22/07/2012 16:59 BST | Updated 21/09/2012 06:12 BST

The Morning After

The 'Morning After' I discovered I was pregnant was a Friday. I had had to cancel my tennis match -due to go the hospital for an emergency ectopic scan, post the school run.

The 'Morning After' I discovered I was pregnant was a Friday. I had had to cancel my tennis match -due to go the hospital for an emergency ectopic scan, post the school run. I was taut with anxiety trying to pretend all was perfectly normal whilst my son ate his breakfast wondering why my eyes were so puffy and voice so high. Suddenly, the phone rang. I'd hoped it was my ex.

It wasn't.

Instead a mother of one of my son's school friends, wanted to know if I could meet her for coffee. I burst into sobs and ran into the bathroom to hide from my son.

"Are you okay?"

"No," I whispered.

Recently, we'd had a catch up. I'd spilled my woes to her. The past year had dealt a most sour blow that had sent me into orbit culminating with my break up from the ex.

"What's wrong now?" she asked.

Exactly. After all I had been through - what else could fickle fate possibly land at my feet. Out splurged my predicament and being a kindly person V offered to come with me to the hospital.

Since my discovery, my psychological state remained consistent, one of shock. Logically, I realised that before any anything, I first needed to confirm whether the pregnancy was viable or not. A high percentage of coil pregnancies are ectopic, problem solved... Then again... if I were to have an operation or a procedure to remove an ectopic pregnancy I would have to organise someone to look after my son, whom I didn't want to upset.

If on the other hand, it was viable...

I took a deep inhalation.

One step at a time and did my utmost to remain in the present.

By 8:30 am, we were in A&E filling in forms and answering questions. From there, we ascended on high to the early obstetrics department. There were more forms and a urine sample to be filled in.

Equipped with coffees V and I sat, waited, and waited and every so often, I would check my phone just in case the ex called. He hadn't so I texted the following - "Suspected ectopic pregnancy- please call."

Then finally, it was my turn for the scan. My number was up so to speak and I was ushered along the corridor into a consulting room whereupon I was advised to empty my bladder and remove the lower half of my clothes.

I lay on the hospital stretcher- bed, covered in a white sheet. The doctor approached armed with a camera, which resembled a long lubricated dildo and...

"There it is," she said.

"Is it ectopic?"| I asked.

"No," she replied.

'Is it ectopic? I repeated my question.

"No," she said, "No."

I started laughing. Since childhood, nerves have always made me giggle. I was almost hysterical.

"Very early days," she said, calculating its size to determine it's age, "just over three weeks and look there's the coil."

My insides were a swirl of white, grey, and black shadows. She pointed to the egg, the yolk, and then the coil. It was double Dutch to me.

I dressed and returned to V. "It's not ectopic," I said, "Can you believe that?"

There were a couple more doctors to see, a couple more internal examinations. The most pressing decision to be made concerned the removal of the coil. Different procedures would be considered dependent upon its internal position. Mine was positioned very neatly at the neck of my cervix. I wondered if its failure to work on this occasion had been due to metal fatigue... (Boom, boom).

Still, I was advised by the doctors there was a high chance of miscarriage whether the coil was left in or taken out. Barely pregnant, it was decided to leave it in-situ until early the following week.

By the time I left the hospital, it was after 2pm. Drained from all the prodding and poking, my head spun with the reality of this situation. Reaching for a tissue from my bag, I noticed my phone winking at me. It was the ex, two missed calls. I called him back. This time, he picked up.

I told him all I knew.

"We should meet and talk," I said.

He agreed.

"Look," I tried to sound reassuring, "It's very early days, anything could happen."

What's happening on the inside?

My zygote had travelled down tube (fallopian) to find a place called home in the lining of my uterus. As it burrowed into the lining the cells rapidly divide, imagine something akin to a teeny tiny microscopic raspberry.