As I do at least once every month, I visited the doctor today. Aside from the occasional ultrasound, these appointments are largely uneventful. Not today.
At a typical appointment, a nurse makes me stand on a scale and gawk at how much weight I've gained in the four weeks prior, and then she tells me to go pee in a cup. Afterward, I sit in a little room and wait for the doctor to come in. She checks the baby's heartbeat, asks if I have any questions or concerns, and then I leave. Simple enough. Bearable enough.
Today I had to take a glucose tolerance test. The procedure consists of avoiding food all day until the appointment, then downing a painfully sweet drink capable of rotting your teeth once you get to the doctor's office. After one hour, the lab staff take your blood to check for gestational diabetes. Every pregnant woman has to do it.
I had known about the glucose test for a while, so I thought I was prepared. I was so wrong, and part of that is my own fault. I woke up at 6:45 this morning to go to the library at UK and finish a political science term paper on international whaling laws. I've become accustomed to taking the time to eat a bowl of Cap'n Crunch every morning before I do just about anything. That sweet cereal always gets me going, and I truly enjoy chugging the milk out of the bowl like a barbarian. Because you don't want to have elevated blood sugar levels during the glucose test, they tell you not to eat anything, especially anything with sugar.
Naturally, I was already pretty tuckered at noon. By then, I had finished the 14-page paper, turned it in, loaded my car full of stuff to take home, and driven an hour to Louisville- all on an empty stomach. Basic physics of pregnancy will tell you not to do this.
My mom drove me to the 1:50 appointment. For whatever reason, something was a little awry at the office today. Their computers were down, so they couldn't look up my blood type. They gave me the sugar drink, and I can really only describe it as "awful." It tasted like the syrup that pools at the bottom of one of those cheap popsicles in the plastic tube, but I had to drink a whole little bottle of it. When the nurse took me back to the exam room, she asked if I had any "complaints." That was the word she used. When I told her my back has been killing me, she gave me a look that said, "Tough sh*t, rookie." Fair enough.
Mom waited with me for an hour while the sugar seeped into my system. I can only imagine that it was dripping off of my veins like tree sap. The concoction made me incredibly dizzy, lightheaded and nauseous, none of which are things I enjoy feeling. At the reverse end of the spectrum, it made baby girl very hyper. She kicked and rolled with all her might while I groaned in the waiting room.
When it finally came time to take my blood, the lab tech told me she would need two vials. She stuck me with the needle in the crease of my right elbow only to see not a drop of blood come out. She reacted to my body's stubbornness by moving the needle around under my skin like a mouse under a rug. I couldn't help myself. I whispered a curse word and a single tear rolled out of my eye. Fortunately, my left arm was much more cooperative, but I'm really not a fan of being stuck. You'd think I wouldn't mind after four tattoos, but something about the whole process completely unnerved me.
Needless to say, the needles didn't help my nausea and dizziness, so I asked the lab techs if they had any crackers. They replied that I was reacting normally and told me to go get food immediately after leaving the office. Harsh.
By the time I reached checkout, the woman behind the desk could tell I was miserable. She told me to sit down, placed a wet towel on my forehead, sent another nurse to come check my blood pressure, and fetched me some peanut butter crackers and a Sprite. She even put a bendy straw in it.
All in all, the experience was only mildly traumatizing. I know I need to man up for the intense smackdown that is childbirth, but I know now that I was feeling particularly vulnerable from the stress of so much schoolwork. I'm glad the appointment came to a comforting close, even if I did leave the wet towel in my lap for a few minutes, giving me the appearance of having peed myself when I stood up.
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