Ode to the 1 Hour Glucose Test

Glug, Glug, Glug

Vile! Vile! Vile!

Vial, Vial, Vial,

Vial, Vial, Vial,

Vial, Vial, Vial

Vial, Vial, Vial

Vial

Vial

 

I was diagnosed with phlebitis last Wednesday, and put on a strict regiment of support stockings and heating pads. The move to Boca is optional.  The pain is still severe, but the relief over it not being DVT makes it all bearable.

Last week I had my monthly OB/GYN appointment, with bonus Ultrasound! Little girl was not particularly cooperative, hiding her face  from us.  I had brought the boys and Huzzy with me, so I’m guessing she just felt shy with all the attention. The rest of her looked perfect.  We confirmed that it is a girl. I felt no anxiety about that this time.  Blessedly.

The tech told me that my placenta is not only completely covering my cervix, but seems to be draped around it like a curtain. Great. Even my internal organs are theatrical.

I sent the menfolk to the lobby during my check up. The nurse weighed me and grabbed the sphygmometer.  “How were your holidays? Did you host?”

“No,” I said, trying to mentally spell sphygmometer, “I was at my in-laws…it was…are you sure you want to take my blood pressure now?”

She laughed. I’m a riot at the doctor’s office.

My awesome OB/GYN, in the span of 15 minutes, ordered up about 6,000 blood tests based on my phlebitis diagnosis, checked out my leg, listened to the Beany heartbeat, told me that it is pretty unlikely that my placenta will move, so a c-section is likely, and there’s a possibility I may need a hysterectomy.  But I didn’t feel rushed or like Patient #80 . She answered my questions and I once again rejoiced in having found such a great doctor who I trust completely.

She said there is a small chance I could have a VBAC, but if the ultrasound at my next appointment shows my placenta draped so casually around my cervix, I shouldn’t count on it.

I’m ok with that. I never was one of those women who felt cheated out of the birthing process by having a c-section. I always think about adoptive parents who get neither. I think no matter how that kiddo gets in your arms, that kid is yours. In my opinion, parenting is not about birthing any more than marriage is about the wedding day.

Your mileage may vary, of course.  I respect very much women who believe the birthing process is much more of a life milestone that I.

Hello, doctor, my old friend

I’ve come to talk with you again,

Because phlebitis softly creeping,

Left it’s bruises while I was sleeping

And the visions that are caused by all that pain

Still remain

Within the sounds of JESUS H. MAKE IT GO AWAY!

This morning, I went in to take my glucose test (required to check for gestational diabetes) and to get the blood drawn for all the clotting and blood issues my doctor wants to check for.  Like every preggo before me who has enjoyed this test, I pounded ten-ounces of orange-flavored sugar water….50 grams of sugar in 10 ounces of fluid.  No tangy taste is provided to help cope with the sugar levels. It’s as though someone melted a bunch of popsicles and put them in a non-recyclable container.

Imagine drinking a Hallmark Christmas Special that stars precocious child stars and dogs with cancer who miraculously heal through the power of love and Dolly Parton.

Yeah, it makes you more than a little nauseated.

The best part of the test  is the “Sit and Wait for an Hour”!!! God, no laundry to fold, no noses to wipe, no dishes to wash, no tasks pulling at me. I read my book.  That hour was awesome…although I looked back for but a moment at times in my life where sitting around a waiting room for 60 minutes would send me up a wall.

After that wonderful ME hour, the tech drew blood. Fourteen vials.  Let me repeat that. FOURTEEN vials.  I’d compare myself to some Twilight character, but I don’t follow that crap.

I do feel undead, though.