A costly business

Everyone knows that bringing a child into the world is an expensive business – first you have to furnish the nursery, then you have to keep it in clothes, food, shelter and entertainment for the next twenty years or so, not to mention childcare costs, holidays, education and medical bills. These are all of the “obvious” expenses that most people consider when planning to start a family, but if you live somewhere like Italy, you also have to budget for what is likely to be a costly (not to mention stressful and bureaucratic) pregnancy.
Where I come from (the UK), healthcare is free. And that means totally free of charge. You can go to your doctor, visit a specialist, get your blood tests done, see a nurse, spend time in hospital, have an operation and recuperate all without spending a penny from your own pocket. Yes I know that the NHS has terrible difficulties, that hospitals are full of evil “super bugs”, waiting to finish you off just when you were starting to feel better, that there are serious staff shortages, and that in parts of central London, entire wards are made up of patients, doctors and nurses who speak little or no English. I am not denying or ignoring these issues, I am simply stating that, whilst there are very many negatives, the one BIG positive is that the National Health Service in the UK is FREE. Italy, in theory, has an assisted healthcare system, which pretends to run along the lines of the UK service, but in reality falls at the first hurdle, simply as a result of being physically located in what must be the most bureaucratic, disorganized, politically corrupt nation on the planet. So, when you go to the hospital to get your “free” blood tests, you are told that actually you have to pay a minimum of 35 euros for each “referral” provided by your doctor to get the test done – as a sort of charge to keep the state workers in their comfy seats from 10 til 2 everyday. Then you discover that, since your doctor was incompetent and wrote out 3 referrals when she could have stuck with 1, the cost of the blood tests will be 100 euros, not 35. And it is following this pattern that my 10 week pregnancy so far has cost me a grand total of 342 euros, with an estimated 300 to spend over the next two months.
A trip to the pharmacy for multi-vitamins and a pair of elasticated sea bands for my nausea the other day cost 30 euros (15 per product) and I couldn’t even claim the tax back on them as they are not considered to be “medication”. I called the local hospital to book an appointment for my morphological ultrasound in October (this was in mid-July) and was told that they couldn’t fit me in before January, and that I should try the ultrasound clinic down the road as they “always have some space”. Yep, because they charge 200 euros for the privilege! What can I say? It doesn’t start with cribs and nappies and cutesy outfits…. Here at least it starts from the moment you miss your period and find yourself parting with 18 euros for a digital pregnancy testing kit as the pharmacy has run out of the traditional kind and is the only place open for 20 kilometers, it being Sunday and all that…. Ah the joys of pregnancy in Italy!

Facciamo le corna....

Dare I say it? Dare I even think it???
After an entire month of feeling horribly nauseous, pretty much at all times in all places, I have been feeling almost “normal” for the past few days. Not completely normal, obviously – as demonstrated by this morning’s little episode of opening the fridge to get the milk out and having to run to the bathroom upon spotting a jar of black olives….. But, for the most part I only feel sick when I think about food. So, it’s good news and bad news!
Today I reached 10 weeks, so I can officially say I’m in my “eleventh week”, which sounds much better than ten! My waistline is rapidly expanding (more as a result of the consumption of junk food than anything else – it’s been all I can stand lately!) and it’s becoming more and more difficult to conceal this little “secret” in the office. The good thing is, it now being august, the entire world is on holiday (as will we be this time next week!!) until September so the number of people from whom I have to do the concealing is rapidly diminishing….
Luca is more and more like a kid the night before Christmas every day. I appear to have gone from girlfriend to goddess and his affection for me and mini-bump is so great that yesterday I had to ask him to leave me alone for 5 minutes as the hair-stroking, cuddling, nuzzling and general constant attention was starting to make my head spin. Don’t get me wrong… I am NOT in any way complaining about the love and devotion demonstrated by the father of my unborn child, but mamma mia…when your hormones are telling your that every moving object which crosses your path must be spontaneously obliterated, well it’s hard to feel lovey-dovey schmoozy-woozy. Get my drift?? Bless him though… I know I am very lucky, and I repeat – I am not knocking it!
I’ve been watching those documentaries on SKY which follow the goings-on in the maternity department of the hospital in Bologna (Reparto Maternità) and I have to say I am almost numb to the amount of hysterical screaming and evident suffering that they always show. Friends keep telling me that every woman is different, not everyone has a terrible experience and you just have to be prepared etc. I’m sure it’s true, but the way I see it, at the end of the day there’s not really anything you can do anyway. You can ask for pain relief, but here in Italy you’re never guaranteed to get it, so maybe you’ll just have to stick it out without. You can create a detailed birth plan and make sure that everyone involved is aware of your choices, but you can’t be sure that you won’t have an emergency that doesn’t throw that out of the window, so again – you just have to live with it. You can every try to mentally prepare yourself for labour, do yoga and breathing exercises, and anti-natal classes, but ultimately these (albeit useful) add-ons won’t completely take away the pain and trauma involved in bringing a new person into the world, by whatever means…. So, although I still have over 6 months to go (God willing…), and therefore find it quite easy to be philosophical, this is the road I have decided to take. We’ll talk about it again pre-labour and see whether I’m quite so breezy! And, as they say in Italian “facciamo le corna” (make the sign of the horns – or “knock on wood” to the rest of us), here’s hoping that these past few days of relative comfort are the start of a more enjoyable, easier pregnancy experience than the one I’ve had until now! Fingers and toes and eyes crossed….

The Grandparents' Room

Having spent 6 weeks on holiday in Sardinia, mum and dad had made plans to call in on us on the way home at the end of July, in what would probably be their last visit before Christmas. We knew this was the perfect opportunity to give them our news, even though I was still only at 9 weeks – doing it over the phone just wouldn’t have been the same. So, we devised what we thought was a cute, original way to tell them in person, without just sitting them down and saying “we have something to tell you”.
Before their arrival last Monday afternoon, we made a sign saying “The Grandparents’ Room” and stuck it on the spare bedroom door. As soon as they arrived and the customary hugs and kisses were out of the way, with more than a little adrenaline pounding through my body, we suggested that they take their bags to the bedroom and make themselves comfortable. Luca and I remained a few feet behind (I was actually hiding behind Luca) and as they reached the door, mum read the sign out loud. “Grandparents’ Room?? What? Who are the Grandpar………..” at which point she broke off mid-sentence as the penny dropped and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. My dad obviously got it right away, but stood behind her with his eyes filling up, as my mum charged at us both, arms splayed shrieking like a – well, like a grandmother-to-be! And what did I do? I started backing towards the door, tugging on Luca’s shirt to get him to cover me, as if I were about to be assaulted by wild natives! No idea why – but mum had to physically grab me in order to start the congratulatory hugging, which went on for a good 10 minutes, followed by an entire evening of pregnancy stories, family history, names and everything else baby related. Although I’m 30 years old, in a stable relationship with the father of my child, and quite ready to go ahead and do this, in that moment I might as well have been 15, coming home from school to confess to my conservative, middle-class parents that I’d been “knocked up” by my latest spotty adolescent boyfriend. That was how it felt! Obviously the reaction and follow-up would have been very different, which made me extra glad not to have to sing “Papa don’t preach”…
Later on that night, after a few glasses of wine, just before bedtime, my dad went over to Luca, shook his hand and said “Well done Luca”. A little bemused by this statement, Luca’s response was “Well done for what?” to which dad replied “You know, just well done”. Not sure what to make of it, but I understand that both grandma and granddad are very happy!