The Diagnosis

For the past few weeks I had been ignoring the dull pain in the left hand side of my pelvic area, putting it down to general pregnancy growing pains. Then last Saturday my youngest, but often wisest, sister whilst listening to my whinging said 'that's SPD'. She wasn't the first. My colleague had also adopted a concerned face earlier in the week when I was having a little moan and winced 'ooo, that sounds like SPD to me'. Both are mothers. Both had difficult (for difficult read extremely painful) pregnancies. Both recognised the early signs.

On Monday I went to the doctors where I was diagnosed with suspected SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction). This is when the ligaments in the pelvic girdle loosen too much. At the moment all I have is a dull pain, the occasional clicking of bones and a new ridiculous way of walking (think the inverse of John Cleese). I may be lucky and this will be as bad as it gets. However I could end up like Little Sis, unable to walk without the aid of crutches. I am learning quickly that preventative measures are a good thing. Hence the daft walk, the ironing and hoovering ban, the legs together - never crossed - approach to sitting and standing and the getting dressed whilst perched on the edge of the bed.

I am lucky that I can modify my life like this. There's only me to think about - I don't have any other kiddlywinks clambering all over me. I have a devoted husband who is now not only my Chef but also my Housekeeper, Driver and general emotional crutch. My family and friends are offering to trek from all over the city to visit me. My colleagues, whilst finding it amusing to race me to the printer, are extremely supportive and helpful - they pick up what I drop, they make me drinks, they volunteer to get my lunch. I feel guilty as they have many better things to do and a much more important person to look after than me. However, even our new Minister offered to wheel me out from his office on a chair.

I am also lucky because I am finally going to be a Marmee. Me. This is something I've always wanted to be. A longing from within. A twelve year dream of Baby Griffith. And it is this that makes my pesky temporary disability pale into insignificance. And it is for Baby G that I will sit on my bottom for the next twenty weeks, blogging and learning to knit.