Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Baby Bullets: 12th Edition

S - "I will rule the land when I grow up."

Baby R's favorite song right now is "I Need A Miracle" by Third Day. S's faves are "Beautiful Things" by Gungor and "Great I Am" by Phillips, Craig and Dean.

Rushing out of Chick-Fil-A where we had a church fundraiser, Baby R fell, straddling the parking block. She stood up, grabbing herself, saying "I hurt my penis!" It was pretty hysterical, but I kept my composure. And we were late for baseball, so I corralled them to the van's door, and told her she didn't have a penis. S asked why, and I said, "Get buckled in, we're going to be late. Girls don't have penises; they have vaginas." S said, "But why?" I was getting frustrated because they were just standing there, so I raised my voice and said, "Get in the van, and buckle in!" To which S yelled, even louder, "But why do girls have vaginas?!"

DH got a new car. I drove it a few days later. S said, "Mom, you'll love the smooth ride!"

When DH pokes the girls' bellybuttons, he says, "Ding! Dong!" like it's a doorbell. The other day, Baby R said her belly button was an innie, and rang the bell. Then she said it could also be an outie, and pulled the skin out. Blech!

Poor S is just like her mama. She wanted to see how the blood glucose monitor worked, but as soon as I squeezed a drop of blood out of my finger, she got weak-kneed and told me she couldn't watch anymore. Poor kid!

We had a water balloon fight at my in-laws on July 4th. It was awesome. This was followed by a traditional meal of hamburgers, hot dogs, baked beans and cake, and then a round of croquet. So fun! Anyway, my SIL let the girls bring home the leftover empty balloons. Yesterday S was (unsuccessfully) trying to fill them in the bathroom sink, and I told her she needed to be done. She wanted to dump out the two drips she'd managed to contain in one of them outside. I told her no. She asked again if she could so she could water the plants. I, again, said no, because we were getting ready to leave. She said, "But Mom! We're having a drought!" Well played little lady, well played. But still no.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Being Diabetic

I went to the appointment on Tuesday morning with lead feet that reflected my heart. I took the stairs to the second floor, on the premise that I need the exercise. Which I do. But it was mostly an instrument of any means to postpone the inevitable.

Both of my parents have late onset Type 2 diabetes. My mom kept hers under control with diet and exercise until the dementia got too much for her. Dad's solution has always been to switch from regular cookies to sugar-free ones and eat twice as many. Or just take more insulin in his shots. Sigh.

So I've seen what the daily life of a diabetic looks like, the good and the bad. I don't want either. You'd think I'd have gotten my weight under control sooner. Message received.

Having taken a nutrition class in college, I have a good understanding of how the food elements work - carbohydrates (simple and complex), proteins, fats. I knew from my mom's early diabetic days that a serving of 15 carbs for her counted as 1 of her 3-4 exchanges per meal. I knew I needed to eat protein at every meal to keep my blood sugar from spiking. Not that the dietician wasn't helpful, and she did share some interesting facts I had not been aware of before. But it's not like I was shocked when I found out what I needed to do.

Since I'd already been doing it for the last month anyway, it's not that dramatic. But adjusting my diet was just the first part. Next I met with the nurse.

She gave me my blood glucose monitor and informed me that I needed to test my blood seven times a day until my follow up appointment so they could have a baseline to work from. "SEVEN TIMES," I thought. "I only have 10 fingers! How am I going to type at work?" Not to mention, how am I going to get brave enough to intentionally make myself bleed even once, much less 98 times in the next two weeks, when I get weak at sight of blood when I cut myself shaving??

She showed me how to set it up and do the first pinprick. I thought I must not have done it right because it really didn't hurt that much. (Her suggestion to do it slightly to the side of the fingertip helped, too.) But the needle had done it's job; I just had to squeeze a little.

I'm not saying it's fun, but it's not as bad as I thought it was going to be. My fingers are a little tender, but hopefully after my follow up appointment in two weeks 8 days! - I'll be able to switch to only 3x a day.

Cinco, you're worth every bit of struggle, buddy, but you really didn't have to start being a troublemaker like your dad already!

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. 

Pregnancy: Not for the Faint of Heart

Historically speaking with my previous pregnancies, when the time came for the 1-hour glucose test, I failed and had to do the 3-hour test. With S, I had no idea what I was getting into aside from the need to  have my blood taken FOUR TIMES in 3 hours. And we all know how much I love needles. What I wasn't prepared for was fasting and then only have glucola to drink for another three hours before they sucked several pints of blood out of me and I felt hot and sweaty and nauseated.

With Baby R, I knew what to expect, so I tried, half-heartedly, to "eat better" for a few days before the 1-hour test. Didn't matter.

This time around, I was determined to pass that dang 1-hour test. A couple of weeks beforehand, I basically put myself on a diabetic diet, reducing my carb intake, making sure those I was eating were complex instead of simple, avoiding sweets entirely.

The day of the test came. And then the results.

I failed.

The 3-hour test was only a week away, so I continued my diet. In the back of my mind I was worried because Cinco is already measuring big, and I knew one of the reasons could be gestational diabetes. So I needed to be more careful about what I was eating anyway.

Armed with Tina Fey's "Bossypants" to entertain me for the long morning, last Friday I went into the lab expecting the worst. I had already told my boss that even though the test would be over by lunch time, I'd need the whole day off so I could go home afterwards to eat and then nap for a few hours til I felt human again.

My nurse was a sweet gal who hit the vein the first time every time with no incident (hallelujah!). Tina kept me in a good mood, and except for right after chugging the fruit punch-flavored sugar water, I didn't feel badly at all. When it was all said and done, I grabbed a semi-healthy lunch on the go, ran a few errands and picked the girls up early from daycare, amazed I felt up to any of it. I thought to myself, "If only I had taken this approach the first two times, maybe it would have gone this smoothly!" I felt pretty confident that I would get a clear report if I felt so great.

You can guess where I'm going with this, but to keep this post from being overly lengthy, and finally getting posted, I shall close for now.
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