The Glucose Horror

I head over to my doctor's office to do my glucose test for gestational diabetes/regular check up a couple of weeks ago. Lovely crowd. The girl next to me was having a conversation with her toothless mother that centered around the baby's name: "well, if it's Dakota's, we're thinking Chloe; if it's Justin's, we're thinking Victoria." Hello. The most shocking part? Her name choices weren't bad... Another woman and her charming family were screaming that it was going to be $270.00 that day instead of $150.00 and "she was going to kick some ass." Yay! Future playmates for GoofyBaby!

They finally call me back. I've gained one pound in a month, which is surprising because I'm feeling very, very big. The nurse looks a bit wide-eyed when she tests my blood pressure. I have to say "it's usually low" before she lets out a "oh good, it's 90 over 60." Whatever.

That's pretty much it, except they tell me I have to do the glucose test at the lab, and it's closed for lunch. Good, I wasn't in the mood for needles anyway.

Two days later, I suck it up and go for my test. I chug the nasty drink-- Powerade on crack-- all the while telling myself that if I could drink a nasty Powerade dixie cup at almost every mile for 39.3 miles in January, I can handle this. And I'm pleased with myself because I managed to have a Goofy flashback in a totally random moment!

I go sit in the lobby and watch infomercials and read a book. I feel fine, if horribly bored, for about 30 minutes. Then it happens. I'm sitting there minding my own business watching an infomercial for a Shark cordless vacuum, when I feel a bit dizzy. I try to focus on the vacuum- it can pick up wet rice and nails and get under your furniture!- when I decide maybe lying down on the loveseat would be a really good idea. (You know, if you're going to keel over, might as well get in position early...)I'm clammy, I'm queasy, I'm just utterly miserable. I feel so bad I don't even want to get the nurse (and I'm afraid she'll make me do it again another day).

Finally the nurse comes for me. I get it together enough to make it down the hall and into her little chair o' blood letting. "Success!" I think. She looks at me and says "are you alright?" I think I answer positively, but she starts freaking out. She says I'm really pale and basically look like crap. Hello, I'm upright and that's an accomplishment. Don't bring me down, lady! She draws my blood, mutters about how I obviously don't need to take this test, and runs off to get me a Coke out of their private stash (unheard of!). The Coke, which is actually a nasty Cherry Coke, perks me up enough that I consider re-joining the world of the living.

So, now two weeks later, I've had a couple more sinking spells from eating sugar. Is that cruel or what?! I asked the PA what my level was. You have to be below 130 on the test or you go to the second stage of testing for gestational diabetes. I was at 90. I asked her if that was low enough to make me feel bad- she said it was just really healthy. Call me crazy, but "really healthy" levels shouldn't require lying down in public wondering if you need to call 911.

This baby is starting to irritate me. I know I still need to pre-register at the hospital, and that either GoofyBaby or as Emma says "the baby to be named later" are not appropriate name choices, but I need my space back.

I did try to cheer myself up by buying new running shoes and a new running outfit for post-arrival. Hopefully they'll get here soon- I'll have to put the outfit away for awhile, but I can wear the shoes now. I'm proud to say as of two days ago, I could still tie my shoes by myself. Not to imply that I am actually running anywhere...