This pregnancy business is such a roller coaster. Understatement of the year, I know. It's such a huge responsibility to do right by this little person in my belly and you try not to second-guess your way through it but how can you not? After an appointment two weeks ago, I was feeling pretty great about things. The nurse told me I had "perfect pee" which I can't say anyone has ever told me before. Then, and this one I wish I had in writing to put on the fridge, my doctor told me, "You have excellent weight control." I can honestly tell you no one has ever told me that before! And the baby's heart sounds great and the measurements are "right on target." So I leave feeling pretty proud of myself and pleased as can be. Oh yeah, somewhere between all that praise there was some blood drawn for my gestational diabetes test. "If you haven't heard from me by Wednesday, assume no news is good news."
So when the doctor's office number showed up on my caller ID early Tuesday morning I was not too happy. I probably should've taken it as a bad sign that I loved the Oral Glucose Tolerance Beverage: Fruit punch. It was like the Kool-Aid I'd make for myself when no one was looking. The kind were the spoon could practically stand straight up in the glass. Healthy? Not so much. The nurse said I flunked my test and was scheduled for the retake on the 30th. When could I come by and pick up the instruction sheet?
Instruction sheet? Turns out I had to follow this crazy carb diet for three days and then come in fasting on the 30th for a 3-5 hour test. Sweet.
Meanwhile, the advice is follow the instructions and don't worry. Right. Don't worry. So I "googled" gestational diabetes which might not have been the best idea. So after nearly a week of "not worrying" I came in for the retake which consisted of choking down 16 ounces of what basically amounts to corn syrup in five minutes. It might be good on ice with vodka, but it's disgusting to chug first thing in the morning on an empty stomach. Then, I got my blood drawn every hour for four hours. On the last draw he says, "sting a little?" I nod, can't talk while I'm sucking in my breath from pain. He nods knowingly, "Yeah, it starts to hurt after awhile using the same arm." Um? Is there a reason you couldn't split the joy between both arms? The first technician was funny too. Shorter than me with an accent I can't place, so let's say Kentucky. I asked her a couple questions about how this worked. Imagine one of the stoner characters from Dazed and Confused, or Janis Joplin in a lab coat, "Gestational Diabetes is craaaaaaaaaaazy man. You can be perfectly fine, you get pregnant and it all gets craaaaaaaaaaaazy." On second thought maybe she didn't have an accent at all. Maybe she was just really high.
Besides the drink and the needle sticks four times in the same spot and waiting in the hospital lobby for that long the worst part was this woman who thought it was okay to listen to the ring tones on her cell phone as if it was the radio. She nodded along to a few lines of Sweet Home Alabama and then a few lines of a couple other songs and then we were right back to Skynyrd again. My best glares did nothing to stop her. I swear she even turned up the volume. So I refocused my look on her partner. He just shrugged. I wanted to "tell" on her, but who would I tell?
But, after all that, good news: got the word this morning that I don't have gestational diabetes! I asked the nurse if there's anything I should do differently in light of the fact that I flunked the first test.
"Well I wouldn't say you flunked it, for one thing. And just keep swimming and watch your refined sugars."
"So no banana chocolate milkshakes?"
"Less of them."