So a few weeks ago, I started feeling incredibly ill… non-stop. I was being sick constantly, bad stomach cramps, lots of spotting between my menstrual cycle, up all night pacing the apartment with insomnia (handy when my kids kept waking in any event) and during all of this, I managed to neck a bottle of wine (sometimes Vodka) here and there too (hey, I’m only human).
My local Doctor kindly sent me off to a Specialist Gynaecologist after giving me a well overdue Smear test (don’t you just love opening your legs to a Doctor last-minute when you’ve forgotten to have a Bikini wax and not shaved your legs. Soo sexy).
The Specialist turned out to be a lovely Doctor based in Bank of America Tower (Hong Kong) and she chatted through my medical history in detail. I told her about the Twins, IVF, various operations I’ve had in my lifetime and that I was 100% sure it must be my huge Fibroids that were causing me the pain I was experiencing. I also asked this Gynae specialist to rustle up some good contraceptives for me too as I hadn’t got round to sorting any of this. She then asked me if I had taken a pregnancy test. Now for a normal woman who had not endured the fertility treatment I had, this would be a normal question, but for me… well, it just seemed pointless. That being said, I told her I actually had taken one that morning (ok, I did a quick test on a stick and looked at it a couple of minutes later. Negative of course). Soooo….. Gynae Doctor asks me to hop up onto the big white moving table thing and pulls out the horrific light sabre Luke Skywalker uses in Star Wars to stick inside me and have a root around, while both of us stare at a computer screen to see my insides.
Well…. there staring at both of us, and I knew the minute I saw it, having had numerous scans throughout IVF, was a BABY. A 9 week old baby. The Doctor asked me again “When did you have a pregnancy test?”, my shaky response was “errr…. this morning why? Is that a blood clot?” (knowing full well it wasn’t). The Doctor responded “No Mrs X, that is a 9 week old baby. CONGRATULATIONS!!” Then she turned up the volume on the Scan machine and BOOM! I heard the heartbeat.
At this point I almost fell off the table (even with the light sabre still inside me and no underwear on) and started crying. The Doctor (clearly not a woman with children) thought they were tears of joy. Ok, I admit they were a little but it was honestly more full-blown, holy fuck, shock. I explained to her that there was no way I could be pregnant unless it had been by divine intervention as I had been beating the Captain away from me with a stick for months (he’s like a Puppy trying to hump me non stop. It gets exhausting after a while, even if I know I should be grateful he’s not out banging Domestic Helpers in Wan Chai). I also asked her how, when, what the fuck was going on. I HAVE 16 MONTH OLD TWINS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!? HOW WOULD I COPE!!? I had to refrain from physically shaking her by the arms as I asked these questions. I also recalled the past NINE weeks of parties, drinking constantly, sushi, debauchery and anything else that you would never do while pregnant. Shit. I’m going to hell for this one.
At this point the Doctor was rushing me through to her nurse for blood tests, weight checks, urine samples and handing me my Ante-Natal card while smiling happily and patting me on the shoulder telling me I was due next February. I stood there, dumbstruck, holding the Ante-Natal card in my hand like it was contagious. I was convinced there had been a mistake and was desperate for a glass (ok, bottle) of wine and a cigarette (I gave up 9 years ago after starting at the age of 12. I’m hardcore clearly). I asked for a photo of the scan as I knew the Captain would not believe me – bless we both thought I was seriously ill, which made me drink more. To cope with the stress obviously of thinking I was dying or something.
So in my daze, I somehow manage to flag down a Taxi, get to the Captain’s office and ask him to come down to meet me for lunch. He suggested Sushi. I told him no (obviously I was being responsible the minute I discovered I was pregnant).
As the Captain made his way down the escalator, I felt myself shitting my pants and thinking, I’m about to devastate this man who has been soo happy the Twins are finally becoming more self-sufficient. I ask the Captain to come sit with me outside and right away, he’s like “Shut up! Whats wrong?!?!” I initially thought it might be easier to tell him (a) I was actually really ill and had only a few months to live (b) I was having an affair, or (c) Both of the above. I was terrified to say I was pregnant. I mean, this is meant to be my Best Friend in the whole world and I was scared to tell him. I didn’t even know how I felt about it all but that was the shock talking. Two years ago, before Itchy and Scratchy, we would have been jumping for joy. Now, without IVF, and one night of crazy monkey sex (thats what we call it when we go all out), we had managed to do what we had failed to do before. Fall naturally pregnant.
In the end, I just pulled the scan out my bag and handed it to him … kinda like I was serving divorce papers. The poor Captain, stopped in his tracks and asked me “Whos the Father!??” as I clearly have loads of time to shag around in HK, in between my sleepless nights, writing, Pilates classes, cooking, cleaning, drinking etc. The Captain then went through an hour of torturing himself (like I had in the clinic), wondering how we would cope with 3. THREE kids under the age of 2.5 years old?! Madness. I’m going to turn into a raving alcoholic at this rate ladies as I can’t see any other way to enjoy this one sober.
So… thats it for me at the moment. I guess my hardcore partying days are now limited to cakes, baking, waddling and eating cheese, while rubbing my expanding belly and moaning about carpal tunnel syndrome and pain in my hips. Allll those months of Pilates to give me a washboard tummy… down the fucking drain.
How could I be this irresponsible for fucks sake?! I’m a grown woman. The Captain, of course, wanted to celebrate that night by having “crazy monkey sex”. I told him to piss off and never touch me with his penis again.
ps. The pregnancy test, the one I took in the morning before my specialist appointment. Well…. lo and behold, there it was staring up at me from the bin, with two positive lines when I got home. I had been so convinced it would be negative, I didnt re-check it 5 minutes later as per the dumbass instructions state you should.
pps. The photo above is taken of an Organic Wine Cellar I visited in Chinon, France……I then consumed 3 bottles just to make sure I was happy with the 8 crates of vino I had purchased.