I thought that going to Vietnam and leaving the comfort zone would be a wonderful adventure full of fun and laughter for the Cowboy and I.
It turned out to be the hardest experience of my life.
Emotionally, physically and romantically.
Ending up in a Vietnamese hospital whilst struggling with the surprise news of our pregnancy in a non English speaking country was something I am glad hindsight allows me to laugh at.
We sure as hell were not laughing on this particular day.
It must have been the Pork we had the night before. We both woke up physically hurting - this was not the day we would be heading out on the tourist trail in Sapa.
We could barely leave our room.
Cowboy was confined to the bathroom.
Vomiting and vomiting and em.. vomiting.
I was of no assistance curled up in the foetal position with a fever and suffering from pregnancy shock!
Outside on the balcony, some Chinese tourists looked in. The curtain would not close all the way across. I hope they enjoyed the show.
I was too weak and nauseous to help Cowboy who sounded as if someone had taken his plug out. He was attached to the toilet and he could not help me.
We were at our weakest point.
Thank God for Pete, the Aussie restaurant owner across the road we had enjoyed karaoke with a couple of nights prior.
There was a lull in the vomiting for 10 minutes. Cowboy bravely volunteered to stagger over to Pete to see if he could help us to get to a hospital.
Pete sent a local guy with a reasonable grasp of English over to take us to the hospital via motorbike. Just what we were up for!
The three of us, helmet-less, packed on the bike.
I had to do little mantras in my head to stop the fear of meeting an early death before we reached the hospital.
I weakly clung to Cowboy's stomach careful not to squeeze too hard and Cowboy held onto our translator for dear life.
Our driver carelessly swerved and had near-misses with other bikes and trucks all the way to the hospital.
"Ommmmm... Ommmmmm... Ommmmm"
We arrived at the hospital and the translator took us into see a nurse. Our translator - though very kind - did not turn out to be very helpful as a translator. So I explained through gestures that I am pregnant felt very feverish.
I then tried to explain that Cowboy had been vomiting non-stop and was very weak.
The translator looked confused. The nurse looked confused. We were weak and the communication breakdown here just made us feel even worse.
How I longed, at this moment for the comfort zone of home.
Why oh Why did I want to get out of my comfort zone in the first place? It is overrated!
We were taken to a hospital room and were directed to the sheet- less beds.
The Doctor arrived - we discussed our symptoms with him using sign language.
Difficult and painful when at one's wits end.
Cowboy ended up on a drip. I ended up on the sheet-less bed, not allowed to take anything or have a blanket.
I shivered and shivered whilst Cowboy was motionless attached to a drip trying to reinstall the liquid he had lost.
If we didn't feel so god-awful and had known at the time we would live to tell the tale; we could have laughed.
It was the worst hospital we had ever seen! We were miserable.
We couldn't communicate.
We had just found out we were having a baby and we had no idea what would happen next.
There was no WAY I was going to stay overnight in this hospital....
Admittedly, though his English was poor - our Doctor was very kind.
He smiled at us and tried to make us feel at home, though I would have felt more at home if the floor of the hospital room was not covered in water.
After four hours we were allowed to leave.
We called the Translator and he picked us up on the motorbike again, and took us back to our hotel.
Cowboy and I were traumatised.
We were still ill, but above everything else, terrified in this foreign country with a new life growing inside me and no reassurance by anyone that everything would be Okay.
That night we held each other in the comfort of our sheeted beds telling each other we would be OK... but both fearing everything.