It is the beginning of August and I am sitting outside a pub on a lovely summer's evening. My friend has bought me a beer. She offers me a cigarette. I light up and feel a huge wave of nausea engulf me. Putting it out, I take a sip of beer. I cannot drink it either. I instantly know I am pregnant. I panic. I am meant to be going travelling with my partner after Christmas - this is going to change my life.
Next day I go and buy a pregnancy test. The result is positive. I phone him at work and break the news. He is ecstatic. I am terrified. I am also worrying about our travel arrangements. This is absolutely terrible timing.
I make an appointment to see the GP the next day. She breaks the news that I need to choose my hospital as soon as possible for beds fill up all too quickly. I have a choice of three in the area. She gives me a wad of papers to fill in and hand to the receptionist. I meekly ask her if I can go travelling to Asia and South America during my pregnancy. She smiles and advises me that it might be preferable to do so when my child is 18 - after all, it's not much fun backpacking when you're heavily pregnant. I suddenly realise I am on a rollercoaster to the labour ward and I cannot get off.
I sit in the surgery's waiting room and choose a hospital. I plump for the maternity one, the one I was born in - better the devil you know I mutter under my breath. I have to wait to see if they will accept me, the receptionist tells me. I had no idea that the process would be like waiting for a job offer.
Two weeks later I receive a letter accepting me for “confinement”. It all seems terribly Victorian and frightening. I picture all those sweaty women from TV period dramas writhing on their beds in birthing agony and shudder. No one knows except my partner and my friend in the pub. I have a hospital appointment for a scan at 14 weeks. If everything is okay I will have to tell people then.
Meanwhile I am feeling horribly nauseous, every day all day. This morning sickness thing is a fallacy. I try dry biscuits, camomile tea, toast - nothing works. I go back to see a doctor who prescribes travel sickness pills. Luckily, the eagle-eyed pharmacist will not dispense them as they are not suitable for pregnant women. I feel totally shattered - apparently because my body is working hard to develop the baby's major organs. I have a craving for sushi, yet am not allowed to eat raw fish. At work at 11am every day I rush to the corner shop and buy a packet of crisps. No one knows I'm up the duff and I wish I could tell them so that they would understand how truly awful I feel.
I feel sudden guilt at not telling my parents before my scan. We break the news to them over a Chinese meal to celebrate their wedding anniversary. I am retching uncontrollably in the restaurant. My mother almost falls off her chair and goes into shock. She did not think I wanted children and had resigned herself to never being a grandmother. My father congratulates us. I retch all the way home.
We tell my partner's parents. Coincidentally this also takes place at a Chinese restaurant, where I am struggling to hide my extreme nausea. My partner's unrehearsed build-up makes them think we are getting married. They cannot hide their disappointment when they realise the cart is coming before the horse. They do not look pleased at the news. I feel upset and ashamed, as if I have done something naughty. They ask us when we are getting married. This raises my heckles - how could I even contemplate doing such a thing in my state and, besides, it's only a damn piece of paper…
