Me and My Inner Voice

There is something to be said about intuition.

As much as I like to think there is a rhyme or reason for most things in life—I am yet to find the logic behind that little voice in my head that seems to know everything.

Where does she come from and how does she know that stuff?

This month, as I was faithfully hoping that my period would not arrive, she spoke to me. She said, ‘You are not pregnant. You need to deal with this. Stop trying to search for signs to prove me wrong.’

And what do you know? She was right. My period came right on time.

Even though, in my conscious mind, I knew that there was every chance that I could be pregnant—my inner voice was telling me otherwise. Of course, I chose not to believe her. Who wants to pay attention to the little angel on their shoulder when she is giving them bad news?

Some women say they experience no pregnancy symptoms at all. Some women say they just knew they were pregnant. But how did they know? That’s what makes this intuition business so hard to believe.  What logic lies behind the phenomenon? What is the science?

Maybe that’s our problem these days. Maybe we rely too much on modern science and logic. It seems to me that our early ancestors had no problems avoiding dinosaurs without fitting them with a GPS tracker.

I didn’t need my inner voice to tell me that I was a little disappointed not to be pregnant this month. That was obvious. And only natural.

But on the other side of the coin: now I could have a glass of wine, something I’d been holding off just in case the oven was with bun.

You see? Things aren’t all that bad if you look at the glass half full.

Especially when that glass is half full of wine.


The results

I nervously sat at my work desk, tapping my pen against my lip.

My colleagues have no idea we are even considering parenthood, so I thought it best to google the number of my doctor as discretely as possible then head outside to make the call.

I typed the number into the dial screen and then slowly got up for my afternoon break. I slung my bag over my shoulder and shuffled through reception, down the stairs, then out into the glorious sun. I knew just where to make the call: around the corner, where no one would over hear.  I would also have some much needed shade under the overhanging trees that lined the street.

The ring tone sounded and then quickly cut off.  A young man named Ben introduced himself and the practice with a lovely, upbeat trill to his voice. I responded with an equal amount of joy.

‘Hi Ben! My name is Miss C, and I am just wondering when I might expect the results of my blood test.’

I knew very well that it would probably be tomorrow since today was Wednesday—my doctor had said I should expect the results on Thursday.

‘Well, let me just check for you,’ Ben replied.

I could hear the tap tap tapping of a keyboard underneath busy fingers, and before too long Ben started to speak. At first, a car flew past me so I completely missed what he was saying. His voice sounded a little bit hesitant though. Immediately I thought, ‘Oh no,’

The next thing I heard him say was, ‘I can give you the results now over the phone  if you’d like’.

So they had arrived early! Yes!

                I gave Ben my approval to deliver the results and the results were good. He said that because everything had come back completely normal, no further action would be required on my behalf. I nearly squeaked with joy, I was that excited. I mumbled something dumb to Ben like, ‘That’s great news, I’m not dying,’ and got an equally awkward response back.

No wonder he was awkward about the ‘dying’ remark.

I had only had a pre-natal blood test done.