While in New York for a whirlwind day trip (!) to visit a customer, I got a call from the hippie birth center. “Uh, oh,” I told my colleagues. “Bet I failed my glucose screen.”
Sure enough, I failed my glucose screen. They want your number to be sub-130 after an hour; mine was 150. To complicate factors, I’d only be home on Friday before leaving again for a week, and their lab isn’t open on Fridays.
After some juggling, we decided I’d go to a walk-in lab to have the three-hour fasting screen done on Friday. Pregnant woman with potential gestational diabetes should not wait a week before confirming.
Contrary to my expectations, though, I wasn’t all that… anything. Not freaked out, not sad, not wracked with guilt. I have friends who have failed a screen and felt all those things and I totally understand. “I’ll be all of that too when I fail mine,” I’d think each time.
But I’m surprisingly okay and not sure why.
For one thing, I’m already eating a pretty limited diet. What total lack of self-regard and willpower prevented from succeeding, bubbling bile and heartburn and pukiness have addressed. If I eat fried, heavy, spicy or otherwise unhealthy food, I feel terrible all day, so I don’t. High fiber cereal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and a salad for dinner has become my habit. Well, our habit, because as Jules said in Pulp Fiction, “… my girlfriend’s a vegetarian, which pretty much makes me a vegetarian.” In this case, substitute “kid” for “girlfriend” and “healthy eater” for “vegetarian” and that’s how I’m living. More restrictions and the need to monitor my blood sugar won’t be as big of an impact now as they once would have. (Thanks, son.)
Also, I’ve hit the point where there is less pregnant time left than I’ve already survived. My attitude has thus improved immensely. When my husband and I went to couples counseling before we got married, our therapist noted that at some point, the time we’d been together would exceed the time before we knew each other and things would get easier. I was so dejected by the thought — my husband and I have known each other four years NOW — but it’s comforting now. Less pregnant time left than I’ve survived so far. I can do the diabetes thing for three months, sure.
So, tomorrow I’ll take a (really great) book and my laptop and camp out for the three hour glucose screen. I’m not going to do anything different until then, since (as an online friend pointed out) if there’s a problem, I want to know, not mask it.