Saturday, July 6, 2013

The Results

I'm sure you saw what was coming – such a cliffhanger!

Monday, I got the call from the doctor's office. "Well, we got your lab results. Sweetie, you did awful."

I was choking back tears as the nurse gave me my numbers and told me she had a call in to the dietician and diabetic nurse. They would be calling me to set up an appointment asap, especially with the holiday this week.

I regained enough composure to walk back into the office. (The one saving grace to having crappy cell service in the building is that no one saw my breakdown.) But then I got to my cube, and my friend and colleague asked me a question through the window in our cube wall that we'd made, and I couldn't keep it in. I spluttered it out. She told me to leave for a bit, and get some air. I needed to run to the bank anyway, so I did.

I had texted and emailed DH, but hadn't heard back from him. I drove to a park a couple of blocks away and bawled in the lot for a few minutes to get it out of my system. I got myself under control, sent texts to a few people who I knew had been praying for me about it, and then headed to the bank. I teared up and sniffled most of the time. Dang hormones – could not shake it!

On my way back, one of the friends I'd texted called. I started crying again. She was awesome about it, of course, and I wouldn't have cared except that I feel terrible complaining about any pregnancy issues to her. She and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for years. She'd had a couple of surgeries to assist things, and still only had a low chance for fertility. But miraculously, they got pregnant in the fall. She's due any day now. But she had to take progesterone shots the whole time. It has been a very rough road that she's traveled. I have no room to complain. Which just made me cry more.

I was weepy most of the day. DH never did call me. Which I was glad about because I didn't want to start crying at the office again, but also annoyed because it was a really big deal. He did text and ask me what this meant for the baby. And my first thought was, "The baby? What about me!?" Nice. Real nice. Mother of the Year. Again.

So I started to text him back and say that it would make him be bigger than normal at birth, and it could increase his odds of being an overweight kid as well as developing diabetes later in life. Then I thought, I'm not sure if that's all, maybe I should Google it.

People. You know, and I know, that that is a terrible idea. If you ever think it, ignore the thought. Push it out of your head. But even knowing that it's a bad idea didn't stop me. So I did. And I found out that the baby might be hypoglycemic after birth and need an IV. That's ridiculous torture! I hate IV's, my infant son should not be subjected to one!

Or he could have respiratory problems. Which, in my case, is almost guaranteed because DH has asthma and boys lungs develop slower than girls in utero and since it's a c-section, and he's big, he'll probably be born a little early anyway.

And, of course, the worst news for last, copied directly from (with red highlights by me):

If your blood sugar control is especially poor, your baby is at risk for polycythemia (an increase in the number of red cells in the blood) and hypocalcemia (low calcium in the blood), and your baby's heart function could be affected as well.
Some studies have found a link between severe gestational diabetes and an increased risk of stillbirth in the last two months of pregnancy. And, finally, women with gestational diabetes are at increased risk for developing preeclampsia, particularly those who are obese before pregnancy or whose blood sugar levels are not well controlled.

It sent  me into a new round of panic.
Of course, reading it today, I'm perfectly logical and calm - it's highly unlikely that these things would happen, they just have to list all the risks, etc. But that's the beauty of pregnancy hormones. Today I can have a rational conversation about it. Not so on Monday. 
I was an ineffective mess at work. 
Especially when I got the call from the dietician setting up my appointment for 8am Tuesday morning. So. Not. Ready. 
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