Unless you have been living under a rock, you would know by now that Princess Kate is expecting her third child. This, apparently, has lifted the spirits of the British People. Kate was kind of has to come clean on her pregnancy as she is suffering from a condition called Hyperemesis gravidarum which is like morning sickness on crack. I do not know how bad it must be to have it, but I did watch one of my mates suffer so horrifically from it three times.

I recall sitting with her in the sunshine and she would have a sip of water and then put on the most painful performance of vomiting into a special sick bag. She would become dangerously dehydrated as she was unable to keep any food or liquids down, that she ended up in hospital on a drip. This occurred throughout the whole pregnancy. Apparently it only affects 3% of women so you are very unlucky if you get it.

Think of the one person in the world that you despise beyond all others. You would NOT wish Hyperemesis gravidarum upon them. That is how bad it apparently is.

But because this is a personal blog, of course I am going to make it all about moi.

In the Autumn of 2003, Mr Woog and I were preparing to take a three week trip to New York City. The Big Apple! The city that never sleeps. About a fortnight before we were due to fly out I realised something was missing. My Period. Pissed on a stick and hello sailor! Not really in the plan, but we had no plans anyway and so it was to be. So off we went, kissing Horatio goodbye as we left him in the hands of his doting grandmothers.

Enter the weeks from hell.

We were staying in a modest Mid-town hotel which apparently had a great steak restaurant and a groovy rooftop bar. And I say apparently because I didn’t get the chance to sample either, as I spent most of my time curled up on the bathroom floor suffering from all day morning sickness unlike I had ever experienced before. Each morning, Mr. Woog would open the curtains so I could see the Chrysler Building for a nano-second before I would commence with my hurling. He would be sympathetic, but I was super fucking cranky at him because he was able bodied.

“GET OUT!” and so he did. I mean, it was either do that or sit and watch me vomit in between watching infomercials featuring Rachel Welsh shrilling the benefits of fibre tablets. At the end of the day he would come back and tell me everything that he did. He doesn’t really need company when he travels, but he is a super dooper culture vulture and left no stone un-turned in the city.

And as a treat, he surprised me with a new toilet to vomit into for the last three nights on the trip. A room at the famous Waldorf Astoria Hotel. It was a five star porcelain experience.

I did manage to wander out on the odd occasion when I felt it was safe to do so, but I always felt like I had had a bottle of straight tequila the night before. I was queasy. There is a photo that Mr. Woog took of me in front of a beautiful Monet landscape. I have turned the house upside down trying to find it for you. But anyway, I am standing there, pale as a ghost, looking like I was about to pass out with my arms crossed in front of me. Oh and in the other notable adventure, I went with him to the famous Algonquin Hotel and had a mineral water with ice. Before I had to leave. To make love to the toilet. Again.

It took a few weeks for this condition to pass. I had lost a lot of weight but I developed a daily Magnum addiction which set that right (and then some!). I still would gag at the smell of steak cooking and if Mr. Woog had had a few beers, he sleep on the couch as my sense of smell had become super-human and the smell of booze would make me wretch. But, as they say, it was all worth it in the end.

What about you? Did the Morning Sickness Fairy Spare you?