The Porsche, The Beetle And How I Got Here

Chapter 18

The following week was calm and quiet, we were off filming to relax and “get back to our feet” after the trip, so I used my time to help out at the Café, and believe it or not, I’d actually started to miss making Cafe Lattes and wipe of tables, and well goof around with the others behind the disk.

As I said, the first week after returning home was calm and quiet, and the following week was too. I only managed to see Richard once or twice in that period, mostly due to the fact, that it’d seem suspicious if he’d go out, like c’mon, there wasn’t any need to take more risks than necessary, plus Amanda hated me enough already, I didn’t intend to make her hate me even more. Again, I didn’t intend to.

However, in the middle of the third week back on British soil, the “calm and quiet” got replaced by “Oh shit” and “I fucked up, I fucked up so bad”.

You see, I missed my period.

I’m on the pill, and I missed my period.

The first day I was overdue, I played it cool, like you never know, right? Maybe I was still a bit stressed out after the trip, or maybe it was because of the new season of GoT, and the stress it caused me, like God Dammit, maybe I was just fearing so much for my favourite characters lives, that it actually had an impact on my body.

The fourth day, I tried to play it cool, but the lack of blood wouldn’t get out of my brain, and no matter what I did, it continued to pop up in the back of my head.

I’d intended to stay calm for at least a week, before I’d take action and figure out if there was anything wrong, but on day five without just the trace of blood, I freaked out, and bought a pregnancy test.

And when that came out positive, I went down and bought ten more, which all came out positive.

By this point I was freaking out, crying on the floor of my bathroom, trying to figure out what to do, and trust me, it’s a lot more difficult to think and act in situations like these. So I ended up googling pregnancy, to figure out my options. I knew from when the first test came out positive, that I’d have to choose between getting an abortion or keeping the foetus.

So I tried to figure out how long I’d have to decide before it’d be too late to get an abortion.

According to google, if I want a medical one (like take a pill and go back home), I’ve got to get it done, before the ninth week of the pregnancy, and if I want to get it surgically removed, I have twelve weeks.

Yeah, lots of time to freak out.

I spend the rest of that day on my bathroom floor, crying my eyes out of my scull as I read one article after another about the amazing Mr. Richard Hammond, and his lovely three girls.

You see, I have a choice, and that choice will not only have an impact on me or my career. It will also have an impact on the four, happy smiling people in the articles. Can I really do that? Can I really get myself to keep this thing, and possibly crush the Hammonds? And on the other hand, do I really have the guts to get it removed?