Pregnancy Diaries 1: finding out I was pregnant...

Somewhere back in 2007,there was light, sunshine - and footloose freedom...

Once upon a time in 2007, I had a life. I had a packed social calendar, I could go out when I wanted without guilt and was footloose and fancy free - and then...

Then...life changed forever!

Having gone through a really rough ectopic pregnancy and the general low that follows a traumatic experience, a planned pregnancy was simply not on the cards.

I visited my gynaecologist in Jan 2007 and told him how pregnancy was simply not on my mind. My completely eccentric and totally committed Parsee doctor, whom I adore said, "Well, that's fine. Don't worry. Focus on losing about 20 kgs and then think about pregnancy."

I agreed. I enthusiastically booked myself into the famous Jindal health farm near Bangalore to lose all the extra kgs. Practically every one I knew who had been there had come back half their size with glowing moon-like complexions and svelte willowy bodies. I almost started buying a whole new wardrobe for the new, thin me. I even started thinking about an all new personality to go with the new, thin me. I would be chic, poised, my hair would always be in place, and I would not walk. I would simply glide, float and maybe gloat in some incredibly expensive clothes.

Alas. Fate just wanted me to stay fat. After all, the world is all about opposites and balance and I was simply meant to balance on the heavier side of the scales. Sometime in February, I started distinctly swoony. I started  feeling pukey in a very Bollywood-filmy kind of way. I remember the night before I went for a pregnancy test. I was with my sister Chordi and family friend, Gargidi at Indigo Belly. Personally, I believe I should get some kind of a loyalty card for the amount of Word-of-Mouth publicity I have done for them!

To come back to the dinner menu that day. There were barbequed spare ribs, roast chicken and my all-time favourite turkey and bacon sandwich in crusty bread with cranberry compote. The ribs did make my head swoon a bit and I felt that maybe I couldn't dig into the goodies. But since it was my all-time favourite turkey and bacon sandwich in crusty bread with cranberry compote, I managed to overcome the nausea (rather well, if I may say so) and polish off the sandwich, along with a rib or two to spare! (Sad joke, sorry, about the barbequed spare ribs, but couldn’t help it.)

My mother called me in at office the next day to tell me the "notun" khobor (the "new" news). I was completely numb, to be honest. I called up Amit who was in Charlotte. He was equally numb. I think we were both excited and overwhelmed and a little bit freaked out, all together.

Then I remembered my gynaecologist and his "Lose 20 kgs advice." He was NOT going to be pleased.

My mother consoled me, "Hathiro bacha hoye." (Even elephants have babies). How that sort of consolation was going to make me feel better, I don't know, but you can always count on mothers to pep you up !

Talking of “hathiron bacha hoye”, I wondered if all elephant families are single-child families. Think about it.  If you were already large and had to go through a twenty-two month pregnancy, mostly standing on your feet, chomping on grass, to deliver, on an average a 115 kg baby, without the possibility of an epidural or a Caesarean, I bet you would start taking family planning Very Very seriously. Personally, I would take a vow of celibacy. With immediate effect and irrevocably.

Ah, but these pointless philosophical musings on elephants, their reproductive cycles and whether they are nuclear family units wasn’t really going to get me too far. For soon, I would need to meet my gynaecologist -   to whom I had categorically and emphatically stated that weight loss and not babies was my sole focus. He would think I was stark, raving mad.

Fortunately, my doctor was a discrete man and made no reference to my supposed 20kg weight loss promise. In fact, he was very pleased to see me. From this, I gather that there is a tribe, albeit small, of pregnant elephant mothers!

 “You are now properly pregnant,” he beamed at me (this was as opposed to being “improperly pregnant” the first time round, i.e., ectopic pregnancy, near death experience, emergency laparoscopy and all those happy memories. Hurrah for averted tragedies!)

And then. The ultimate proof of my proper pregnancy. My doctor whipped out a rectangular shaped, pristinely white, smoothly textured card. The white had an “Ujala safedi” kind of look to it and the texture was velvety soft. This was a departure from the blue cards he generally used to write up patient details. “Now that you are pregnant,” he said, rather matter-of-factly,  “I will be using this special white paper, specially bought from Ryman’s stationery in London. I use this for all my pregnant patients. This is extremely high quality. Even if you come 30 years later for your baby’s details, THIS paper, he said solemnly and with great emphasis, will still be intact. It’s expensive, but worth it.” (and then in a back to reality tone) “Of course, once you are no longer pregnant, we will go back to using the Indian blue cards.”

Wow, I thought, almost sniffing. Being pregnant sure had some privileges. My pregnancy details would now be recorded on high quality stationary, flown in from good old England, possibly, possibly with the Queen’s official stamp of approval!