Salami has never seemed that nefarious a food to me, but according to myriad so called "pregnancy experts" it's pure evil. Aside from the fat - something about salami which I happen to enjoy - it contains all manner of "nitrites" (I feel smart when I use that word but don't know what it means). And, it could contain bad bacteria, which could do other really bad things to the fetus apparently.
But after my doctor gave me the green light to eat anything I like in moderation (key word here - doctor said that bingeing on salami sandwhiches is not prudent), I felt good about buying some nice cured genoa salami.
So I did.
And, I ate a few slices. Something seemed off, but then, everything seems a bit off lately (I still have a meat aversion, but can sometimes convince myself that salami and bolognaise sauce are not actually meat).
I didn't think much of it until that evening when waves of pain started washing across my stomach. They continued throughout the entire next day.
Normally, I wouldn't bat an eyelash at that kind of pain. But this time, I didn't quite know what to do.
Do I just ignore it like I normally would? Or freak out and call the doctor?
I chose to freak out. So my husband and I shleped ourselves to the emergency room at Mount Sinai Hospital.
The nurses looked at me: "you really want to spend four hours here?" one asked.
"No," I said. "Not really."
"Any blood?" another asked.
"No," I said.
"So why you here?" the first one asked again.
"Uhm, am I a bad mother if I don't sit here all night just to find out nothing's really wrong with me? Is it going to hurt the baby if I'm sick?"
At that point, about three nurses gathered around me. "If you feel fine, you're fine," they said, practically un unison. "You can always call 911 or come back if you feel you need to."
I made an executive decision and went home. Turns out, I'm fine. But what if I wasn't?
Something tells me I'll be faced with many such decisions (and way way harder ones) in the months.... years... to come.