Basically what happens is that the pregnancy hormones prevent insulin from doing it's job of removing sugar from the bloodstream. The result is high blood sugar, which can affect the pregnant woman and her developing fetus in several ways. The last two times I was pregnant, I had the gestational diabetes, which is why they are being cautious this time, because that makes me in the high risk pregnancy category.
With Emerald, it was a big surprise because besides a family history of diabetes, I have no reason to have had it (risk factors include being over 25, being overweight before pregnancy, high blood pressure, etc). Unfortunately, that meant that it went undiagnosed for a while, which means Emerald was affected by it--she was born with hypoglycemia (low blood sugar).
With Gabriel, they were much more cautious and tested me incessantly, which was tedious and exhausting and stressful. Especially when it turns out that I was misfiled as having passed when really, I had failed again. Gabriel's lung development was affected so that he was unready to be born when we wanted him to be, and he ended up having to bake a little bit longer.
All of which brings us to now. They ask me if I have been experiencing any symptoms of diabetes, things like:
Fatigue
Increased thirst
Increased urination
Nausea and vomiting
Increased appetite
Weight Loss
=/
Anyone else see the problem with this?
I'll give you a hint. Here are a few of the listed symptoms of pregnancy:
Fatigue/Tiredness
Nausea, Vomiting
Frequent Urination
Weight Loss
....you get the idea. It's ridiculous.
Well, Tuesday Michael had to stay at home with a vomiting Emerald, so Grannymom took me to my doctor's appointment. I was about 24 weeks pregnant that day, so when I got taken back, they handed me an ice cold glass of the most horrible liquid on the face of the planet. It is a cup of pure evil.
Because of my vast experience with that sugary-sweet abomination, I have had the privilege of drinking it in every flavor available--fruit punch, cola, lemon-lime, orange, flavorless, and the very ill-conceived root beer.
-shudders-
If you have never had the pleasure, I will briefly describe it to you--it is easier to take if it is cold, but sometimes they don't afford you that and it is room temperature and intolerable. It's got the consistency of flat soda, only much much smoother and a tad thicker, which makes it similar to swallowing chilled and flavored saliva. But you are timed--you have 5 minutes to choke down the cup's worth or they'll make you start over another day.
Tuesday I got orange. Which admittedly is one of the better flavors, though none of them could be conceived as "good".
When I took my very first three hour test about four years ago, I was told that my getting sick was actually a good sign--that meant that my body was handling it by itself so that it wouldn't hurt my baby. Well, my body must be very protective of that little fetus because I every time I drink it, I get sick to my stomach.
It's like I'm in my own dimension, where everything sounds muffled and garbled and confused, like it's coming through on a cup-on-a-string set up. I start sweating and my whole body feels so hot, almost unbearably so. It's that quickening, where you have to really really focus on NOT getting sick or you are going to toss your poptarts.
Somehow I manage to keep it down long enough for them to draw my blood, and I get a call that says I failed, failed, failed. Which means that I have to come back and drink the nasty again, but this time, they want me to keep it down for 3 hours.
Great.
Ken was really wonderful and kept the children so that Michael would be able to take me. I know I am a baby, but this whole thing is such an awful ordeal for me, I couldn't face it without him.
I was up all night the night before dreading the test. I can deal with the needles, I can deal with the diabetes....it's just really hard to convince your mind to actually drink something you know will make you miserably sick. It goes against all your natural instincts. Through the long night, I was able to think about how just idiotic this stupid test was.
First of all, you have to fast from midnight on (no food, no drinks, though you can have infrequent sips of water) until the end of the test, which is about noon. So for 12 hours, you can't feed yourself or your baby.
But pregnant women all ready have tender stomachs, and this is a rough drink to take under any circumstances, which means that you have to take this horrible stuff on an empty and queasy stomach, increasing the likelihood that you will vomit a thousand times over.
Wondering what happens when you vomit? Wonder no more, for I can enlighten you! If you vomit--whether it is 2 minutes into the test, or 5 minutes before your last draw (personal experience)--they have to start the test allll over again. Which means you have to set aside another entire morning, take the awful drink again, and be stabbed with another battalion of needles.
Also, you have to give a urine sample before they begin the test. But you haven't been able to have anything to drink in hours!!!!
I also realize during the night that this is a complete lose-lose situation for me. Either I fail the three hour test and have gestational diabetes...or I pass the test--hurrah!--and they test me again in 4 weeks. If I pass that test, then they test me again...do you get the pattern here? They expect it is going to happen at some point in the pregnancy--after all, I have a history of it now--so they are going to keep looking and looking and looking until they find it. So the very best outcome that I can have is that I fail today, here and now, and get it over with.
So anyways, Michael and I get to the lab and I do the urine test and get my beverage. It is fruit punch this time.
I don't know if you know this, but fruit punch is a sucky flavor under normal circumstances. It's revolting--I can't even imagine what it is supposed to taste like, but to me, it takes like heartburn. The glucose drink fruit punch tastes a lot like Hawaiian Punch (which I hate), but with a cup too much sugar mixed in.
Even thinking about that horrible stuff makes me want to punch someone.
All in all, you get four blood draws--one before the test begins, then one after an hour, one an hour after that, and one an hour after that. Hence the name of the 3-hour test--you have to stay there for three hours.
An endearingly dorky kid with big ears comes up to me and says that he is a student, and do I mind him drawing on me today?
Yes. Yes, I mind greatly. You are a baby, and you look nervous. I mind very much you coming anywhere near me, Needles =/
But he has to learn, and what the heck--how bad can it be? Needle pokes are never fun.
As expected, I start feeling bad just right away, but the worst part is that because I had to shotgun the drink, I am now occasionally burping or hiccuping fruit punch flavor. It is very likely that I am going to embarrass myself in a waiting room full of people.
Michael tries and distract me, so we play Risk on his iPad and I try and read magazines. But then someone walks in smelling very strongly of cafeteria fried chicken.
Seriously, who smells like fried chicken at 9 in the morning?!?!
It was a gloriously beautiful day, mild and sunny, and the lab is right across the street from a lovely little park with a picturesque little lake, so Michael takes me outside to sit in the grass. I laid down and closed my eyes, and he told me about his time in youth group in Colorado.
From there, it turned into a wonderful morning. If I could pretend that my stomach wasn't churning and that I was getting blood drawn every hour, it was like a little mini-date. Between draws, Michael and I walked around the park talking and soaking up the sunshine. I really do love spending time with him, and I like him a whole lot. It was nice to not talk about the kids or responsibilities, but to just talk and enjoying each other's company.
On the way back into the lab, I had a random memory flash of the woman from the diabetes clinic four years ago telling me "...and if your blood sugar gets too high, you can walk around to help it go back down".
Oh, holy mother of crap.
I may have been unconsciously treating myself for the heightened blood sugar. Which means that I may have invalidated the GTT by doing the only thing that made the test bearable.
That little jerk kid that was drawing my blood apparently just did not know that he was supposed to tell me it was best to stay in the waiting room because walking around could affect the test results. Granted, I should have remembered since I have taken this test at this point (no joke) at least a dozen times. But I could kick myself, and I definitely want to kick that Josh kid.
So no more walking around, Michael drives me around town and we talk about all the places we haven't been that look interesting and where we would like to go, but I am filled with dread that I have just wasted an entire morning for poor Mike, who had to take off of work to take me and probably won't be able to do it again.
Though they are supposed to draw exactly to the minute (9.07, 10.07, 11.07, and 12.07) for the test to work, the last draw was several minutes late because the staff decided to go to lunch and only leave one person. Which that little baby student should have known that when a particular phlebotomist starts this test, he can't leave until he finishes it.
Kid has lost a LOT of credibility points, but he barely even left a mark, so I won't get too upset about it.
You thought you were going to get the test results after reading that long long post, didn't you? Well, you don't, because I don't have them. I called the doctor's office who said they had the results but only a doctor or a RN could tell me the results on the phone and they were both at the hospital that morning, so I would have to wait.
So I am at home, feeling quite twitchy and impatient.
Oh, for crap's sake--they just called me and told me I passed so I have to watch my blood sugar and take the three-hour again in four weeks.
I freaking hate today. I hate sugar. I hate needles. I hate that stupid jerk student that stole my blood. And I hate hate hate that cup of nasty evil glucose drink!!!!!
If you will please go excuse me, I need to go break something.
~Andie~
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