I am a lot of things right now, but it’s all such a rush that I can’t place exactly what I’m experiencing. Maybe the specifics don’t matter because it isn’t good. I was an idiot for my one-hour glucose screening; perhaps too arrogant. My appointment was at three, so I wouldn’t be fasting like I did with my son. I should have opted for a first thing in the morning appointment…coulda, should, woulda… Without thinking ate three servings of chocolate before heading out to my appointment. Even though I had a bit of a drive to the hospital and an ultrasound first, both were surprisingly efficient.
I failed the test and sentenced to the unpleasant three-hour glucose test. I’m fairly phobic of needles, but felt optimistic with the nurse who drew the first of four; it was virtually painless. Just as she wrapped my arm in a fancy way that eliminates bruising like magic, she informed me someone else would be taking my last three blood samples. I knew this other person; she is terrible.
Over the years I’ve made my peace with undergoing blood tests; I no longer feel as though I will faint. I must say, though, this individual gives me a run for my money. Not only is the needle stick painful, but so is the duration of the draw. I can’t believe I managed the remaining three like a mature adult with blasé, humorous commentary. Although, if I’m honest, the third one left me a bit green with an aching arm for forty-five minutes.
But, I left hopeful. I did not have gestational diabetes with my son. My only risk factors are my age and my father’s diabetes that he manages with his diet. I eat well and exercise religiously. I was at a healthy pre pregnancy weight. My fasting glucose has always been good, and it did not occur to me, or perhaps I didn’t want to consider the fact that things would not continue to move along as they should for the duration of this pregnancy.
It was Friday, and with the blessing of technology, I was able to see my results at eight that evening. My fasting level was perfect; literally, in the middle of the range. My one-hour was well within range. My two-hour was a bit out of range, but falling. My three-hour shot up to well past any of the other numbers; it was almost 200 actually.
Looking at the screen in an incoherent daze, I needed my husband to translate what was happening. The next step was calling my father, a physician who manages his glucose effectively. I relayed my numbers, to which he informed me that with my profile, the last value is impossible. My father-in-law with the same professional and health resume as my dad said the same.
The weekend passes, but I felt every minute. Apparently Dr. Google never encountered my issue…that’s comforting…
I call my Ob-Gyn Monday; It’s her day off…lovely…I find waiting exhilarating… I leave a message for her to call me back; not a nurse. If my last number is strange, I don’t want to wait by the phone with a vomiting child going through a hierarchical process of repetitive explanations to befuddled listeners. I love to talk, but at some point the simple thrill of conversation is lost.
Later Monday a nurse calls…so glad communication is so effective at this practice. She doesn’t tell me my results, rather conveys that they are referring me to the diabetes clinic as though she is offering me a cheese sandwich in such a way that I will find it mildly amusing…I didn’t. She didn’t know I called and she doesn’t know anything about my specific results…that was the high point of the conversation. Not only is this individual unaware that a diagnosis of gestational diabetes is not received as good news, she continues to tell me that I will be assessed by the clinic checking my sugar multiple times a day for several days…Apparently, that was the appropriate response to, “Something isn’t right about my fourth glucose value.” Then she brattles on about all these classes and appointments I will have to attend, but she doesn’t know if I can bring my son with me. When I attempt to ask for clarification, likely inarticulately advocating some of the challenges, she changes her tone to perfected patronization that this is important for the health of my baby. Had I been of a better mind at the time I could have said something to the effect of, “Thank you, Captain Obvious, clearly my reaction is because of my intent to peace-out because of this minor inconvenience.”
I like to think that I’m a fairly level individual. I’ve successfully created and run behavioral schools for adolescents that were mere months from shutting their doors. I’ve worked with various incarcerated populations. Suffice it to say I’ve had diverse and colorful employment experiences, and to manage those well I like to consider that I’m not a complete wing-nut, even while preggers. But, perhaps I’ve been mistaken all these years…
My husband was out of the country, succumbing to whatever ailment of the week my son contracted as soon as his plane landed. My son’s stomach bug in conjunction with a snow storm keeping us homebound kept me isolated much of the week. How many days did I receive unsolicited advice and various inquiries? These past days were a blur with the finale having my son relapse a bit with his illness and unable to be independent. I had such lofty plans for my husband’s return; my intent to ensure small things were completed, so he could sigh in relief in stepping through the doors. Three guesses if any of this happened, and the first two don’t count.
Last night my doctor called with the comment to check-in because of my fear of needles; she was equally confused. Clarifying my concern about the final glucose value resulted in her confessing that she just looks to see if her patients pass or fail. It’s been twenty years since her residency, and she just doesn’t remember glucose values. Should I be pleased that she took my word for it that the fourth was amuck? Interestingly, when I called the clinic earlier, they did not receive my blood work…an unusual occurrence? Had I never said anything I would go through the gestational diabetes intervention without anyone looking at my actual glucose results…hmmm…
At the end of the day, I’m taking the three-hour glucose test again tomorrow morning…with the same phlebotomist. I’m tired, waking up with hip pain every hour for the last two nights that intensified from the other two trimesters. I’m drained and scared. I’m many things I can’t identify, but I feel foolish. I don’t feel particularly hopeful this will relieve my diagnosis, and after this week I don’t know how I will manage the gestational diabetes intervention. I know I will because I have to, but what am I going to do?