I had hoped to celebrate my 100th post with a large glass of optimism, but sadly I am completely sober, in every sense of the word. The chances of winning the British lottery are 1 in 14 million. Conversely the chances of having a miscarriage, according to our doctor, are a much more slender 1 in 4.
Isn’t it strange how some people turn to alcohol at such times as this, like solace can be found in the dregs of an empty Jeroboam? I associate drinking wine with good times and at various (fortunately occasional) low points in my life have stopped drinking completely.
At the age of 43, I had already given up hope of fatherhood. We had not been specifically “trying” for a baby but, in fairness, neither were there any artificial barriers to prevent such an event. So when Freda announced she was pregnant, firstly I laughed, and then I wondered aloud which wine it was that had suddenly boosted my sperm count. Then I realised she was serious.
We know enough people who have suffered the misfortune of losing a pregnancy. We knew that the biggest risk is in the first 12 weeks, so we chose not to tell anyone until the first midwife appointment. We missed the target by the slimmest of margins – just one day. This could be seen as having reached the semi-final to get beaten 5-0, but in a way it is much better than having won the cup, only to have it taken away for a rules infringement.
Freda has spent a little time in hospital sorting out the aftermath, and this has gone excellently. Physically, she is 100% back to normal – no damage done. Emotional scars may take slightly longer to heal but we are both quite reflective in reaction to events both good and bad. Life goes on for those of us fortunate enough to be in good health.
By the way, you may be interested to know that I write many of my posts in advance. Often I’ll write three or four on a Sunday and publish them over the coming week or two. I always keep a couple in stock “in case of emergency”. So expect normal service to be resumed very soon.