This is me and my big old buddha belly on Sunday, one day before the big mean doctor called & told me my days of free-basing milk-shakes were over....look at how happy I was then. ahhh, the good old 'hopped up on sugar" days. That is the smile of a woman thinking about lasagna and chocolate cake. Oh yeah, and the miracle of her unborn child...
My practice consists of 9 doctors. Yet it is always this one who is the bearer of bad news. He was the "looks like an incompetent cervix" guy; he was the "looks like we need to do a cerclage" guy; he actually did the cerclage; he was the "looks like hospitalization for you" guy; and now, he is the "'your 1 hour glucose test was so horrible, we aren't going to bother with the 3-hour test. You have gestational diabetes'" guy.
I am starting to wonder if they drew straws the first day I walked in the door and he's the poor sap who got the shortest straw, so now he has to be my personal messenger of doom; OR if he decided he hated me when I walked through the door and specifically asked permission to be my little dark storm cloud. Either way, the man's got his work cut out for him.
Today husband and I attended "Sugar School" (thanks, Dad) and my "Gestational Diabetes & You:How Sweet it Is(n't)" class (not really what it's called--actually it had no name whatsoever. How dull.). It was long, the chairs were heinously uncomfortable compared to my pile of pillows and pillow-top mattress, and we were surrounded by hormonal and slightly dim-witted pregnant women. I spent some time lusting over the plastic bagel the dietician used as a prop and looking at paper pork chops and bowls of cereal thumb-tacked to a bulletin board. I was told I COULD have ice cream and then saw the portion size (way to tease, bitch!) and then came the fun part. I got to test my blood sugar level.
I was the first one in the class to just suck it up and push the little blue button that sent the needle into my fingertip. The woman behind me whined and complained about how "soft" her skin was and that she needed smaller lancets. Another woman asked if she could prick anywhere else on her body. Someone else couldn't figure out how to work the machine (pull the spring, press the button....um, rocket science, apparently).
It was everything in me not to turn around and ask these women, two of them carting around twins in their uteruses, "DO YOU NOT REALIZE THAT YOU WILL SHORTLY BE PUSHING PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR VAGINAS??!!! " These people need some freaking perspective. But I restrained myself--I am finding bedrest is doing NOTHING for my social skills, but I am trying to hang on to whatever shred of social appropriateness I can, and I think screaming at strangers probably falls somewhere outside of that range.
The good news is that my blood sugar was only 109---"SUCK ON THAT, DR. DARK-CLOUD!!! HA!!! My blood sugar level rocks!!!!" woo-hoo--pass me a cookie!!! No? Okay...
Now I only need 448 more readings that good or better. That doesn't sound hard. Does it?
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