So, 'ironic' is one of the most misused terms in the English language. While there are hundreds of types/definitions, the ones I stick with are 'Both coincidental and contradictory in a humorous or poignant and extremely improbable way' and/or 'Contrast or discrepancy between expectation and reality.' So is it ironic that Beethoven lost his hearing? Yes. Is it ironic that the chick who ate nothing but little debbie treats and fast food during the first two trimesters of pregancy would fail her glucose (i.e. gestational diabetes...diabetes that comes on in pregnancy) test? No. In the words of one of my new favorite authors, Jen Lancaster, (http://www.jennsylvania.com/), 'the b@^#* deserved it.'
So, I'm seeing my doctor last Thursday and we're doing all of our pregnancy/doctor stuff, etc. When I said, '14 weeks to go,' she said, 'I don't think so, how about somewhere between 37-38 weeks.' This is creepy but fantastic because I've had the same premonition that this little parasite will be joining us sooner than later given the general lack of room in my abdomen and his exponential growth rate. I know there's no possible way for her to REALLY know that I'll pop early (being a doctor really kills it for you sometimes), but I spent the better part of the day reveling in the fact that my need for instant gratification would be more quickly met than I had previously dreaded and I'd see his angelic little face sooner than later. So, we got our doctor on and we're finished and I'm leaving and she's like, 'while you're here, why don't you just do you sugar and hemoglobin tests?' These seemed like innocent little words and a perfectly acceptable idea. Seemed, being the operative word.
I mozy on over to the lab area and, knowing how I have to wait an hour after I drink the stuff til they can draw my blood (eech), stare impatiently at the chicks til they hand over the goods so we can get this party started. I have to say to all of my patients who have been whining about how awful the sugary drink is and how some have even refused to take it a second time...quit your bitching. It's not that bad. It was really cold, flat lemon-lime soda that went down in about 3 gulps. No more excuses people. Anywho, so I sit there for a shade under a decade, have my blood drawn and head back to work. FYI, it's never a good sign when your doctor's nurse calls you within 45 minutes of your visit to the vampires because the chances of them needing to tell you RIGHT NOW that everything is hunky dory, is slim to none.
She was cute because she's like, 'so your hemoglobin is fine...just a little low, so keep taking your vitamins, blah, blah, blah. But...(unacceptably long pause)your glucose was high. 149 to be exact, so Dr. Schmoopy wants you to get a three hour glucose tolerance test.' Forgetting I'm a physician for a minute, I say, 'I wonder when I have to do that, if it can wait til next week I mean.' She says, 'No. Tomorrow.' (and you can tell she wanted to add, Idiot. You should know this.) And by the way, you have to fast after midnight and don't eat anything but sips of water and don't really move around too much til they finish the FOURTH BLOOD DRAW three hours after you start.' Now, for someone who a)loves to eat more than breathe, b) has an unnatural hatred of having blood drawn, and c) is impatient to the point of psychosis on occasion, this sounds like a death sentence.
I agree to the craziness and hang up the phone only to realize that this means that during the part of the day that I normally consume an average of 2400 calories (otherwise known as the hours between 6 and noon or morning), I can have nothing. I immediatly blame my 20lb weight gain at 26 weeks on the 'diabetes' and start to have nightmares about 12 lb babies trying to be purged from my delicates. That's when I started to cry. I went home to my husband making dinner #1 (on swimming lesson days, Will has dinner before and after) which I cant partake in at all because I'm too worked up with the notion that if I eat a single granule of sugar or unrefined carbs, I'll have nothing but insulin in my future. After inspecting our carb-loaded refrigerator, I ate two pieces of hard salami (yummmmy) and announced I was finished to which my loving husband said, 'no dice, why don't I make you an omelet or something.' I pouted, but agreed and that was it for calories for the evening. Knowing I couldn't eat for the better part of the next day, I'm not really sure why I thought it was a good idea to start a self-imposed fast six hours earlier than necessary. We'll blame it on the hormones.
The smart me would have slept in as long as possible the next morning to skip some hours when I couldn't be eating, but the dumb me wanted to see Will before school, so I got up early and watched everyone else eat pancakes while I sipped my super yummy water. My stomach was already growling when I got to the lab and had the first blood draw and started chugging the nasty orange drink. (this one was way worse...not cold, syrup, cold-medicine aftertaste). I was trying to savor it as this was my only intake for the morning, but the sadist lab tech reminded me 27 times that it was bottoms up in 5 minutes or less or we couldn't do the test. Thanks for your help! I finish it off and let her know that I'll be up on family birthing and I'll be back in an hour for my blood draw. This prompts a pretty stern disapproving face and she says, ' they normally have to wait here until the test is done. I guess since your a doctor...' They wait down here for three hours? Really? Well that sucks, but I'm not so I'll catch you later. This is what I thought, but what I said was, 'I promise I won't exert myself or eat and I'll be back in 58 minutes. Here's my pager,' and I took off before she could argue. Hey, I don't pull the doctor card very often, but I wasn't about to sit there for 3 hours counting the ceiling tiles.
The next three hours were hell. I felt so faint every time I stood up and was nauseated with hunger, especially since everyone with food decided to follow me around, munching as loudly as possible on their vittles. Somehow, I survived until the final draw at 11:15 and hightailed it to the cafeteria. I literally had one foot in the door and one hand on a tray when, what joyous noise did I hear overhead? "Dr. Quick, Family birthing center, room 315." This, children, is an example of irony. Being the resident on OB this month, it was my job to sprint my fat pregnant butt up three flights of stairs, to the other side of the hospital after being about a pint down from all the blood draws and being so starving that I contemplated grabbing food off patient trays as I ran past in the hallway. Got there, baby out, sprint back to the caf. Still worried about my 15 pound baby, I selected some healthy food and began to gorge myself. If you haven't eaten in, now, 18 hours and you finish a full plate of food in 47 seconds, you may or may not immediately need to evacuate said food into the nearest garbage can and then traipse back down to the caf to refuel. If you 'evacuate' while you're in the doctors lounge and eveyone hears it and comes running to 'help' (pet peeve...trying to help when someone is vomiting. If they aren't passed out, you can't be much help, so leave 'em be people...or just continue to stand there staring talking about how gross it is. You're doctors, for heavens sake!), you might be really embarassed and not venture into this previous safehaven for damn near a week.
Anywho, the test came back okay, so no needles and insulin and big, fat babies (fingers-crossed) for me...at least for now. I definitely had to cut back on my sugar intake (we're not counting the tray of brownies and cookies and cream ice cream my hubby made) and have started to try and exercise again. It's weird. You know there's something patological going on when just because it hits 75 and sunny outside, your body says, 'you must run.' Almost 27 weeks pregnant and gave up exercise about...oh, 27 weeks ago? Doesn't matter, my body said run so that's what I did last night. It sucked, but I slept like a baby and I swear that my cankles might be more shapely today so maybe if the weather keeps up, so will I.
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