We’ve all gone to bed after too much red wine and pizza and experienced the creeping burn of indigestion. Perhaps, it wasn’t pizza, but actually late a night curry after beers, but whatever caused your discomfort you all know what I’m saying when I say heartburn sucks ass. When you have it occasionally you have a crapola night’s sleep and you wake up feeling a little ravaged of throat, but generally, come the light of a new morning, it is but a memory…..unless, you’re up duff because no-one, but no-one, does the dance of the flaming oesophagus like a pregnant lady.
Some ladies are have the good fortune of experiencing mild indigestion at the end of their pregnancy, and some ladies have the misfortune of bad burn in the final stages, and then there’s me. I catch on fire about week 3 of my pregnancy and I slowly burn until I have a hole the size of China in my throat and I burp acid out of my nose. Too much information?
Now that the cat is out of the bag, yes, I burp. Quite a lot and quite loudly. I have been likened to a trucker, or a fog horn, more than once, and I’ve disgusted friends and strangers alike with my uncontrollable wind (still talking about burps – the other is another blog entirely, probably best written by my poor, suffering, nasally blistered husband). One fateful time, in a cinema when the audio was blaring I opened the oesophageal gates to feel the sweet relief and, you guessed it, the volume dropped to nought except for my resounding belch which echoed around the cinema in rather impressive Dolby Surround Sound. The people nearest us looked to Mister H thinking, surely, that must have been him – the animal. He gave a shocked ‘Darling!’, and my voice squeaked a tiny ‘Pardon me’ to a chorus of titters and giggles as I slid under my chair and tried to hide in the popcorn encrusted carpet.
I’ve tried everything. Apple cider vinegar worked for a day, slippery elm worked for 10 minutes, Renny by the truckload and Tums until my eyeballs turn orange. Milk? Nope. Dry crackers? Nah uh. Nothing helps, and if it brings a moment’s ease, it is but a fleeting moment.
Standing up is evil enough, but lying down? Oh Lordy, Lordy. It is unrecommended to lie on your back in the final stages of pregnancy as the baby squashes all your inside bits, so side lying is recommended for everybody’s comfort (except Mister H if he’s lying behind me, but again I digress to matters of a courser nature). I find the only respite I have from the battery acid I appear to have unwittingly swallowed is to prop myself up somewhat, so I lie on my side, propped on pillows in some bizarre Slinky-like contortion to find comfort. I need to un-Slink myself come morning and hope I spring back into shape before I slide down some stairs end over end.
Basically, there is no relief. People talk only of the glow of pregnancy, or the miracle that is growing life…..and it is. The most amazing miracle that I can think of and I’m delighted to be experiencing it for the second glorious time. I can’t help but feel that there is a flaw in the miracle though and I’m not sure which department to send my letter of complaint to.
I think the true miracle at play here is the fact that the second, indeed, the very instant, my new little angel exits my body, the fire stops. The wind is over and life goes back to normal.
Or something like it.