Typical Day

8:00am - Wake up so I can check my blood sugar (ouch!), give myself two different insulin shots and eat a diabetic approved breakfast.

8:30am - Drop off Ryan's car at the shop for what will surely be an expensive repair.

10:00am - Sit on the couch to rest after taking a shower, feel lightheaded and weird.

10:30am - Check blood sugar (ouch!) and see that it's surprisingly low. No wonder I feel lightheaded and weird.

10:31am - Eat a diabetic approved morning snack.

10:35am - Drive downtown for appointment with specialist.

11:15am - Check in and wait while listening to the extremely loud staff talk about their lunch choices.

11:30am - Ultrasound. Harry is perfect and adorable. See him wiggle and practice breathing and move his lips. See his heart beating. Ask him politely to COME OUT ALREADY.

11:50am - Move to exam room and wait for doctor.

12:10pm - Wait.

12:20pm - Wait. Hope doctor hurries as blood sugar drops.

12:30pm - Wait.

12:40pm - Nurse says there's a problem with another patient and the doctor may be a while. Decide to leave as lunch is way past due.

12:45pm - Listen to voicemail from company HR department letting me know I will not be getting a paycheck on Friday if the insurance drama is not worked out quickly.

12:46pm - Freak out.

1:10pm - Check blood sugar (ouch!) and freak out again as it's WAY too low.

1:11pm - Chug milk and shove diabetic approved food in my mouth so I don't pass out. Talk to Ryan about what we should do about the insurance situation.

1:40pm - Call specialist to work out insurance. Find out specialist cannot recommend time off, it must come from OB. Sigh loudly as OB hasn't been involved in the time off discussion, only the specialist. Think about car bill and hospital bill and feel yet another freak out approaching.

1:50pm - Drive down the interstate discussing money/time off options when suddenly an SUV slams into the back of another SUV three feet from us. Ryan slams on the breaks. Car behind us swerves and a semi-truck comes within inches of our car. And us. And our baby.

1:50pm - FREAK. OUT.

Rest of the Day: Doesn't matter as I'm wrapped in a cloud of "we almost died" and "the baby!!" and "OHMYWORD".

And yes, this is how I spend my "stress free" days off from work so that my baby will be ok.

Call Your Doctor

Disclaimer: This post is not to say that I don't love and respect the medical community because I do appreciate all the help I've received lately, just that sometimes their methods make me Real Housewives of New York crazy. Ramona, specifically. Please read as such.

These days, I see a minimum of four medical professionals a week. That may not sound like a lot so let me break it down for you. Once a week I go to my OBGYN office where I will see one of six doctors and their specific nurse. I have questions every week and and every week I see someone different or new. Sometimes I wonder if they ever talk to each other. I'm starting to suspect they do not. Also, once a week I go to the specialist and see one of three ultrasound techs and one of three doctors. I also have loads of questions for them and they also all say something different. I'm thinking of introducing them to each other. One doctor will totally stress me out with worse case news and the next will act as if my condition is so fine it's laughable. As if I'm not on a roller coaster of emotions already. "The Sugars are DANGEROUSLY HIGH!!! SOUND THE ALARM!!!" or "The Sugars aren't so bad, I've seen way worse. You're fine." Well which is it?

And ok, they all give (generally) sound advice that (generally) matches up with what the other ones say. But. I have been pregnant for 103 weeks and I have LOTS of questions about how this is all gonna go down and some of them say "it'll be fine" and some of them say "this could be serious" and some of them say "don't be silly" and some of them say "wait, you're having a baby?" And I haven't even mentioned all the advice/info I got from nurses in the hospital. I should have kept tape recordings of every doctor visit so I could compare and contrast. Also so my head could explode.

From what I can currently deduce from all the info we've gotten thus far, Harry is doing splendid and should be making an arrival soon. But we have an appointment with the specialist tomorrow so that could all change depending on who we see and what mood they are in. Wheeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

The Count Would Love This Post

6 - Number of times a day Minnie asks for a belly scratch
3,602 - Number of times per day you will hear the word "space" on HGTV
11 - Number of times per day I stick myself with some sort of needle
35.5 - Number of weeks Baby Harry has been growing
40 - Number of pounds of peanut butter I've been required to eat in the last few weeks
41 - Number of gallons of milk I've been required to drink in the last few weeks
0 - Number of teams I'm pulling for in the Amazing Race finale
2 - Number of flower deliveries I've received this week
17 - Number of six packs of Activia yogurt lady at Target bought today while telling the clerk and anyone within earshot about her digestive issues. Also, she doesn't live off the government thankyouverymuch
16 - Number of pounds I've gained with this pregnancy
1,350 - Number of diaper wipes in Harry's room

Clorox for Scale

I didn't even know Walgreens Pharmacy HAD bags so big. Yet another point for you, Gestational Diabetes.

In other news, after six long days I'm finally free!!! Illingworth Manor never looked so good.

Another Dramatic Chapter

I'm in the hospital. Here's what's happening:

-I'm allowed to have Diet Coke!
-The toilet paper sucks.
-I don't have an IV!
-The Sugars keep dropping to dramatically low levels that make me feel as if I'm going to die and make the nurses FREAK OUT.
-I don't have to wear a hospital gown!
-I was supposed to be here 24 hours - I have now been here four days and counting thanks to The Sugars.
-I don't have to think about what to eat - they just bring it!
-Sometimes they give me Buttermilk instead of Skim milk and I don't realize it until I've taken a massive gulp. OF BUTTERMILK.
-Some of the nurses are awesome!
-Some of the nurses forget my scheduled snacks until I've wasted away into a puddle of gestationally diabetic patheticness.
-Harry is doing great!
-I worry constantly about Harry.
-One of my doctors is awesome and sweet and answers all of my questions with kindness and concern!
-One of my doctors is blunt and likes to throw around the word (and mental picture of) "stillbirth" like it's some sort of Jelly Bean Flavor that's not favorable. (sugar free of course)
-Most of the nurses have told me he's "crazy - don't worry about it"
-I still do. How could you hear stillbirth and NOT worry about it?
-So far my hospital stay hasn't been TOO terrible - lots of friends have visited and the time doesn't always drag on.
-I'm in a hospital downtown instead of the hospital near our house which means Ryan has to drive 45 minutes to see me, drive home to take care of Minnie, drive to work......he's really been putting in the miles.
-I now have to give myself a shot three times a day. With a syringe. And a needle. I was quite nervous about it but have found that I'm now a pro at driving needles into my flesh - although I don't think this is a marketable skill for anyone other than a heroin addict.

The Shift

We went to see the specialist yesterday and I left feeling encouraged, although I can't really say why. My situation is the same. Last night The Sugars were the highest yet (borderline alarming) and a hospital stay is imminent. And there's also the shots I will inevitably have to give myself several times a day. Shots. With a needle. Given to me by me. I'm now on the highest dosage of medication possible taking eight pills a day. I still have daily spells where I feel so lightheaded and weak that I'm afraid of falling out of my office chair or forgetting who I am.

So what's with all the encouragement? I don't know, maybe I've just accepted it. Maybe I'm over the initial " WHAT DID YOU SAY" I've had at each doctor visit. After you hear something so many times you get used to it. "You may have to be hospitalized" - yeah I know. "You're baby is going to be large, maybe dangerously so" - yeah I know. "This ordeal means you are at a high risk to develop diabetes F-O-R-E-V-E-R" - yeah, I heard that. "High risk! Bad news! Terrible outcomes on the horizon!" - Yup.

I'm calm. Happier, even.

You would think that with my newfound no-stress bliss The Sugars would have eased up a bit. But, no. There seems to be no rhyme or reason other than every part of my reproductiveness is angry. But we all knew that. Bottom line, I only have a few weeks left of this nonsense. And so far Harry is reacting well at each monitoring and ultrasound (of which we've had FOUR*) and that's really all I care about. If he's fine, I'm fine. Sure, I feel lousy and am overwhelmed with doctor's visits and medication and finger pricking and diet and so on but also, fine. I'm fine and he's fine and Ryan is fine. Even Minnie is fine.

And that's enough.

*By the way, did you know that ultrasounds are about $1200 a pop? And I've had four? And I have a $300+ doctor's "consultation" once a week plus monitoring at my OB plus OB visits plus all the medication and medical equipment. This is not a speech about whether or not we should have universal healthcare (because Ryan and I have debated FAR TOO MUCH on the subject) but good gravy, what do people do without insurance?? You can say no to your own health (although no one should) but who could say "that's ok, I'll just wait and see how the baby turns out". I guess some people are forced to? For that I say - THANK YOU SONY MUSIC FOR MY KICK BUTT HEALTH INSURANCE.

33 Weeks Tomorrow

You’ve heard it said that when it rains it pours, usually said in a negative tone as if pouring rain is always a tragedy of some sort. I don’t know about that, but I do feel drenched in this whole Gestational Diabetes* business. It’s all consuming, a pouring rain so to speak. The fun part is, everyone says “Don’t stress about it! It will just make things worse!” Right or wrong, this translates to an 8 month pregnant woman as, “Quit stressing! You are hurting your baby! This is all your fault!”

*I started to write “GD business” as the medical community is apt to do but thought better of it.

And yes, I know it’s not technically my fault. Lots of doctors and websites and friends and family have drilled this into my brain. But here’s the thing, this baby is living inside of me. And at the moment, my body (MY body) is warring against him. With that war comes guilt, no matter the source. Every time I jam a friendly needle into one of my sore fingers and the number comes back too high, I feel as if I’ve let Harry down. Let Ryan down. Let everyone down.

I’m not saying all of this to generate some sort of pity party, just to say this is tough. I’m trying to deal. We went to see the specialist on Friday to have an ultrasound and a consultation about The Sugars. (I think when all of this is over I may just stay mad at sugar indefinitely.) Right now Harry’s head and torso are measuring three weeks ahead. I’m not sure what that means but I know it’s not considered a blessing. Then we met with the doctor who said “if The Sugars don’t come down, we may need to admit you to the hospital.”

Umm.

Ok.

So you see, it’s difficult to remain carefree about anything at the moment. The hospital threat makes me think:
-Oh dear, I have to get everything wrapped up at work!
-Oh dear, do we have everything we need if he comes early?
-Oh dear, we need to meet with a pediatrician!
-Oh dear, we need to get the car seat in the car!
-Oh dear, I AM ABOUT TO HAVE A TINY HUMAN COME HOME TO LIVE WITH ME. FOREVER.

This weekend Ryan played the sound of a crying baby for Minnie to get used to the sound. The louder the cries got the flatter her ears got and she looked at us as if to say – are you kidding me with that?

If you could see me right now, my ears are SO flat.

Return of the Glam

I'm coming out of hiding to declare the evils of Target Pharmacy!

That's not entirely true.

I'm coming out of hiding, yes, but it's more of a will to overcome. I didn't intend to abandon the blog and had plans to write about every pregnancy detail. I waited so long to become pregnant that I just knew I would want to commemorate every moment. Turns out I would rather forget most of the moments. Pregnancy, she has not been kind. So much so that I've had zero words for this blog, or more accurately, zero words that weren't AWFUL or TORTURE or HELL ON EARTH.

But ya'll, it's time to stop being polite. And start getting real.

Out of 32 weeks I've had maybe five days free of drama slash pain slash general horror. Of course there was the obligatory nausea and fatigue. Mood swings. Anxiety. Then at 23 weeks I had the standard glucose test given to all pregnant women. One quick swig of some orange soda substitute and a blood draw. A few days later my doctor called to say that my levels were "a bit high" and I would need to go to the hospital for a longer test. I said ok and dutifully arrived at Williamson Medical before the rooster crowed. The morning included Regis and Kelly, three blood draws and a violent reaction that had me puking into a trash can while the plebotomist rubbed a cold washcloth through my hair. The good news? I had to go back a week later and do it alllllll again. Second time was a charm in that I didn't puke but was a real kick in the pants in that yes, I have Gestational Diabetes.

This is where the pregnancy delights went to E-LEV-EN.

Basically, my placenta is a drama queen and overreacts with the hormones causing my insulin to go nuts. This is not good for baby. I was promptly sent to see a specialist, since I'm now considered High Risk, who told me all kinds of terrible things that could happen to the baby. He literally said to me "well now your risk of stillbirth is up 40%". WELL OK. Why don't you tell me how to fix this instead of telling me things that make me cry, hmmmm??? Then I was sent to a Dietician who informed me that food would become my enemy and I would now have to jam a needle in my finger four times a day.

Since the diagnosis I've been put on medication, had my dosage upped four times, been threatened that I may have to give myself insulin shots three times a day, made weekly visits to the specialist as well as weekly monitoring PLUS my regular OB visits, the challenge of figuring out the right combination for every meal and assigned snack all of which I must write down and fax to the Dietician once a week AND I didn't even get to eat dessert at my baby shower! Or any of the candy in my Easter basket!

But ok, so far Harry is doing great. And his safety and health is my #1 focus and the reason I'm doing all of this. Without him I would definitely fall off the diet wagon. Forget a pill or two. Not care. But because of him I'm Tyra Banks FIERCE about my diet and medication and doctor's visits and the whole lot.

And maybe that's why I've decided to write down the gory details. Because even though pregnancy has been difficult (understatement) and not what I had hoped for, this little guy who's currently kicking my bladder into oblivion is worth every case of scorching heartburn. Worth the finger pricks and "no thank you I can't eat that". Worth the drama and backaches and irritation.

And I cannot wait to meet him.

Choices

Perspective

Worldview:
-Economic meltdown
-A government so corrupt even Jack Bauer doesn't know what to do
-Olympic athletes hitting the bong
-A California woman gives birth to eight babies to get on Oprah
-Tainted peanut butter
-Ice storms
-6 more weeks of winter


Illingworth Manor View:
-Baby Harry is growing more and more which I feel in his daily kicks and wiggles
-We've paid off over half of our debt
-We both have jobs
-We have fantastic family that we love
-We have each other

Yeah.