Monday’s prenatal appointment pretty much sucked. My doctor was running 45 minutes behind schedule for some unknown reason—which in turn meant my 10:45 appointment would end up being an 11:45 appointment by the time I saw her. My rubella test from way back when came back as equivocal which meant I needed to be retested, i.e. more blood drawn. Of course the five vials of blood I had drawn last week couldn’t be used—even though it was within range to use that blood—because the tube or something that they use for the rubella test would not work. I don’t know, at that point I had zoned out and figured I was heading down to the lab for another blood draw after my prenatal appointment.
I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast before I left to go to the doctor’s office and the cup of coffee I drank was sitting in my stomach like a lead weight by the time I was in the vicinity of food again. I managed to inhale two Wendy’s Double Stacks with mustard and mayo only in the 15 minute drive home after my appointment. THAT is how hungry I was by the time I left the office. Kind of shameful, I know.
But all of that wasn’t even the worst part of my appointment.
The worst part was the news that I failed my 3 hour glucose test.
And not just by a little.
So…I have gestational diabetes.
When the nurse left the exam room and I sat waiting for the doctor to come in I cried. This pregnancy hasn’t been the easiest road to travel and I had hoped so much that I would pass the 3 hour test like I did with my first son. But of course not. I suppose I should not have been surprised—two miscarriages, MTHFR diagnosis, complete Placenta Previa all within the last year and a half—why wouldn’t I get the gestational diabetes diagnosis as well?
I have no idea what exactly this means for me over the next two months. I have to call the hospital on Tuesday afternoon to set up an appointment for diabetic counseling with the office of Maternal and Fetal Medicine. Once I go to that I will have a better understanding of what this diagnosis means for me and the baby. What I do know is that I will probably be able to control it with diet and won’t have to do the insulin shots. However, I will have to monitor my blood sugar levels with a glucometer—FOUR TIMES A DAY. I am less than thrilled about that since I think finger pokes are really painful. How am I supposed to do that myself? How are my fingers not going to be sore every day for the next two months? I’ve already warned my husband that he will probably be required to help me with the glucometer on a daily basis.
Pricking your spouse’s finger is a sign of love, right?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go roll around in a vat of sugar as a farewell gesture.