There comes a time in every fat, disgusting pregnant woman’s life when they have to drink the Kool-Aid.
That’s right, folks: it’s Gestational Diabetes testing time!
I’m blogging to you live from Gamma Dynacare Labs here in beautiful, sunny Ottawa, Ontario. Just kidding. It’s -6 and we are expecting 15 cm of snow today. Ottawa: where happiness comes to die.
For the next hour, you’ll bear witness to my sleep-deprived, sugar-infused ramblings as I yammer on about what I can only predict to be intolerable nonsense, including, but not limited to: pregnancy grievances, general malaise, and petty insults I bestow upon my fellow unsuspecting lab-goers waiting alongside me in this stuffy, overcrowded waiting room.
I’ve been gone for a minute, after suffering an incapacitating virus and an almost inconceivable lack of sleep. But I’m back, and better than ever. (Just kidding, I had less than 4 hours of sleep last night and I’m pretty sure I blacked out on the drive over here).
What exactly is gestational diabetes?
I’m glad you asked. According to The Canadian Diabetes Association, gestational diabetes (GD) occurs when your fat, disgusting pregnant body can’t produce enough insulin to handle the effects of the growing baby and changing hormone levels. If your fat, disgusting pregnant body cannot produce enough insulin, your blood glucose levels will rise, which can pose a health risk to both you and your baby.
Before we get started, I highly recommend you head on over to my previous failed blog, Mandatory Sobriety, to get the low-down on this whole GD thing, and find out what happened to me last time. Then meet me back here.
Okay, everyone settled? Bottoms up!
8:15am: Well, good news. I managed to down my glucose drink without throwing up, which is legitimately no small feat for a significant portion of the pregnant population. As I sat down to consume my sugary breakfast, I was joined by a fellow fat, disgusting pregnant woman who proceeded to challenge me to a drinking contest. Obviously, she had no idea who she was up against. Lady, I’m a former high-functioning alcoholic. You don’t stand a chance. Needless to say, I absolutely destroyed her.
8:30am: My fetus seems to be responding in a rather agitated manner to the elevated amount of sugar I’ve consumed. Frankly, I’m surprised, since a typical breakfast for me includes two Toaster Strudels, a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, a bagel, cinnamon sticks, the most sugary fruit I can find and one time I even popped open a can of Coca Cola because when you’ve had less than 4 hours sleep, don’t drink coffee and work full-time, you resort to some desperate measures. My fat, disgusting pregnant compadre is playing Candy Crush.
8:45am: Have you ever had the unfortunate luck of being seated next to a crying baby on a flight? The equivalent of that has to be being seated next to a sniffling adolescent in a blood lab. This kid, who I’ve affectionally labeled Dopey, posted up next to me about 10 minutes ago and I actually counted the amount of sniffles in the span of one minute: it was a staggering 56! Dopey, dude. C’mon. Get a tissue. I’m not playing, and my compatriot over here isn’t, either. We are two pregnant ladies on a mission not to rage-throw up our glucose drink, and I will choke a teenager if that’s what it takes to get a little peace and quiet around here. The court would throw out my case. My companion has closed her eyes and seems to have slipped into a glucose coma.
9:00am: It’s getting down to the wire. My fetus appears to be freaking out, throwing punches and elbows and possibly a butt cheek or two, I don’t know. I’ve been informed that in addition to not being allowed to eat, drink, or even leave the lab for the duration of my test, I’m not even allowed to pee. On the real, if my little womb buddy continues to Riverdance on my bladder, there’s going to be a clean up in aisle 4 situation all up in this Dynacare. My pregnant partner in crime woke up from her trance, but I’ve since discovered that she does not speak English, so we’ve resorted to communicating using elaborate hand gestures and dank memes.
9:15am: What the hell is taking so long? It’s officially been an hour, Dynacare. I’m getting pretty fed up of staring at this waiting room of blank-faced sickos and breathing their contaminated air. I’ve also grown weary of my foreign friend. She seems more interested in crushing candy and less interested in playing a game of Date, Marry or Kill with me and our waiting room population. What a buzzkill.
9:20am: My name has been called! Off to get poked with a needle. PEACE OUT YOU SAD, SICK SACS. And to my fellow gestating glucose buddy, may the odds be ever in your favour.
9:30am: What better way to celebrate the successful completion of yet another gestational diabetes test than a wholesome breakfast at McDonald’s. Stay tuned for Part 2 of my GD journey, as I’m sure to have failed this initial test spectacularly.