Today was the infamous blood glucose screening. I had to drink this.
This gross stuff... is gross.
Let me tell you a little story about this crap.
...not so sure...
It’s nasty crap. You chug this sugary sweet stuff, kinda tastes like a Fanta. It actually gave me a headache. It was so sweet, it burned. I took video. I will share it. After I upgrade this blog so that I can actually upload videos to it. Whatevs.
So you chug the crap. Then you wait an hour, and you go get your blood drawn.
I swear they are stockpiling my blood just in case of complications, because every time they draw my blood they take like, 20 vials.
This was the first baby doctor appointment where I didn’t have the accompaniment of the Hubs. He had to work late, so I was flying solo for the big blood draw. I show up the requisite 10 minutes early, only to be informed that my regular doctor, Dr. M, is in emergency surgery.
“But Dr. W has agreed to see you, would that be okay?”
So I’m flying solo, I’m about to be down gallons of blood, and a stranger is going to prod me and ask questions about my baby.
Bring it on.
The blood draw didn’t suck so bad. The girl who did the draw complimented my bump-emphasizing ensemble. You compliment my outfit, you can take my blood.
Then I went in to meet with New Doc.
This was possibly the nicest doctor ever. A bit more of a talker than my regular Doc. He answered lots of questions about the blood glucose test, and why they draw so much blood. He encouraged me about my weight gain (I’m gaining about a pound a week, and as he put it “We’ll let you know if you’re getting out of control. You shouldn’t worry about it.”). When he measured my fundal height, he commented that I was really “growing good”.
“Tell me about it.”
Is “growing good” a good thing? I’m going to assume it is. I have no outside party to bounce that one off of. The lack of Hubby’s presence leaves much room for misinterpretation of Doctor Speak.
He asked about baby’s movements, and I informed him with some pride that Baby Dub is quite an active little fetus. Sometimes it baffles me trying to comprehend the kick-punch combos she’s throwing in there. What kind of invisible ninja army is she single-handedly defeating?
Dr. W felt around and informed me that he “couldn’t quite tell” the baby’s positioning… if she’s head down or not. I am still trying to wrap my mind around how he could possibly expect to tell the baby’s positioning from the perfunctory belly prodding he gave me. Man, doctors are smart.
And when we listened to Baby Dub’s heartbeat, I smiled to myself and stared at the ceiling as Baby Dub repeatedly kicked at the ultrasound wand thingy. She heard me brag about her activity level.
After all the business was done, I asked questions about travel, and exercise, and DHA supplements. Dr. W informed me that I can (as long as no complications arise between now and then) fly up to 36 weeks, and that I should aim for a heart rate under 140 on my runs, and spouted off a slight rant on the marketing campaigns behind many popular supplements.
All in all, an information-packed and rather relaxed appointment, considering the amount of blood lost.
Starting now, I go to the doctor once every two weeks instead of every month. That’s a lot of time at the doctor. And while I hope that the Hubs doesn’t have to miss many more, and I also hope that I don’t have to endure many more blood draws (I’m known to faint at needles and shots and blood draws), its not so scary to fly solo.
Now we wait and see if I have gestational diabetes. Which I really hope I don’t. I don’t want to go back for a three hour test.
No offense to the wonderfully friendly and talkative staff at our doctor’s office.