This post was first published on 4 June 2008, and has been edited because it’s been 5 years and my proofreading has improved since.
It was a dark and stormy night (no, really; there was rain, and it was already about 7.30pm, so the sun was nowhere in sight).
My wife and I were driving through the final stretch of road approaching where we stay, when we stopped at a red light. My wife was halfway through talking to me about something (don’t ask me to remember, that’s not what this story is about), when she suddenly starts screaming. One split second later, there was a huge crunching sound behind us and a spine-jolting bump in our seats.
No, she’s not psychic. Apparently she had her eye out on the rear-view, and saw this other car that had been driving erratically behind us. Next thing I knew, the car had driven erratically into our back-end.
We had gotten into our
first?second accident as a couple.
As my wife came out of the car in a flying rage, screaming her head off (to the tune of “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”), the guy who banged into us (who turned out to be the same age as my wife’s dad) also stepped out of the car. Midway through those first 30 seconds, my wife’s screaming dropped to a irritated, albeit panicked, murmur (hooray for the Asian value of respecting the elderly, even though its application here may seem rather late at this point).
Later on, we brought the car to a family friend’s garage, and were told to check ourselves out at a hospital in case further medical damages needed to be claimed (my wife also started getting slightly paranoid about that spine-jolting bump jolting her spine). We first got to Thomson Medical Centre’s 24-hour outpatient clinic, but were told they didn’t do accidents and emergencies because of a hospital policy to protect patients’ information (in case it turns into a police investigation, etc.). So we trudged down for about a half-hour, jolted spine and all, to Tan Tock Seng Hospital where we registered, sat, waited and mused at the stoic, unfriendly nurses running around the A&E trying to keep hearts pumping and keep legs from kicking (midnight in Tan Tock Seng’s Emergency ward can be a bit messy).
1 1/2 hours later, we finally got our consult, and were told to proceed to the X-ray room for a photoshoot (forget anorexia, baby, bones are the new black, uh, and white). This is where it gets little interesting, because everyone knows when doing an X-ray, you got to remove all your jewellery and metal objects. So I told my wife, “Pass me your necklace, rings and earrings before you go in.” She starts taking off all her jewellery… then freezes with her head down for about 3 seconds, then turns to me, saying, “What about my navel ring?”
What about her navel ring? To explain, many many years ago, when she was still a young, pretty dancing lass who went to clubs as frequently as my mother goes to the wet market, my wife decided to get her pretty little belly button pierced. Said piercing involved a semi-permanent steel hook with balls covering both ends which is neither removable without the use of a pair of pliers, nor has it been removed since said piercing. About 15 years later, said piercing was starting to get nervous because both its owner and its owner’s husband were staring at it as though it was wearing pants and its zipper was undone.
And then the radiologist called my wife’s name. I told my wife calmly as she got up to go into the X-ray room, “Look, just ask the radiologist, she’ll know what to do.”
Apparently the radiologist did NOT know what to do, because 10 seconds later, the both of them were out of the X-ray room again, and the radiologist was frantically walking around the whole lab asking for a pair of pliers.
Our saving grace was when our consulting doctor suddenly appeared at the X-ray room entrance (kinda like in dramas where the father suddenly walks into his son having sex, except without the need to turn away his eyes in disgust and shame) and asked the radiologist if the X-ray was done. As it was, no beautiful photos have been taken of my wife’s inner calcium-formed structure to grace any issue of Bones Illustrated, and it was explained to the doctor the circumstances to which lead to the delay. After one look of bewilderment from the doctor, a shrug from the radiologist, two embarrassing looks from us, and a chuckle from the doctor, the doctor tells the radiologist “OK, can you cancel the X-ray? Patient needs to follow me back to the consultation room.”
Oh, that’s curious.
The fact that the doctor had to actually fight the radiologist off from keeping us in the X-ray queue (while about 3 more people were waiting in the same lab wondering what the hell is up with these two) was not what was strange. The strange (and wonderful) thing, well, in this case 2 strange and wonderful things greeted us as the doctor arrived at his consultation room and presented to us 2 pregnancy tests, both marked positive.
It was now 2.40am on the 25th April, 2008, and my wife was suddenly pregnant.