Sick and the City – Part 2

1 Apr

So my fabulous New York trip continued, but unfortunately so did the sickness. According to the internet, on which I now spend most of my days obsessing over baby related things, a lot of women seem to feel fine up until about week 6 and then bam, all of a sudden it hits you, out of nowhere, like a big pukey slap in the face. I am one of those women.

Up until my 6th week of pregnancy I felt great. No sickness, no tiredness, no anything really. I felt exactly the same. I could walk past my Glade plug in without retching for 5 minutes afterwards and opening the fridge door did not require me to wear a gas mask for fear of puking over the entire contents. I’m pretty sure hubby isn’t hiding as secret pet cat, but suddenly everything smells like Whiskas and unfortunately 9 out of 10 pregnant women don’t prefer it.

I realised pretty early on that the one temporary relief from the incessant nausea is eating. Which is what I did. Constantly. Having blocked the Katz’s deli nightmare from my mind (see previous post), hubby and I began to eat our way around New York. And the food was amazing. I’m even prepared to forgive hubby for insisting on eating oysters on our first night. If you’re pregnant and trying not to retch, watching someone swallow an oyster does not help matters.

My favourite restaurant was called Bottino, an Italian in Chelsea, which was recommended by a good friend who lives out there. I loved it not only because the food was great, but mainly because the staff were incredibly helpful to a pregnant woman in her time of need (that woman being me). Now, what I didn’t know, but do now (thank you internet) is that you can’t take Ibuprofen when you’re pregnant, but you can take Paracetemol and I REALLY needed some. Like migraine headache and fever needed some. I’ve already mentioned that being ill panics me, but being ill abroad takes this to a whole new level of neurosis. Add being pregnant into the mix and hubby looks like he’s about to get me sectioned.

So, we call our waiter over to the table to ask where we can purchase some paracetamol nearby. He laughs and says “good luck”. Not a good start. “What? But there must be an equivalent?” I say, voiced raised a few panicked octaves. “What do pregnant New Yorkers take? SJP must have been ill at some point during her pregnancy?” He starts offering up various alternatives, which I frantically start looking up on the internet whilst urging both hubby and bemused friend to do the same in ‘panicked high octave voice’. Cue much pointing in the air of phones, all of us trying to locate a signal. At this point, I think Helpful Waiter realises he’s dealing with a very manic pregnant woman so calls over Helpful Waitress who, according to Helpful Waiter “is English and female so might know for sure”. Lovely waitress comes over to help. Much discussion ensues. In fact Helpful Waitress is now sat at our table and it’s not long before Helpful Waiter also pulls up a chair. Up we all scoot to make room. Naturally.

This is all going on whilst we’re in the middle of the restaurant so now everyone is looking at us wondering what the hell is going on. It’s actually rather amusing, and now friend, hubby and I are in fits of giggles, which is great as I’m now returning to a more bearable level of sanity. Eventually Helpful Waitress insists on accompanying hubby to the nearest pharmacy to help him buy my drugs. Which she does. I could kiss this woman. She’s getting a big tip.

So it’s ok. Panic over. I have drugs. I can climb off the ceiling and friend and hubby can breathe again. Oh and just in case you’re ever preggers in the U S of A and you need painkillers, you can take Acetaminophen. And if you go to Bottino they might even take you to get it.

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