Thirty years ago, one had to pensively wait for the result of at-home pregnancy test for at least two hours. Nowadays, that seems like such a long time, but back then, just being able to do a pregnancy test in the privacy of one’s home was revolutionary. But if one’s home is a boat, doing such a test was impossible because of the constant movement. Such tests required absolutely stillness, like the kind afforded by a solid table on a solid foundation.

The spring of 1980 found my husband, Dave, and me in the Bahamas. We were living on our first boat, a sailboat named “Foreigner.” Prior to crossing the Gulf Stream, we provisioned with all the supplies we imagined we would need for several months, and I brought along one of these tests, just in case. After all, better to have it and not need it, rather than need it and not have it.

One day, after missing a couple of periods, I announced that we needed to do this test, but obviously, we couldn’t set up the sacred vial on the boat. So we made our way to The Compleat Angler, a modest hotel with 12 guestrooms in Alice Town. Earnest Hemingway was one of its regular patrons in the 1930’s, and that contributed to the hotel becoming a major tourist attraction on the island of North Bimini, with one room being dedicated to his exploits and many of the pine walls covered with decades’ worth of faded photographs and newspaper articles about assorted anglers proudly showing off their trophy fish . Notable visitors included Lucille Ball and Jimmy Buffett, and in the mid-80’s, Colorado senator and then-presidential hopeful, Gary Hart, who was photographed on his boat, “Monkey Business,” with a woman who was not Mrs. Hart. But to Dave and me, The Compleat Angler will be remembered for other reasons.

We were there when the bar/restaurant opened its doors at 11 o’clock, and we quietly slipped into a corner booth. While I went to the bathroom to collect a urine sample, Dave ordered a pitcher of beer and an order of conch fritters. We figured we might as well eat while we were biding our time. I brought back the sample in the vial, and we set it up according to the directions. Now it was just a matter of time.

Bahamians are such gentle folk, you just can’t help but love them, and the islands themselves, for that matter. It wasn’t too long before people began coming in for lunch, and soon the restaurant was full.  Island music filled the air and lively chatter of that morning’s fishing and dive trips echoed throughout the room. Dave and I took it all in, thoroughly enjoying the laid-back atmosphere. It was quite a change from Miami, from which we had departed several weeks before.

One islander, on his way to the restroom, stopped at our table, and, noticing the vial, innocently inquired, “Hey, Mon, what’s that?” Dave told him. Clearly the do-it-yourself pregnancy test was something unheard of here, and without a missing a beat, the man pulled a bill out of his pocket, and said, “I bet one Bahamian dollar she’s pregnant, Mon.” The bartender, overhearing the conversation, soon appeared with clipboard in hand, and duly noted the bet. One by one, people–both men and women–approached our booth to see what the to-do was all about, and in no time at all, a mound of money covered the table. I’ve got to hand it to the bartender; he kept track of each and every bet while ensuring everyone’s drink did not remain empty for too long.

Two hours passed and the restaurant patrons anxiously awaited the results, probably just as much as we did. But, when the contents of the vial were compared to the pictures in the pamphlet that accompanied the test, they looked neither positive nor negative. The crowd began getting restless and disgruntled. They demanded an answer, one way or the other. One of the patrons brought a woman to our table and announced that she had six children…surely she would be able to tell if I was indeed pregnant.

I was ordered to get on a table in the middle of the room, and I gingerly stepped up with some assistance from Dave. The woman slowly walked around the table twice, eyeing me up and down closely. Finally, her conclusion made, she announced with complete certainty, “Honey, you’re pregnant.” That answer was good enough for all who made a bet, and a rousing applause rang throughout The Compleat Angler. The bartender divided the winning shares among the winning bettors and within minutes, Dave and I were the only one left in the room. Well, maybe not the only ones, because the woman was right. I really was pregnant.