Sophie

Sophie is now 3 and a half months old. She was born on February 18th, weighing 3.05 kilos and gained a perfect 10 on her APGAR score after 1 and 5 minutes...
The pregnancy went well until the final month when my blood pressure shot up and refused to go back to normal. After a couple of weeks, with swelling and protein in my urine, the gynocologist decided that we were dealing with pre-eclampsia and that I would have to be induced 2 weeks early. At that point, our little Sophie took the initiative, my waters broke and, following a short induction, she was born. I will expand on my horrific hospital experience another time...

She has already grown to over 60 cms, and now weight 6.5 kilos - so is perfectly on track for her age. She has wispy blond hair, bright blue eyes like her mum and the cheekiest toothless grin you can imagine. Recently she has started giggling when you tickle her and reaching out for her toys. When she can't quite get her little hand around them, she gets really annoyed and demonstrates her feisty little attitude by squealing and turning purple. Insomma, she is absolutely adorable. More perfect even than I had imagined through those long pregnant months!

We have moved back into the city and are currently surrounded by boxes, workmen and dust but Sophie is a real trouper and has slotted into the family like she was always here. As tough as these past 3 months have been (and at times they have been TOUGH!), we just can't imagine life without her...

News!

I know I haven't written for ages, but we no longer have internet at home, work is super busy, we are looking for a new house (loooooong story!), Luca has a new business in the pipeline (even longer story) and, obviously I am running around like a headless chicken trying to organize pregnancy stuff, working and generally keeping all of the balls in the air!
The big news is that we had the morphological scan at 20 weeks, everything looks to be fine and we found out that It is a She!! So now we're in full-blown pink mode and have pretty much decided on the name, except that we can't decide on the spelling. She'll be called either Sophie or Sofie, pronounced the French way with the accent on the "eee". Suggestions are gratefully accepted!!
The other big news is to do with Luca's work, but we'll keep it for another time since it's almost 7 on a Friday night and I'd really like to get out of this office!!!!
All is well, in any case and in case anyone was wondering, I've reached almost 23 weeks and have already put on 10 kilos. That's despite ignoring my constant raving hunger for 70% of the time! Seriously....

Happy weekend everyone!

Your money or your life!

I’m not very lucky when it comes to the public health system. The morning after I found out I was pregnant, my (former, rude, unprofessional) doctor went on holiday for 2 weeks, and I was left searching the countryside for a substitute doctor who turned out to be a smelly old man in a dirty, fly-invested office. Having changed doctors (go me for being proactive and not putting up with the stronza!), I called my new one to book an appointment so that I can pick up the referrals I need from my gynecologist and go get my 16-week blood work done at the lab (it’s actually more complicated than it sounds, believe it or not!) and what did I find? She was literally just leaving in the car for a 2-week holiday! Over a bad connection she gave me the name of a substitute but I didn’t recognize the name of the village he’s meant to be in, nor did I find it on Google maps! As I said, I’m not very lucky with these things…
Having procrastinated over what to do for the best part of a week, I started to worry that my scary gyno might yell at me for not getting the tests done right away, so I went to the blood lab to see whether I could get them done anyway (in my experience when it comes to the referral, you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t – as in you pay either way!). I was told that with the referral I would pay 37 euros, and without it 39. Not surprising given the way things are run around here, but to be honest there seems to be no consistency WHATSOEVER in what you pay for, when and why.
Originally I was under the impression that pregnant women in Italy were exempt from all payments, with the exception of certain tests, and in fact the guy at the blood lab sort of confirmed this for me – HOWEVER, you still pay for each individual referral (“ticket”), and the costs depends partly on which region you are in, and partly what the ticket is for. I was under the impression that the ticket had a standard price of 17 euros, or thereabouts. In fact, for my last round I had 5 tickets at a cost of 100 euros, as I had to do a number of different tests and apparently there is a limit of 8 tests on a single ticket. This time around I had no ticket, but had I made it that far, the cost would have been 37. With only 6 tests, this should have been one single ticket, so how come so much? Confused?? Me too!
I hear that women in other parts of Italy pay anything from nothing to 20 euros per round of tests, whereas most people I know in this part of the world (Lombardia) tend to pay up to 100 euros, like me. Is this a geographical lottery or is it yet another example of Italy being so disorganized that no one really understands the system and so each local authority implements it own version of the truth in the hope that nobody notices? It’s true that I have chosen a fairly pricey private gyno (although taking into account the fact that the waiting lists for check-ups in the public system are so long, my kid would be starting school before I get to the second ultrasound…) but for the rest of it, I seem to be paying out even in the supposedly “subsidized” part of the process. I consider myself fairly well-informed, am totally integrated and fluent in the language, so am not a victim of the lack of cultural understanding. There just doesn’t seem to be a way around it. Medical expenses so far (including the standard gyno appointments) have set me back over 500 euros, and I’m in week 17! It feels like I have a long and costly road ahead of me!!!

The weighting game

When talking about pregnancy with English friends, and the topic of food comes up, the general tone is something along these lines: “Oh, isn’t it great that you now have an excuse to eat what you like?!” and “Make the most of it – you can lose the weight when the baby is born….”. Take that conversation to Italy and you’re more likely to hear “How’s your weight going? Are you managing to keep it low? No pastries for you now!!”
Pregnant Italians are weight obsessed. Their friends are obsessed on their behalf. Worst of all, your average (already slightly intimidating) gynecologist turns into a fully paid up member of the Nazi party when it comes to diet and nutrition; and when you already weighed 5 kilos over your ideal before the pregnancy….. well, you can imagine.
Don’t get me wrong – I am a strong believer in healthy eating and always have been. I completely understand the importance of good nutrition for your unborn child and I am well aware of the complications brought about by rapid weight gain in pregnancy (pre-eclampsia and diabetes being the big scary ones) but sometimes I can’t help wishing I wasn’t up there in Northern Europe where a pregnant lady eating a mars bar isn’t considered an obscene act in a public place, and the occasional treat (“it’s not for me, it’s for baby”) is perfectly normal, everyday behavior.
My gyno is great – very well qualified, very thorough, very professional. However, she also has that Italian way which makes you think that she might well go home and stick pins in a voodoo doll of you if you don’t do exactly what she says. Her latest offering to me was “If you don’t regulate your own food, I’ll put you on a diet and complicate your life in a way you can only imagine”. My protestations that I’m actually eating really well and being careful already were brushed aside. “Well, if you don’t take my advice you’ll become a diabetic and then you’ll be sorry”. Hoooooly!!! “Eat only fish, meat, steamed vegetables and fruit at meals” was her next piece of advice. “Avoid carbohydrates, sugar, fat, and too many dairy products”.
Hang on a second. I’m 170 cms tall (5’6’’ )and weighed 67 kilos pre-pregnancy (147lbs or 10.7 stone). I am now 72 kilos at four months of pregnancy ( 158lbs or 11.4 stone) weight. I’m no sugarplum fairy, but I’m not obese either. My usual dress size is 14-16 UK (the national average) and I have a generally healthy diet. I put on weight at the start of my pregnancy because the only things I could keep down were crisps and cheese, but we’re well passed that now.. I am actually keeping a food diary of everything that passes my lips, which reads like an anorexic’s shopping list: 11am – ½ a banana. 1pm – small pack of soia crackers. 3pm – 1 pear. And here I was thinking I would be eating for two!!
So, there we are. All is well so far – baby growing nicely, blood tests regular, diet boring. Assuming all goes well (facciamo sempre le corna)…. in 5 months from now I will mostly be drinking tea and eating donuts – just because nobody will be able to stop me!

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!

Prima visita!

I don’t know why, but by the time the doctor called me into her office for my first pregnancy appointment, I was physically trembling and my now ever-present all-day nausea was threatening to throw me over the edge. I’m not good with doctors; I don’t like to be poked and prodded – much less in the old ‘stirrup’ chair (if you know what I mean…) so, having waited the customary 50 minutes (she’s great but always running way behind), it was with some trepidation that I dragged myself into the consulting room and “made myself comfortable”.
The visit started with a half hour chat about how I’m feeling (sick!), what I should and shouldn’t eat (not an issue at the moment as I can hardly bear to let anything pass my lips!), what I should and shouldn’t do, and my fear of the dreaded complication (which shall remain nameless, but which has wreaked havoc for the women of my family for generations…). The doctor was - I have to say - fantastic. She put my mind at rest about a lot of things, saying things like “you don’t have to worry because if you do have complications, they are not your problem anyway; they’re my problem” and (talking about the illness) “if you invite her to the party, she might just come….. If you don’t invite her then she probably won’t bother, but if she does, try slamming the door in her face….”. A quick exam, a pregnancy certificate and a prescription for some anti-bacterial capsules, and I was done. Oh, she also gave me a two-month supply of folic acid to be getting on with, as well as some insider information about what goes on at the local hospitals – just so that I was properly informed. All in all I was pleased with how things went. I now need to organize my 12-week scan in Sardinia (we’ll be on holiday there for most of August and I hit week 12 on the 17th) plus a round of blood tests to do more or less straight away. Next gyno visit if all goes well will be at the beginning of September. Now I just need to get rid of this damn nausea and I’ll be much more capable of functioning like a normal human being…

Aversion!

I hope to have something more interesting to blog about than nausea over the next few months. For the time being, however, that sicky feeling is at the centre of my universe… Today I’m even home from work as I just couldn’t stand the thought of another day feeling nauseated by my colleagues’ perfumes, not being able to stomach even a cheese sandwich at lunch and generally wanting to curl up in a ball and cry. Yesterday we went to the usual bar under the office for lunch and, although I felt like I couldn’t face anything, I ordered what I thought would be the easy option – pasta in a tomato sauce. It arrived, I took one bite and couldn’t face the rest as it tasted somehow wrong. My colleagues assured me that it was perfectly fine, but my super acute sense of smell / taste told me not to eat it, so I ordered a plate of roast beef, potatoes and mozzarella instead. The minute they put it down in front of me I knew it was going to be a problem! Half an hour later, having left two full plates of food, I found myself arguing with the very friendly owner, who insisted that I shouldn’t pay for any of what I had left. She was convinced that there was something terribly wrong with her food (I’m usually a big eater and we go there every day…) and I felt awful for her. I couldn’t tell her my stomach was subjecting me to pregnant tantrums as I was with a group of colleagues so I got two free lunches which I didn’t even eat. Not quite “everyone’s a winner” but there you are!
So far the only foods I can even contemplate (and not even all of the time) are: cereals, mashed potato, cheese, breaded fish, ice cream, pasta, chocolate budino, apples and pears. This is not a balanced pregnancy diet! What can I do? I’m taking my pre-natal vitamins, eating whenever I feel I can and hoping for the best….

Fear of the system

Come on now, this is getting ridiculous. I have always known that nausea was part of the pregnancy package, but when you’ve suffered from it more or less constantly for the best part of a week, it starts to grind you down. Like this past weekend – it was 35 degrees out, the entire world was at the beach / in the mountains / at the lake, and what was I doing? Lying under the air con unit, holding my stomach, trying not to lose it. For TWO DAYS STRAIGHT. If Luca hadn’t been a complete sport and stuck the whole thing out with me, I don’t know what I would have done! No, honestly, come on now – a person has to be able to go about their daily life, no? I can’t eat, I can’t go anywhere…. Getting to work and staying there is a huge trauma…. Am just hoping that this supposedly short period of sickness does what it says in the text books, and packs its bags around week 12. Earlier than that would be lovely, of course – especially since we’re off to Sardinia in week 10 and I don’t fancy the long drive and ferry ride feel green around the gills! Not to mention being able to go to the beach or out for dinner without having to carry an emergency bag around with me the whole time!! OK, feeling worse just writing this stuff down….. This sucks big time!!! Thursday I have my first appointment with the gynecologist. Am pleased to be seeing her but a little apprehensive as it will really mark the start of a long process whereby I will be poked and prodded and generally man-handled… All stuff that really isn’t me! I’m English – I won’t take kindly to many of the situations that I know the Italian system will subject me to, but I’m trying to be open-minded about it. I know an American girl who was told to strip down to her bra in the waiting room at the hospital – surrounded by other patients and their random friends / family members (males included) – as the doctor was running late and they wanted to speed the process up!!! I know another girl who, having been admitted to hospital, received “spread your legs”-style check-ups from passing doctors with a room full of her room-mate’s visitors and not a hint of a curtain. She actually had to ask the random male visitor at the next bed to stop staring at her while the doctor performed his check!!! These are the sorts of things that literally give me nightmares. I know the medical care here is of a good standard, but I can’t stand the thought of being treated like a piece of meat, of not having my wishes respected (birth plans don’t appear to exist in Italy – you do what the doctor tells you), and most of all being put into situations I can’t control and can’t get out of. What if I have to be admitted to hospital in the 6th month and stay there (like my mum was)?? There are no creature comforts in Italian hospitals – not even a TV in the room, no private rooms (unless you pay 500 euros a night in one of Milan’s top clinics), and the bathrooms are filthy and shared by an entire floor of people. This is what I have heard from many different sources. I know it’s early days yet, but these “little things” are starting to play on my mind. I know the health and well-being of my baby is the most important thing, but I can’t help but worry that being thrown into a chaotic, un-friendly, impersonal system will cause me enough stress that my health – and maybe that of my unborn child – will in some way be affected. I know I just have to buckle up and take the ride as it comes, but my personality really gets in the way sometimes. I’m not easy-going, I need to be in control of situations which affect me, and I have to feel comfortable otherwise I’m capable of flying into a panic. I’ve coped for years with anxiety, verging at times on agoraphobia, but for the most part I’ve managed to keep it within tolerable limits. I’m worried that the experience of pregnancy in a country like Italy is enough to push me over the edge.

Sick

I feel sick. Sick and gross and yuck. For the past few days, I’ve had a constant underlying feeling of nausea, which only goes away if I eat, and only if I eat very specific things. Cheese, pizza and pasta are at the top of the list, and chocolate is also in there somewhere, albeit much further down. I feel so queasy as I am writing this from my office that just typing out the names of food is making my stomach turn! And those are the “safe foods”…
My phone just rang and woke me up. I am NOT KIDDING! Right after the words “safe foods” I must have started to nod off because I jumped out of my skin! Not too pleasant so far this pregnancy stuff…. The usual healthy eating which before was part of my everyday lifestyle is now totally out of the window – I’m not even going to list the foods I used to love and now can’t think about because just writing them down will certainly make me gag! I had trouble getting my folic acid pill down last night – that’s how bad the situation is!!!
I told my boss. It’s way too early, but we work very closely and I was getting stressed out trying to constantly think of new ways to explain my lateness in the mornings. Headache, forgot to set me alarm, traffic on the tangenziale, doctors appointment… After about a week and a half it was all too much, and so I took him aside and told him that it’s still early but for the sake of me not getting stressed and him not wanting to fire me, this was the reason. He said he had already guessed!! It makes sense I suppose – his wife had a baby not too long ago and so he probably helped her to make up the very same excuses in the same way that Luca has been helping me! Bless… So anyway, I told him I would ‘inform the company’ after the summer holidays (assuming everything goes to plan….) and that until then he was to leave me alone if I didn’t make it in before 11 or disappeared in the middle of the day! I think he got the message….
OK, back to concentrating on not throwing up all over my desk. Apologies for the detail ;-)

I'm not ill, I'm pregnant...

Well, the gynecologist was 50 minutes late arriving at her office, so our 15:30 appointment was actually at 16:20. No problem, but she could have called her secretary so that we knew that she was on her way, but didn’t. Ho hum. We didn’t really get any further to be honest – she answered a few of my questions, said there was no point in doing another “official” pregnancy test as I’d already done two, and that if I wanted to become her patient, that was fine but she’d be on holiday starting in two weeks’ time and had no free appointments before then. So that told me basically. I left feeling not much more informed or looked after than before and, the next day decided I would cut my losses and go back to my previous gyno who, despite being the most expensive in the city and not connected to a hospital, would at least provide me with a decent level of care. Just a few hours later, having sent her an “It looks like I’m pregnant, what should I do now?” email, she got back to me with a long, detailed response which I received at 11pm. Now that’s dedication. In fact it was the first of 3 consecutive evenings at around that time, during which I received further communication from her about which blood tests to do and when to book my first appointment with her. Friday morning I battled the nausea to do my first bHCG test, which is the pregnancy hormone, and which is supposed to double every 3 days or so, indicating “normal” progression. So, tomorrow morning I will drag myself off for the second one, hopefully feeling a little better than I do today! They say pregnancy isn’t an illness, but when the slightest movement makes your head pound and your stomach churn, it’s quite hard to believe!! Now where did I put my ginger biscuits…??

The storm after the storm....

Well, we’re off to a typically Italian start (and that doesn’t mean a good one...). Having allowed myself one full day of shock absorption Wednesday, on Thursday morning I thought it might be a good idea to get in touch with my doctor and see what had to be done. Despite the years of imagining and vaguely planning what my childrens’ names might be, I found myself on ‘pregnancy day 1’ with no clue as to what to do or who to go to. In England you’d wander off to your family doctor, who would probably do a blood test (or maybe get the nurse to do it for you), and they’d give you one of those NHS information packs with week-by-week instructions, together with a copy of “Emma’s Diary”. Since I am in Italy I am well aware that I will be writing Emma’s Diary for myself (ironically), creating my own information pack and following my own instructions. They’re not big on “customer care” here, and the medical world is by no means an exception. So, my very first experience of the pregnancy process in Italy was this:
I woke up early to call my doctor. As with most Italian doctors, there is no secretary or receptionist and office hours are something like Monday, Wednesday Friday 8:30 – 10:30 and Thursdays from 15:00 to 16:00. Not having a secretary or receptionist, her (landline only) phone pretty much always rings and rings, and voicemail / answering machines don’t appear to have made it here yet, so getting an appointment is a bit like nailing jelly to a tree… Oh, and many doctors don’t even offer appointment times; you just have to turn up and wait with 20 or so elderly patients lining up to get their dodgy feet checked out, whilst you (genuinely sick / pregnant person in need of attention, with an impatient boss sending “Where are you?” emails every 15 minutes) are forced to spend 2 or 3 hours in a hot, smelly waiting room. Anyway you get the picture.
So, I started calling around 8:30 and it just rang and rang. 3 or 4 attempts later and the CLEANING LADY picked up (I know this because I asked if she was the doctor and she answered abruptly, like I should have known better “No, Signora. I’m the cleaning lady!” – sorry, my mistake….), telling me that the doctor was on holiday and would be back in 2 weeks. I asked if there was a substitute and was told “You can go to Dr Tacchini until noon”. “OK, so can you give me his address and phone number?” I ask. “How should I know?!” is the response I get. “He’s the one with the office opposite the pharmacy”. I explain that I’m not familiar with this particular area as I live in the next village along, so could she please give me the name of the street that the pharmacy is in, but she doesn’t know it and is obviously thoroughly fed up of talking to me, so the conversation ends there.
Feeling rather disillusioned, I decide to take myself off to the women’s clinic in Pavia. I’ve heard they’re an excellent resource and will provide you with at least some basic information, even if they can’t fit you in with a doctor, so I get in my car, drive, park and find the place. It’s pretty chaotic, but then it is a free clinic, so I try not to be overwhelmed by the number of immigrant ladies chatting away in foreign languages, with 3 or 4 screaming kids each, and take a seat in the waiting room. After a few minutes, one of the office doors opens, and out comes a lady with a clipboard, so I try to take the opportunity to find out what I have to do to talk to somebody. She looks confused and asks my name. I tell her she doesn’t have my name yet as I haven’t spoken to anyone. She asks me why not. I think I might cry. She tells me to wait until the other office door opens and ask the lady in there. People come and go from the other office and finally it appears to be my turn (who knows??) so I duck into the room before anyone can stop me and speak to a very kind nurse lady. I am convinced that she’s looking at me like I’m crazy to begin with, but she’s probably just trying to work out where I’m from and why I look so terrified (not quite sure myself!). She gives me a piece of paper with a list of standard tests to do and the weeks in which to do them, telling me that unfortunately I need to get an “impegnativa” (referral) from my GP in order to do these or any other tests and, indeed in order to make an appointment just to get my pregnancy “confirmed”. So, I leave the clinic, jump back in the car and leg it back to the village where the temporary doctor is, intending to find the pharmacy and make enquiries from there. I’m feeling very proud of myself when, 10 minutes before midday I stumble upon Dr Tacchini’s office without any local assistance. The positive vibes soon dissipate when I’m told that he already left for the day (10 minutes early!! The cheek!!!). So, determined to see someone – anyone – today, I call into the pharmacy to ask whether or not they have the names and numbers of other local doctors. I shouldn’t have bothered. The perma-tanned (literally, she’d been tango-ed), liposuctioned, drag-queen of a pharmacist stared at my blankly like I’d asked whether or not she could point me in the direction of little green men. “We don’t have that sort of information, Signora!! OF COURSE we don’t!! This is a PHARMACY!!!”. OK, fine, I get your point. I give up. I’ll just go and see if my regular doctor has put up a sign or something. So, being evidently completely unreasonable in my demands, in a last ditch attempt to get some help, I innocently ask the bitch of a pharmacist whether she can tell me the name of the street that Dr Baietta’s office is in. “She’s YOUR doctor and YOU don’t even know where her office is????!!!!! I can’t believe it!!!” is the answer I get. MORE FOOL ME FOR ASKING. Thoroughly defeated and with tears streaming down my newly-pregnant (but who even knows?) cheeks, I drive around aimlessly until my surroundings start to look familiar, and finally manage to find the place. A sign on the door states that Dr Baietta is away and that her patients should call Dr Dreher. I do, and to my delight I discover he’s just around the corner and can see me straight away! Finally my luck is changing! I arrive at his dirty, smelly, fly-filled office and curse myself for having been so optimistic. Dr Dreher was obviously counting on an early lunch because our exchange goes something like this:
ME: “I’ve come to see you because I did 2 pregnancy tests from the pharmacy and they both came out positive, so I need to know what to do now”
HIM: “Go and buy a sterile cup, pee in it and take it to the laboratory around the corner tomorrow morning between 7:30 and 8:00. Here’s a referral.”
ME: “But don’t I need to do a blood test?” Or maybe see a gynecologist?? I have a few questions, who should I ask?”
HIM: “You can talk about all of that with Dr Baietta when she returns on Monday”
ME: “But on her door it says that she’s away until July 8th”
HIM “So you can talk to her about it then”.
OK, so I know we’re in Italy, I know everything is 20 times more difficult than it should be, I know that healthcare “professionals” here have no bedside manner and that you just have to look after yourself, I’ve been in the system for 7 years now and I’ve done that, got the t-shirt and everything. But, COME ON!!!
So, in desperation I write an email to the head of gynecology at Pavia hospital (following a long, hard search of the internet to get hold of his contact details), and I ask him WHAT THE HELL I NEED TO DO AND WHO THE HELL I NEED TO TALK TO. I’m not crazy, honest, but I might not be far off… He replies a couple of days later with a very kind email explaining that for now I should just be sensible, not eat cured meats, take folic acid, and make an appointment with the hospital for a few weeks time to get my first tests done. It’s a good job I’m already super informed and have been taking folic acid supplements for the past 3 months, just in case. Anyway, in the mean time I had done some research on the internet and made myself an appointment in the private studio of one of the hospital’s gynecologists, so tomorrow I will go along with my list of questions and hopefully I will get some information and feel a bit more relaxed about the whole thing. I know it will be an uphill climb, but I’m determined not to be beaten by the system, and most of all, not to let it get to me. Yesterday I ordered a pregnancy exercise and relaxation DVD from Amazon (by my favourite Davina McCall!) and I’ve been eating more healthily than ever before in my entire life. There are some things I know I won’t be able to control, but those things that I can, I will – and that’s as much as I can do right now…

Two pink lines

I had imagined the moment a million times in my head, but nothing could have prepared me for how I felt when I saw those two pink lines. We had only just started “trying” and I was convinced that it wouldn’t happen the first month. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to happen straight away, but there they were – 2 pink lines which signaled the start of a new chapter and which quite literally took my legs out from under me. We went to bed at 2am that night, having asked ourselves and each other a thousand questions, many of which remained unanswered… “Are we really ready?”, “Will we cope financially?” “Will I have a healthy pregnancy?” Who should we tell?” “When should we tell them?” and, the most pressing so far… “What next?”. This is the thing: you imagine finding out you’re pregnant, carrying a child, giving birth and being a parent so many times throughout your life until it happens, but you don’t consider the little things – those “bureaucratic” issues that work together to make all these great things happen. I live in Italy so I already know that the “little things” will take over my life at times over the next few months, and I’m already intending not to “sweat the small stuff” as my American friends always say. Just in case I do, this blog will be there as a punching bag, but also as a place to document the amazing journey which I am undertaking and, whatever happens, which will take me somewhere I have imagined so many times but which I know I won’t fully understand until I get there.