Pregnancy ...

It was getting late, and we couldn't shake the feeling that he just wanted to go home. As I lay on the exam table clutching Archie's hand, I told him I wasn't sure if I could keep going. Both of us were exhausted, and on that chilly February day, my Aug. 7 due date seemed so far away.

Something had to change. We started asking close friends to stay with me. They sat by my side, late into the night, and rinsed out my bucket when necessary, giving Archie a break. Others sent cards and funny notes, which we lined up in rows on my dresser, next to framed ultrasound pictures. One wrote to inform me that elephants are pregnant for 22 months. I have no idea if hyperemesis exists in the animal kingdom, but it cracked me up.

Still others helped Archie and me look for a new doctor, realizing the stress of my medical care arrangement: harried prenatal appointments supplemented by emergency room trips and desperate calls to physician friends. In retrospect, we should have switched sooner, but neither of us had ever had serious medical problems -- I didn't even have a doctor -- and we didn't know any better.

Whenever I became too dehydrated, the new doctor, Ricky Friedman Jr., and his partner arranged for me to receive intravenous fluids at home or had me admitted to Mount Sinai Medical Center. There, I was pumped with fluids and anti-nausea medication and met with a nutritionist. I was even seen by a social worker, who made sure there were no underlying psychological issues, such as an eating disorder, causing me to reject food. I told her that there were few things I loved more than eating and that I was once scolded by a caterer at a newsroom lunch for helping myself to a second hot dog before my colleagues had had their first.

At 20 weeks, with my body still below pre-pregnancy weight and producing ketones, a sign of starvation, Friedman ordered a nutritional line inserted in my arm. Ketones themselves can cause nausea, worsening the problem. "It sort of feeds back on itself," he said in an interview. "If we can interrupt that cycle, we might be able to make you feel better."

The nutritional tube, which reached to just above my heart, provided the calories and vitamins that I and my growing baby needed. From then on, I spent 14 hours a day connected to a five-pound bag of milky liquid, which I wheeled on a cart from my bed to the bathroom to the kitchen table. Every week, a nurse came to my home to change the dressing where the catheter exited from my arm. He also took blood samples so that my endocrinologist could use them to adjust the contents of the bag, such as adding potassium when my levels fell.

As the spring thaw gave way to longer days, I vomited less and found I could keep down certain foods (a potato, ramen noodles and, strangely, extra-sharp cheddar cheese) around lunchtime. I gained weight. Archie and I could feel our baby kicking, stronger each day, which gave us great comfort. The finish line, we felt, was within reach.

Early in the third trimester, the pregnancy threw us one more curveball. With the uterus crowding my stomach, I started getting acid reflux, a common problem in pregnancy, which reaccelerated my vomiting. About this time, an ultrasound showed that our baby was not growing well; the abdomen was skinny, an indication that the baby was not getting sufficient nutrients and oxygen.

As the weeks went by, the condition worsened. So at 38 weeks, I checked into Mount Sinai to induce labor.

I threw up for the last time about 20 minutes before the arrival of my son, at 2:54 a.m. July 25. He weighed 5 pounds 12 ounces and was in excellent health. I held him, he looked up at me and the euphoria from December came rushing back. I didn't think about the months in between.

The nausea vanished almost immediately.

That morning, a nurse who had taken care of me during my hospitalizations popped in and asked if I felt like breakfast. It was eggs and sausages, pancakes, cereal and fruit salad. I planned to save half for Archie, who had fallen asleep on a pullout chair. But I couldn't help myself.

I ate the whole thing.