A VISIT TO THE HOSPITAL

Dearest Friends,

One Saturday I found Paula on my doorstep when I got home from work.  I fixed us both some lunch, and as we ate, she let it spill that her period was overdue and she was worried sick.  As there was no such thing as a home test in those days -- at least, not in Bahrain -- and since I figured it was better to know for sure than to continue fretting, I took her to the hospital for a pregnancy test.

It was the first time either of us had stepped foot in the place, and we were not impressed!  They kept us waiting an eternity on rickety metal chairs out in the hallway, then finally sent Paula off to the restroom with her little cup -- a restroom which was nothing more than a hole in the floor for you to squat over.  You should have seen her face when she came out!  The only good part was that we could come back a few hours later to find out the results.  In the meantime, I did my best to distract Paula by taking her to the grocery store with me, then stopping by the boutique where I worked to show her the cute swimsuits that had come in.  We bought matching suits in different colors, a positive affirmation that she would still be able to wear it that summer.

We were over-the-moon happy when her test came back negative, because we were both bound and determined not to give birth in such a primitive hospital, with no Lamaze classes, and no family support.  If, however, we could have peered into a crystal ball just then, and seen what the future had in store for us...if we'd had any clue that it would take almost six years -- six years of miscarriages, surgeries, cancer, fertility specialists and daily temp-taking -- before we would finally hold these precious imps in our arms, well, I wonder if we might have felt differently?