Just when you think that you've lost control, second trimester enters and it's as if all is right with the world again. I felt more like myself during those weeks than throughout this whole experience. Second trimester allowed me to prepare the nursery (at least design it), get registered, and gain some perspective that this is really happening and a human being will be moving from Point A to Point B. In a sense, second trimester increased my awareness to just how many pregnant women there are, each going through this in their own way. If you ever wonder where all the pregnant ladies are on a Friday night, just walk into Ikea. It was like an unspoken sisterhood as we make our husbands push around carts on their every so slippery floor pointing at items and then changing our minds and then yelling at them for us changing our minds. "Now you have to go back upstairs because I liked those hooks better! I wish you would have just put them in the cart just in case." Aww...those were the days.
I laughed as the morning DJ's wife made him go to a grocery store in the middle of the night to get Peanut Butter Cheerios, when, to my knowledge, they didn't exist. I couldn't believe how crazy pregnancy makes someone. This is, of course, while Joe is driving around Salt Lake City finding a Cherry Slurpee because any other flavor just won't do. He phones. "What about this kind?" "No." "Well, I can't find _______." "It has to be Cherry. It has to! FIND ME CHERRY!" Note to 7-11: Stop getting fancy with all of your flavors. Cherry will do just fine.
I didn't know what to expect entering Third Trimester. You can read blogs, but all they do is terrify you or you hate them for glowing and frolicking through the daisies. I was just taking one day at a time.
On President's Day, Joe came home from work and he was completely pale. We talked about work, I asked him if he was sick, he said no, but I knew something was up. All of a sudden he blurted out, "The doctor called and you have gestational diabetes. You didn't pass the test." Didn't pass the test? Didn't pass the test? I haven't passed two tests in my whole life: 5th grade vocabulary, and a 10th grade Human Biology test. I pass tests; it's what I do. I sat there numb and all I could say was, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to cry?"
I was scheduled immediately to go to St. Marks for a three-hour extensive test for diabetes. We had to move quickly and take off of work that Friday. I still wasn't really sure how "extensive" this all was until I was admitted upon arrival, given a bracelet, and sent through these huge double-glass doors. As I stared at their beautiful chapel, I told Joe that if something bad happens, to just run in there and start praying. He didn't find my comment amusing. Little did he know, I wasn't kidding.
This three-hour test turned into five-hours because the procedure was simple, and by simple, I mean terrible and complex. Every hour, they would take three vials of blood to check my blood sugar levels. They would do this four times, and no, I had no food or drink in me for twelve hours prior. They gave me two huge bottles of that sugary drink that I had to consume in under five minutes and everyone dreads. A woman sat next to my bed (I was given a cot-like bed in the corner due to me passing out) and complained that she had to drink a fourth of what I was drinking. I kept chugging mine, quite enjoying it. She complained some more. "I'll take hers," I said to the nurse. "I like her flavor." I shouldn't have liked those drinks, but I did. They didn't make me feel sick. That should have been the indication that something was wrong.
So after an hour, began my test. First draw, not so bad. Second draw, I blacked out. I remember telling Joe that I wasn't feeling well a few minutes after the draw and he needed to run and get the nurse. I heard another nurse say, "If she throws up, the test in invalid." Oh, heck to the no, I'm not coming back. I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, a team of nurses were over me packing my body in ice packs and damp cloths. One of the nurses asked me, "Is this your final draw?" I responded by saying, "My second." She blurted out, "Oh shit." I then told her how much I appreciated her honesty. She was my favorite.
When the third draw came, so did a bunch of people, watching for what would happen to the incredible little girl in the cot next. I was completely fine other than they took it from my hand instead of my arm and it hurt really bad. Only one more to go. As Joe and I waited for the last draw, I asked him what the worst day of his life was. He mentioned something about one of his jobs he had years ago where everything just went wrong. Then he asked me. As I lay in the fetal position, pale, sweaty, surrounded with ice, and covered in bandages, my reply was simple, "Right now."
That weekend, I faced a lot of lasts. Last time I would drink 7-Up and Cherry Slurpees. Last time I would eat a strawberry or hot fudge sundae, last time I wouldn't read food labels and count carbohydrates.
As the results came back that following Tuesday, I was officially diagnosed with gestational diabetes and referred to a specialist. This specialist would then oversee the diabetes part until delivery and my OBGYN would oversee everything else. She told me she wasn't worried because I was responsible. I successfully brought my high blood pressure down from first trimester, and I took the Rhogam shot without an epidural (but secretly wished I knew that was an option), this was just another bump in the road, sort of speak.
Similar to first trimester, where as soon as I found out I was pregnant I started getting morning sickness, as soon as I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, I started noticing and experiencing more symptoms of the illness: extreme thirst, weight gain, swollen feet, irritability, sluggishness, difficulty moving at times, and overall, just not feeling that great. I started googling and that is something NOT to do.
When we arrived at the specialist, it was a different vibe. Everything was shiny and fancy and there were a LOT of people all with high risk pregnancies, as mine is classified as. During the ultra-sound, the technician remarked how large the baby was, another risk from gestational diabetes. I immediately took offense because her large and my large are different. The baby should weigh approximately 3.5 lbs by now. Mine weighs 4 lbs 3 oz. When the specialist came in, he told me not to worry, and that mine is a minor case, but one that needs to be monitored nonetheless. He then introduced me to the nurse, but all I noticed was the needle in her hand.
Everyone has a fear in life and mine is needles. I don't care if it's drawing blood or getting a shot, I'm not a fan, and based on previous incidents, I clearly don't handle them well. When she jammed the needle into my finger to test my blood sugar without notice, I looked at Joe and felt tears welling up. I was given a meal plan to follow, a "cool little bag" that wasn't so cool to me, filled with needles and strips, and more needles and more strips to test my blood sugar four times a day. I was given a schedule to follow as exactly as possible (try teaching high school and adhere to a schedule). Needless to say, it was a long appointment, and I started to shut down. I didn't want to hear anymore, so I just remember having Joe pack up all my things, telling them thank you, and walking out the door.
I made it maybe three steps into the hall when I just collapsed and started crying. It was the hardest crying I could ever recall or knew was possible. "Why me?" I yelled to Joe. "I've done everything I was supposed to! This isn't fair! This isn't fair!" He helped me to my feet, but I fell down again. "Why is it so hard?" I asked him. "I can't do this any more. I have nothing left. I have nothing left!" He found a bathroom for me, but that didn't help, so we just decided to leave. Tears and make-up streaked my face as we got on the elevator but I didn't care. What was such a surreal moment is all the other pregnant couples in the elevator didn't roll their eyes or look at me as pathetic because they were going through something similar. They were going or leaving the same office--they also received bad news. The office for high risk pregnancies is where all the fun and anticipation is sucked out and you are smacked with the harsh reality that just when you thought pregnancy was hard, it was going to get worse.
So that night became, once again, another new normal. I checked my blood sugar, now four times a day, started counting carbohydrates, and did a lot of crying. That continued until the next week, when I would meet with both doctors again. I stayed in bed a lot and their were murmurs on phone calls and at my house of the possibility of me being depressed, yet another glorious side effect of gestational diabetes during and after pregnancy. Am I depressed? Most likely. I have to face my fears four times a day, cut out foods that I love, all while dealing with regular third trimester things. I think I can be depressed.
For this past week's visit (I now have appointments 2-3 times per week after work) my OBGYN was super impressed by my numbers and my meal plan. She said I did it before with the high blood pressure thing, I could do it again. She and her nurses spent a long time with me and Joe answering all of our questions and telling us things that I wish the specialist would have. I am so fortunate to have found her and I look to her and her staff as being more of our friends now than a doctor-patient relationship.
Then we went to the specialist the following day. Apparently my numbers WEREN'T good enough nor was my meal plan. I was given a prescription, told to continue poking myself (even through much pleading) and I was to now meet with a nutritionist on top of everyone else. I left the office still walking (a step up from last week) but I was devastated. What was going on? Why the discrepancy?
After Joe and I argued on this issue (which also makes me upset that this whole ordeal was now putting us at odds) we decided to seek a second opinion. I would continue taking my blood sugar, charting my meals, but we felt that medicine (while not another shot) seemed a little bit drastic after only showing them my numbers once. It is a gamble 100% that I am not currently on medication that was prescribed for me. That I won't argue. But my gut, my heart, and my brain all tell me that I need to find another specialist and see if they agree. I will do and continue to do whatever it takes for the health of Baby Bean. But right now, Baby Bean is telling me my decision is the correct one and together, we will make it.
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| Just me, Baby Bean, and Scarlet Letter D. |
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