Oh yes, diabetes, my old nemesis. We have danced before, and I’ve always managed to come out on top, only having it during one random pregnancy (it was my second, but I say random because I’ve never had it since, a thing that baffles my OB to this day), and that time I am convinced was brought about by stress. Just two weeks before the test for that one, where they give you a bottle of a disgustingly sweet liquid that tastes as if someone took about three gallons of Gatorade and boiled it down into an eight ounce cup of sludge to drink and then take your blood for testing repeatedly over the course of three hours, tragedy struck my family. My niece died. It was terrible and sad and heart wrenching and all the horrible things you can imagine it might be if any young member of your family were to die. To say I was stressed during that time period would be an understatement. Add to that the fact that my family has always used food as a comfort mechanism and right then we needed a huge helping of comfort, and voila: failed sugar test.
It wasn’t fun, but it was a heck of a lot better than it could have been. For me, diet and exercise (walking) managed my blood sugar just fine and I never have to take insulin injections. The aforementioned quite baffled doctor still tests me every single pregnancy. Every single time I have failed the one hour test and all but once I have passed the three hour test. On Monday of last week, they gave me another test. I failed. On Friday, they tested me again.
I finally gave up waiting to hear from the clinic with my results yesterday so I called them. I assumed I’d have to leave a voice mail and wait for a call back, but instead, I got (wonder of wonders) a real live person. What’s even better this real live person gave me some real good news: I don’t have gestational diabetes! For this, I’m giving big ol’ shout out of thanks to all of our “babies'” up in heaven (by “our” I mean mine, my brothers’ and sister, my nieces and nephews, and my friend’s; I know, it’s sad that I know this many little saints personally), but especially to my niece Fiona. You see, Friday, the day of the test, was what would have been her eighth birthday. She passed away just over six years ago, about two weeks before that first failed test. So thanks, Fi, for helping Aunt Bridgie through and keeping those numbers down. I know it was your birthday, but I appreciate the present, for reals.