So I received the lovely news from my OB last week that I failed my glucose test, which meant that I had to return to my OB’s office on Friday to undergo further testing to see whether I have gestational diabetes. Apparently between 2 and 10 percent of expectant moms develop gestational diabetes, and it basically means that I have abnormally high levels of sugar in my blood, which puts Baby Z at risk for being too fat at birth. My OB said that my glucose level was right at the cut-off point: the test is normal or negative if the glucose level is 135 mg./dl. or lower. (So any reading below 135 mg./dl. is considered within normal limits, and the mother is at very low risk for developing gestational diabetes.)
I just failed the test at 140 mg./dl., which meant that I had to return for a long, tortuous three-hour glucose tolerance test. I had to fast overnight and head to my OB’s office early the next morning so that I could drink yet another yucky orange glucose drink and a nervous lab technician with pink hair took a vial of blood from me every hour on the hour for 3 hours (4 blood draws total).
Yeah, it was as awful as it sounds, made especially more so because the vampires, I mean, lab techs at my OB’s office could not find my veins to save their lives. Both of my arms now look like those of a heroine addict.
I also forgot to bring a good book for the long waits in between blood draws, so I ended up playing silent games of “I Spy” in the waiting room. I think at one point I spied with my little eye 4 Bugaboo strollers, 3 slobbering babies, 3 bored dads, 2 nursing moms, and 1 ginormous boob. (Not mine, in case you’re wondering.)
It’s now Monday, and the wait continues. Please, please let me pass the test.
At least one positive thing came out of this experience: I now have zero desire to see the new Twilight movie. A ginormous bloodsucking baby that tears out of the womb hits a little too close to home.
Will keep y’all posted.