Why.

I've had quite a few people ask me why I do this. I could give the short and sweet answer, that Christopher and I are Catholics and follow the Churches teaching regarding marriage and children and accept children as God chooses to send them and that would be quite truthful and I could simply end it there.
I think a deeper look into my take on it might be useful (I speak for myself and no one else, every woman with HG copes or doesn't, in her own way).
Children are a blessing, a gift, something to be cherished. Anything worthwhile is worth sacrificing for. This period of illness is difficult but only lasts a short time. To bring another life into the world, another soul..can I not endure for a few months? Especially with all the treatment and help I receive. My grandmother had hyperemesis (although no one really called it anything back then). She could only eat oranges. She had no IV's, she had no zofran. All she had were the crates of oranges, which were the only food she could tolerate, that my grandfather brought her.
I know you are asking but what about the other children, what about your husband? It is difficult for them, I can't do much for them or with them and everyone has to buck and help. Is that a bad thing? To help someone else in their time of need, to witness someone willing to suffer for something bigger and better than themselves? To understand that one has to work and work hard for things that are worthwhile?
I am NO saint. I spend plenty of time crying that I can't do this anymore, that I'm tired, wishing I could just fall asleep and not wake up for three months. Remember to offer it up? I try....and fail. Then I have a good day, or hear the heartbeat or see Bob the Bean on an u/s, hold someone elses newborn, talk with Katie (bad HG without any treatment) or any of my children, think of all the mothers who have gone before and suffered so much more, especially the Blessed Mother, then, at least for a few moments, I can remember why I do this.
The night Lucy was born, after we were all cleaned up and moved to our postpartum room, she was sleeping on my chest. I had the lights off and the only sounds were the street sounds drifting up to the 22nd floor and Lucy's fast newborn breathing. It was then as I held her to my chest, just my baby and I, I offered a prayer of thanksgiving. "Thank you Lord for giving me this baby. She was worth every moment of suffering." With God, and faith and lots of pharmaceuticals I fully expect to be saying the same prayer again in May 2008. And if something happens, and I don't get a baby in May, then I will have to surrender to that too. I can choose to let my crosses crush me, or I can have the courage to pick them up and carry them.