock when I could drop that precious little pill down my throat, and wait for the only relief avaialable--a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I was, in a word, pathetic. And like all pathetic people, I wanted to know if there was anyone else out there like me. You know the saying, misery loves company. I looked everywhere for articles and books about hyperemesis and found shockingly little. I ordered one book, that was no help what-so-ever and then and there, determined that someday, when I could actually lift my greasy, unwashed head off the pillow again I would write an article about it. I desperately needed the spiritual support of someone else who had traveled this road, and there was nothing. So, that's a really long explanation as to why I think that this time, I really do want to write an article that will both glorify the God, who brought me through the struggle and help other women dealing with it today.

So, that's my plan this summer. To get the whole thing down on paper and then do all the yucky research that goes with these types of articles. If it's of God, it will go. If not, I guess I still have issues.

If you think the title is a little incongruous, it is. I didn't write a single thing about what I intended to write when I first sat down.