My tummy made a rumbly at 11:52 last night. Immediately, I shot out of bed and made a beeline for the kitchen.
Brian: What are you doing?
Me: I’m hungry! I still have eight minutes!
Brian: Oh. Would you mind bringing me some water when you come back?
(See? It goes both ways.)
The doctors had ordered that I begin fasting at midnight last night for a glucose tolerance test that took place at 8:30 this morning. Personally, I questioned the brilliance of asking a pregnant woman to fast. While driving to my appointment, I mused, …Do they ask women in countries like Denmark or the Netherlands to stop eating for any reason when they’re pregnant? Or the countries that rank most successful in avoiding mortality of both the mother and infant, do they do these tests? I don’t even know what this is for…
Actually, the test was to determine if I’ve got gestational diabetes. It’s a pretty standard test here in the United States. I’m told (because I asked) that even if I had it now, I wouldn’t necessarily have any present signs or symptoms to peak my suspicion.
Square Piece got pricked THREE separate times with a blood-drawing butterfly needle. This is a record for me. The fear of needles used to make me pass out. I’m a big girl now (literally and figuratively), so these days I just swallow my anxiety and twitchiness and focus on an object while going into a daze.
Unfortunately that daze-like state followed me into the bathroom where I TOTALLY screwed up the process of doing a urine sample. There I was, holding the soap wipe, the saline wipe and the urine cup, having just heard the directions repeated 30 seconds prior. Distracted and dazed from my blood drawing, I sat down and accidentally fixated on some literature that was on a shelf in front of me and – before I knew it – I had completely emptied my bladder with not a drop to salvage for my empty urine container! Immediately, I panicked and tried convincing myself that surely there had to be something in reserve. Pee! Pee! Puh-lease tell me I did not just screw this up! Could she have BEEN more clear with the instructions?! How could I have forgotten the part where you COLLECT the pee?! My body would not cooperate and I had to leave the bathroom empty-handed, head hung in shame that I, straight-A-full-academic-scholarship-Square-Piece, had failed to successfully collect a simple urine sample.
Fortunately, since I was there for over two hours, I had had another chance to relieve myself and paid very careful attention that time. Leaving the bathroom, I thought to myself, Okay, will I EVER get good at this? It’s so easy for men. They know exactly where the pee comes out and where to place the cup. I’m always guessing too high or too low and having to stop and start and it’s just a ridiculous mess. Is this something people get better at over time or will I always be bad at this?
Moving on from the delightful analysis of my urine sample catastrophes, while talking with one of my midwives, I mentioned “The Charley Horse From Hell.” Presently, I’m on day four of limping around while nursing my right calf muscle.
Me: How does this compare to labor? If you had to compare this charley horse to labor pains…?
Her: Oh, hands down, I’d take 12 hours of labor over the pain of waking up to a charley horse. No question. With labor, the contraction only lasts for a little while, then you have a period of relief and can rest.
Me: Yeah, and I haven’t had relief for four days…
Her: Pushing on the other hand…? Now if I had to choose between the pain of pushing the baby out or a charley horse…?
Okay, it looked like maybe she’d take the charley horse.
Another matter that we discussed was support hose… again. See, I’ve purchased hose at Motherhood Maternity and the word “support” WAS on the packaging. It didn’t seem, however, like that support was really amounting to much. So my midwife explained in full detail exactly which pharmacy I needed to go to in order to get the real deal.
Tomorrow we will be discussing this magical pharmacy and why, in a matter of 10-15 minutes, this became my new happy place.