Pregnancy
provided me with the happy opportunity to be a full-time home maker. I quit my
job, as I really didn't think being in a stressful sales job would enable me to
have a "happy" pregnancy. With Worse Half away in Charlotte, I moved in
with my parents and soaked in all the love and pampering. This meant that I
wasn’t even a full-time home maker (or half-time, for that matter) It simply
meant that I was back to my college days, living with my parents, tanking up on
home-cooked meals and pretty much doing nothing. In short, bliss.
My gynaecologist
was a wonderful support, ensuring that absolutely nothing went wrong this time
round.
I finally flew
in to be with Worse Half in the second trimester. My gynaecologist, who is a pucca Anglophile and felt far more
comfortable about the UK healthcare system, than the one in the US, eyed me
with concern and announced. “Never been
there, never want to,” even as he flipped through his British Journal of Medical names to quadruple-check on something.
After all the
necessary, unnecessary and incidental checks, my gynaecologist gave me the go-ahead
to fly. However, he dished out some pretty unnerving instructions. "You
have to set an alarm every 45 minutes and ensure that you walk. In your current
condition and weight, in case you develop Deep Vein Thrombosis,” he said, very
very grimly, “There is only one outcome. DEATH!" I paled and nearly
cancelled my tickets, but the thought of not seeing Amit at all through the
pregnancy made me resolve to fight even potential death. That and the knowledge
that Worse Half too, was truly missing me.
In fact, he was
missing me so much that he had to fly down to New York every other weekend to
drown his sorrows with his friends. It was only after much merry-making and
marking territory through the bars of New York, could he overcome his deep
sorrow. (I know, Reader that you were beginning to wonder where the Beer Bellies part fitted in! :-) - it's not me!) I simply couldn't bear to see him suffer so. Here I was in India,
consumed with nausea and heart-burn getting poked with every possible
injection and Worse Half all alone, all all alone in Uncle Sam's land. Tragic...I
simply had to make the trip.
And so there I
was on the flight to Charlotte. Amit had thrown caution to the winds as far as
our steadily depleting bank balance was concerned and had flown down to take me
back with him. My gynaecologist’s words rung in my ears and by the clock on the
dot, you would see me scuttling up and down the aisles in the aircraft. Hup two
three four, hup two three four. I would just have to mention that my legs were
feeling "tingly" and Worse Half, freaked out by the thought of Instant
Death on the flight due to Deep Vein Thrombosis would be on the job, massaging
them vigorously. Need I say that this was the last time?
And with that, I
managed to "conquer" Deep Vein Thrombosis, Death and other such Dark prophecies
and make it safely to Charlotte.
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