27-Week Ultrasound & Glucose-Testing

Yesterday I went in for the glucose-test with great fear and trembling. I hadn't given much thought to it until some moms at work, a few days earlier, decided to dump their horror stories on me. One mom actually had gestational diabetes and was forced to check her blood sugar four times a day and give herself insulin shots. Another mom failed the test and had to re-take the test, using the 3-hour method where her blood was tested once an hour for three hours. As an excellent test-taker, I was not ready to fail a test that I obviously needed to prepare for.

I changed my appointment from the afternoon to the morning (after being told I'd be less likely to fail the test if I did it in the morning) and groveled for a sub at work. I then made sure that everyone (co-workers, gal-pals, husband, mom, sister) knew that I had fallen victim to "mommy war-wound" stories. Then I began the tedious task of regulating my protein, carbs, and sugar for my Wednesday appointment (so maybe I should have been doing that part all along). Needless to say, I found myself a bit snappy on Tuesday without the sugar I so dearly love.

Wednesday morning came and I was sure to fast until after the test. I drank my orange glucose drink (I'm ashamed to admit I didn't hate it) and then headed to the doctor earlier than needed, like a good test-taker does. I patiently waited an hour to have my blood drawn and, afterwards, ripped into a Fiber One bar that I had packed...like a well-prepared student does, of course. I then waited another hour for the test results and to see my doctor.

The nurse called me back and casually informed me on the walk to the exam room that I had passed the test and not to give it a second thought. Aced another one! I knew all of my preparation had paid off handsomely. She continued to tell me that my numbers all looked quite good and that they were pleased with my iron levels, blood pressure, weight, etc. I was beaming.

While beginning my ultra-sound, the nurse told me about a woman, the previous day, who had actually passed out after the test. I laughed heartily at the poor girl and gave myself a mental pat on the back for being on top of my game. While we looked at Barrett (who I must mention the nurse cooed over and called "cute" several times...more pats on the back for me), I began to feel very hot. I tried to ignore it, but I knew the old familiar feeling. Soon I was feeling sick to my stomach and sweating. I notified the nurse who sat me up to see if getting off of my back would help. Nope..."don't roll off the table" played over and over in my mind. Then the nurse instructed me to roll to my left side, while she got me a wet washcloth and crackers. As I slowly started to feel better, I shivered from the sweat-mustache I'd developed during my little episode. After recovering, I had to wait almost another hour before the nurse would let me leave. I sheepishly made some joke about not being as tough as I thought. I then proceeded to the closest Wendy's and inhaled a hamburger and spent the rest of the day napping.

Not my finest moment, but a memorable pregnant-moment, nonethless. What I've learned from this experience: 1) I will not let mommies scare me with their war-stories 2) I will never assume I'm tougher than the next pregger or mommy 3) a pack of crackers in the purse doesn't hurt.

Below is an ultrasound of Barrett Ryan. It's a close-up of his face, laying sideways. His eyes are dark (it looks like he's wearing a superhero mask) but you can see his little nose, mouth, and chin. I was told he was sucking in this particular photo so his lips are slightly parted. I have a feeling he's just laughing at me.