19 Weeks: Double Doctor Duty

Well, it finally happened.  The stars and calendars aligned and I had an OB appointment as well as an endo appointment on the same day.  The festivities began around 10 AM with my OB appointment, followed by my endo appointment at 1 PM, with a light burrito lunch in the middle.  

OB appointment:  

This appointment was fairly boring, if there can be such a thing in this world.  I knew that the nurse would want my pee, so I drank a large decaf coffee before the appointment.  After waiting for 45 minutes, my bladder was nice and ready to give its supply.  Next, she took my weight, which has finally taken an upward trend.  So far I've gained 10 lbs total this pregnancy, which is right on track for what my doctor wants.  It seems my idea of adding a cereal snack at the end of each day worked to beef me up.  I just hope it doesn't start a landslide in the weight gain department.  Then she took my blood pressure, which was 146/74.  It's getting quite comical at this point because my blood pressure was absolutely fine yesterday at the gym and it was 110/70 at the endo's office; it seems I just get anxious at my OB's office--in a good and bad way.  

After all the vitals, I was escorted into a room where Trey was waiting on me.  Another nurse came in to check for little Ferbie's heartbeat.  What happened next is a story so funny that it's definitely one for the baby book.  She placed the wand over my exposed belly and was able to find the heartbeat right away.  "Good," I thought.  But then it disappeared.  So the nurse moved the wand to the other side of my belly where she was able to find it again, but it was there for less than a second before it disappeared again.  "She's trying to run away from me," the nurse said.  Ferbie was not liking having an intruder on her roof, and she began moving up towards my belly button causing me to giggle.  The nurse continued this routine for a few more tries:  find the heartbeat, it disappears, I laugh because I can feel her moving around, repeat.  Finally, she said, "Oh forget it!  She's obviously fine in there.  I just can't get her to stay still!"  I don't know why, but I was feeling quite proud of my daughter at that point and wanted to give her a high five. 

Next, the doctor came in and greeted both of us.  We went over the standard questions:  "Any bleeding?  Loss of fluid?"  No and no, thankfully.  Then he let me ask questions.  If I haven't said it already, my OB is great!  He'll let me ask all the questions I want to for as long as I want.  So I've started keeping a list of questions on my iPod that I reference before my appointments.  I asked him about some muscle cramps I've been having, especially at night that wake me up.  He recommended a magnesium supplement to hopefully relieve the cramps, although I'm enjoying the husband-hired back rubs everyday.  We also talked briefly about pediatricians, which we need to nail down soon before I . . . you know . . . go into labor (!) because they'll need to be there to check her blood sugar after she's born.  Then he measured my fundal height--22 cm.  My doctor was happy with that.  He said he wanted to see me again in 4 weeks for another appointment and ultrasound.  

I made a joke with him "So I don't have to do the glucose test."  "No, definitely not," he said, still clicking away on his tablet.  I smiled and said, "Yeah, I mean what are you going to do?  Put me on insulin?"  This comment caused my doctor to let out a laugh.  I like making fun of diabetes.  

Endo: 

This appointment was even less exciting than my OB appointment, except for this one guy in the lobby who kept staring at my belly.  I just wanted to say "Stare much?  It's not an alien."  But I kept my cool.  

I was called back, and the nurse took my weight (1 lb more than my OB, I'm guessing that was the burrito I had for lunch) and my blood pressure:  110/70.  I just started laughing because the differences between the two offices are quite comical.  I decided I quit on trying to figure it out.  Then the nurse pricked my left middle finger, but she couldn't get enough blood for a strip.  Dang calloused fingertips!  She had to prick another one to get enough.  I was nervous what this A1c was going to be because I had a horrible week during Christmas (just blood sugar wise, the rest of my Christmas was great).  After 5 minutes, my A1c came up:  5.1%  My jaw dropped open because I literally couldn't believe it.  The only rationale I have for it is that when you're used to keeping such tight control that any trend of bad numbers seem significant.  Obviously, my numbers in between these bad episodes were still pretty stable.  

My doctor came in and we looked over my numbers.  "22, huh?" he said, barely any emotion.  "Yeah, that one was pretty bad."  I'm glad he didn't freak out about it, I was done reliving that nightmare.  He changed a few things on my pump to help me keep some lows at bay and hopefully keep me at a more stable trend overall.  We'll see how things go.  I made another appointment for a month from now, but this time it is a week after my OB appointment.  

Overall, I learned that I'm actually doing quite well at this whole pregnancy and diabetes thing.  I need to stop beating myself up when things don't go 100% perfect.  These things fall in line with my only 2 New Year's resolutions:  1) enjoy the rest of this pregnancy to the fullest extent and 2) stop freaking Googling anything health related!!  I'm really serious about that last one, and I've made it 5 days so far!

The One where Firemen Rescue my Diabetes Supplies

Here's a fun diabetes tip to remember:  When evacuating your work building due to a fire alarm, make sure you grab your diabetes bag (a.k.a. my purse) before exiting the building.  Otherwise, it will end in an awkward situation of asking a fireman to rescue your bag because you're having a low episode in the middle of the parking lot.  

A couple days ago, around 10:30 AM, the fire alarm starts blaring in my building at work.  I was in another part of the building at the time, away from my office.  I should have gone straight outside in case it was a real fire instead of walking back up to my office to grab my coat, but I was not standing outside in 30F weather without it.  Normally fire alarms in our office only last for 5-10 minutes tops.  But after 15 minutes in the shivering cold, we realized that this was no drill--something was really smoking or on fire.  Then the rumors circulated that someone saw smoke in the A-wing of the building and that we would be outside for awhile.  

By this time, it's getting close to lunch (yeah, NASA people have lunch at 11 AM) so people began getting in their cars and leaving.  A couple of my officemates proposed the same idea, but as soon as we got in the car to leave I got a BZZZ-BZZZ-BZZZ from my pocket.  "59 mg/dL" heading southeast.  "Crap!  I can't leave.  I'm low and my stuff is still in my office."  At this point, they weren't letting anyone back in the office yet, so I had to put on my pitiful diabetic face and ask the firemen to rescue my diabetes supplies.  

I walked up to the first firetruck where a fireman was leaning on the bumper.  

Me:  "Hi, I left my diabetic supplies in my office.  Is it possible for someone to go get them for me or escort me in there?  I'm in C-wing, so I'm away from the danger zone."  

Fireman:  "Well, they're going to start letting people go inside in 5 minutes.  Can you wait?" 

Me (feeling sweaty at this point):  "Ummm, I'm having a low blood sugar right now . . . "  

Fireman:  "Just a second." 

The very nice fireman got into the truck and radioed his captain (I'm assuming) and agreed that 2 firemen could escort me to my office.  So it must have been a sight:  a pregnant woman being escorted by 2 firemen into a building wailing with fire alarms.  I retrieved my purse and starting chomping away on my glucose tabs, and one of the fireman asked, "Are you OK?"  "Yeah, just having a low blood sugar.  I'll be fine in a few minutes."  

The alarm went off.  My officemates and I went to lunch.  My blood sugar came up.  Crisis averted. 

I kind of wish every time I had a low that I could be surrounded by such nice firemen. 

Just Talking with my Husband

Last year, I had the privilege of being a guest on Chris' podcast.  We talked about all things diabetes, house remodeling, and football, because those things go together. 

This year, he and Dayle came over for dinner and a delicious dessert, and we recorded a podcast where the featured guest was none other than my hubby.  This is truly a treat because Trey is sort of anti-internet exposure (yet, he's married to a blogger. oh the irony!).  He was a good sport and stayed for the whole hour, even though he promised only 15 minutes.  We talked about his fascination with lasers, fire-building, and hatchets--good guy topics.  We also talked about getting used to diabetes as a married couple and my pregnancy thus far. 

Enjoy! 

The Answer is in the Cake

Last Thursday was my 18 week anatomy scan and ultrasound.  After a rough night dealing with dangerous low blood sugars, I was ready to know that my baby was OK and still doing well in there.  After a few minutes of holding Trey's hand in the waiting room, the tech called my name and we went back to the ultrasound room.  

The first thing she asked me as I was taking a seat on the table was, "Have you felt any movement yet?"  I was happy to reply, "Yes, a ton!"  It's true, this kid has a standing gymnastics appointment everyday around 9:30 AM.  I am the balance beam, I guess. 

I leaned back on the table, and she put the jelly wand on my belly.  The first thing she checked was the baby's heartbeat, which was whump-whumping away at 141 beats per minute.  That check alone made my fears ease a little bit.  So I took a deep breath and tried to enjoy the rest of the appointment.  

Then she went underneath the baby to look underneath its legs.  She said, "Well, it looks like it's a girl."  I wanted to be absolutely sure about that part, so I'm glad she went to zoom in.  "Oh yeah, definitely a girl."  I couldn't do anything but laugh.  Trey touched his hand on my knee and smiled at me.  The rest of the time, she used the pronoun "she" to describe all of her other parts.  

The tech went through and checked all of her major organs and bone structure to make sure everything looked good.  Heart, kidneys, gastrointestinal, stomach, spine, everything checked out.  Then she checked her feet, hands, and face and took snapshots for us to print out.  I had a slight diabetic moment when she checked her stomach, which was measuring a few days ahead at 19 weeks and 1 day, compared to her head that was measuring right on time at 18 weeks and 3 days.  I asked the tech if those were good numbers because I was worried about my little girl being bigger due to my diabetes, and she said they were fine and they don't worry unless things starts measuring a week ahead or more.  

It's hard not to be worried about every little thing as a pregnant diabetic, especially when I'm one who has done her homework and researched the death out of diabetic pregnancies beforehand.  I want to change my mindset to where I only will worry about stuff that my doctor brings up, not what I find on the internet.  It's fine if anyone wants to research about their health, but it can lead to a sort of hypochondria where we start to look for things that should be left for the doctor.  I go see my OB again on Thursday, so I'm going to try and keep my trap shut about my worries unless he brings them up first.  

We spent the weekend hosting Trey's family for the New Year's holiday, and we decided to let them know the gender of the baby via cake (like you do).  Everyone was happy to know that we're having a little girl, and many tears were shed when we revealed that she would be named after Trey's grandmother.  Our daughter has quite the loving family waiting on her. 

Sweet like me, pink like her. 

Not a Goat

Thanks to everyone regarding my last post.  This disease is an emotional one as well as a physical one, but I'm so glad I have this platform to gain support and have virtual arms wrap around me.  Things have leveled out, finally, and I feel confident going forward.  

I just wanted to update you all that our appointment went great!  We have a perfectly healthy little baby with all the right organs in all the right places.  But you'll have to wait on the gender announcement for a few days.  We have a few people we need to tell first, like grandparents and stuff.  

Boy or girl, I am just so happy with this gift that I want to burst.  I'm also glad it's not a goat. 

My Worst Night Ever

Last night was, by far, the worst night I've ever had with diabetes.  I set a new record for myself for a low, not that I'm bragging in the least.  I still feel scared writing this down, because I'm not really sure how I'm alive. 

It all started when I was battling a high for 3 hours before bed.  It was a nice Bell curve high that made me want to use my CGM for target practice.  I stacked bolus on bolus as well as having an increased basal to make this high go down.  Normally this practice results in me going low, in fact it usually does.  But it's usually nothing I can't handle, and I'd rather be low than high right now.  So when I finally when to bed at 160 mg/dL with an arrow going down, I thought I would coast to a landing around 100 mg/dL and have a nice flatline that I normally do overnight.  

I woke up at 1 AM completely drenched in sweat, the only thing waking me up was Constance blaring at me.  I don't remember walking to the kitchen, but I got there somehow.  I put the strip in the meter and pierced my left index finger.  Five seconds later . . . 

22 mg/dL 

That's the first time I've ever had a number lower than my age.  Surprisingly, I didn't really get scared at the number.  I just remember thinking, "Uhhh, I probably need to correct that."  I ate a banana while making a peanut butter sandwich.  I finished it off with some cranberry juice.  I considered that it was probably an overcorrection, but I was freaking 22 mg/dL!  I was in survival mode.  So when I woke up again at 2 AM to a high alarm, I laced in 2 units for good measure.  It was hard to go back to sleep at that point, but I finally did at 3 AM.  

My alarm goes off at 5 AM, and I decide to snooze due to last night's festivities.  I also decided to go ahead and bolus for my breakfast so the insulin could be working while I snoozed.  Bad idea!  Trey and I slept through the 2nd alarm and neither one of us woke up until 6:30 AM.  Actually, Trey woke up and was standing over me with a glass of juice.  "Baby, you're sweaty.  Here."  I mumbled and eventually woke up, but Trey had to pull me up into a sitting position.  I drank the juice while he walked me to the kitchen.  I tested, this time on the left middle finger:  22 mg/dL.  I heard Trey gasp, and I whispered, "That's what I was last night."  "What?!"  I made my cereal and sat down on the couch, all while Trey was following me like a hawk.  "I'm hovering until you come up."  I smiled, finally feeling better but cold from all the sweat.  

How could this happen?  I reached my lowest threshold twice in 6 hours.  I'm grateful for my CGM and my husband, because I honestly don't know if I would have woken up without them.  I feel horrible this morning, even thought I should be looking forward to our gender ultrasound later this morning.  The last 24 hours have been the worst ever for me with diabetes.  At this point, I don't care if our child is a goat, as long as their healthy and haven't felt the effects from all this.  That's what makes this post so hard. 

What Matters to Me

Merry post-Christmas, everyone!  I hope you all had a great holiday and got to eat some bolusworthy food and your BGs behaved well.  I experienced some food guilt, which seems to be subsiding for now.  My mind is filled with all things baby right now, especially after seeing family and getting ready to find out what little Ferbie is on Thursday.  So I hope you'll indulge me for a few posts (as if this blog hasn't been baby-filled already).  

One thing I noticed when I became pregnant is that for as many "Congratulations!" I received, I got just as many "What are you going to do about . . . " inquiries.  And the "abouts" ranged anywhere from breastfeeding to attempting natural childbirth to vaccinating.  To be honest, I hadn't thought about half of these things before I saw two lines on my bathroom counter.  I simply knew that I was pregnant and this child was mine and I was responsible for it, that was about it.  

Now that I've had a few months to think about it and get used to this whole parenting idea, I've realized that a lot of that stuff is exactly that . . . stuff.  I don't think my kid will care in 20 years if I had an epidural or even a C-section when they were born.  I'm pretty sure they're gonna care that they're here.  And whether or not I make my own baby food or buy it from a jar, I'm pretty sure they won't care as long as they're fed.  My list of things that I care about are extremely short compared to those that "everyone" (you know, the proverbial "everyone" that is really no one) seems to think I should.  

The one thing that matters to me more than anything is that my child has a good character.  To me character is defined as that choice you make when no one else is looking.  Children are a gift from God, so my main job as their mom is to make sure they don't grow up to be heathens.  That's what matters most to Trey and me, not whether or not their mom could breastfeed for 3 months, 6 months, or one whole year.  

So for every "It's best for your child if . . . " statements, I'll simply nod my head and smile.  I'm not going to think I'm any less of a mom if my child has an organic apple or a store bought one.  It's a freaking apple!  If they say "Thank you" after I hand it to them, that's more important to me than where the apple came from.  And I also don't think any less of any mom if they choose to vaccinate, can't breastfeed, or chooses any other method of parenting that they think is best for them.  It's not my child; I simply care that they grow up to be somewhat good people who open doors for the elderly and know how to wait their turn (hello, frantic mall shoppers).  

This might be a pregnant hormone-fueled post that I might end up regretting later.  But I just think someone needs to say this, so it might as well be me.  So long as they're dressed and fed and eventually learn to be grateful and love the Lord with all their mind, body, and strength, I could give a rip about everything else.