Needles, I’m talking needles. Turns out I have to be interstate for work the day I have my blood test to find out if I’m pregnant. Not really ideal as I have meetings starting at 8am so in a city that’s not my own I need to get myself from the hotel mid city to a pathology collection centre at the other end of town, then to another suburb a few kilometers away all by a little before 8am. On a day when I’m nervous and probably not feeling crash hot. It had better not be raining. (My hair doesn’t love the rain & that can significantly effect a girl’s mood!)

So, me and all of my symptoms fly down Sunday afternoon, check into the hotel then meet a fabulous girlfriend for a delicious Italian dinner and some good for the soul girl talk. Back in my room not 5 minutes after dinner and I start feeling really sick. I’m up most of the night. The room is lovely, the bed is super comfy but I discover the bathroom floor is nice and cold and towels make excellent pillows. I wonder if my nerves have wound me into this state or if it might be something a little more exciting?

In the morning I’m not feeling much better and wonder how I’m going to get through my morning’s activity, the day of meetings and tonight’s work dinner? I have the driver we use in this city pick me up this morning — much more reliable and friendly than cabs. He knows how important this morning is to me and when he picks me up after the big blood test, he’s got a skinny hot chocolate waiting for me. Bless.

The pathology collection centre was fairly nondescript. The nurse taking my blood was lovely and she had posters of gorgeous African animals on her walls. We talked about dogs while she was taking my blood. Instant calm.

The day’s meetings passed in a bit of a haze. Mostly because I spent the entire day in a room full of colleagues – including the Older Man – trying not to (a) throw up; or (b) run to the bathroom every 5 minutes. A number of them asked if I was okay and commented that I was looking pale. The only other female in the room came straight out and asked if I was pregnant. I tried to hide my shock at her question, but she offered that I wasn’t looking my usual bright self and I had been nibbling on dry crackers all day. I told her I thought I’d eaten something that hadn’t agreed with me the night before.

Our meeting wrapped a little early – enough time for me to get back to my room,  hopefully receive a phone call, then have a rest before dinner. The clinic had said they’d call around 4pm. At 4:30pm I hadn’t heard from them so I called. They hadn’t yet received the results so said they’d try to call me back but it might not be until tomorrow. What I said was “okay, thanks.” What I meant was “Aaaaaaghhhhh, no! You must call me straight back. And I mean pronto“.

I am now teetering on the edge, nerve endings frayed. I start to pace.