I’m Tired of Talking About It: Do I have Gestational Diabetes Or Not?

Are you as sick of reading about my potential gestational diabetes diagnosis as I am of writing about it?

You’re in luck, because this is the last time either of us have to endure it.

After a week of officially freaking out (mostly sulking), not sleeping (there’s a shocker) and eating healthy (barf-o-rama), I am happy–and frankly, a little shocked–to report that I do not have gestational diabetes.

Far from it, actually.

According to science, my fat, disgusting pregnant body is completely normal when it comes to insulin production and blood sugar regulation.

My Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT) Results

So what gives?

Why all the unnecessary stress over nothing?

Only around 75% accurate

Last week, my midwife–rather unconvincingly–tried to assure me that the first test I spectacularly failed–the Glucose Challenge Test (GCT)–is actually only around 75% accurate.

Of course, I couldn’t take what a grown woman in overalls was telling me at face value without conducting my own research.

So I did, and it turns out she was right.

According to a study* conducted in 2012, if there are 100 women that actually have gestational diabetes, 74 will have a positive GCT test, and the other 26 won’t know that they have it. The 77% “specificity” means that if 100 random women test positive for GD, 23 of them (including me in this case) don’t actually have it.

Yo, science: listen up. There has to be a better option than putting us through this crap. On behalf of fat, disgusting pregnant women everywhere–please come up with a better plan.

I’ll leave you to it while I power through this box of Oreo thins over here.

No calls.

*Shoutout to my new friend and fellow toddler mom Sarah, who helped me make sense of the study. Women & Science, y’all. 

The Two-Hour Glucose Tolerance Test: Highlights, Lowlights and Vern

Because I’m a spectacular failure and soared well over the threshold for my one-hour Glucose Challenge Test (GCT) last week, I went back to the lab today for a second screening for gestational diabetes — the dreaded two-hour Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT).

As predicted, to pass the time, I once again live-blogged the entire thing.

But first, a little background.

WHY THE TWO TESTS?

In Canada, there are two screens for gestational diabetes, according to Diabetes Canada: the Glucose Challenge Test (GCT) and the Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT).

The GCT involves drinking a sugary drink containing 50 g of glucose, and having your blood drawn an hour later to check your blood sugar level. The idea is to see how efficiently your body processes sugar.  If the reading is too high, you have to go back for a two-hour Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT), which involves more blood draws and a higher concentration glucose drink, to see whether you really do have gestational diabetes.

Okay, let’s do this.

8:00am: After 12 hours of fasting, my blood was just taken to establish a baseline. This is the first of three blood draws I will have this morning. I feel lightheaded already and I haven’t even choked down the glucose drink. 75 g this time, vs 50 g last time.

Cheers.

8:30am: Since I’m going to be here a while, I wasted no time in making new friends.

Meet Vern.

Vern is a year-and-a-half-old yellow lab whose likes include wandering around sniffing everyone’s crotch, whining impatiently when he’s not being directly spoken to, and delicious pocket treats generously dispensed by his human, James. I’m not sure of the specific medical reason James has for needing a service dog like Vern, but I kind of want the same diagnosis because Vern is a really, really good boy. If he wasn’t so obviously serving a legitimate medical purpose, I would be currently orchestrating an elaborate plan to kidnap him when James gets up to get his blood drawn. We’d start a new life together, Vern and I, full of frolic and fancy. Take me out of this place, Vern. Take me far away.

9:00am: It’s time for my second draw to see how I’m reacting to the early morning sugar dump into my bloodstream. If last week is any indication, my guess is not well. Vern, send me all your strength.

Wait for me on the other side, pal.

9:15am: My favourite lab tech — a no-nonsense Jamaican hurricane named Karen — is here today, and we had a good chat as she expertly stuck a needle into my bruised arm. Shortly before my name was called, an irate eastern European lady sitting across from me began to sass-mouth her and Karen was having NONE OF IT. Her professionalism shone through like the class act that she is, but I swear, she was seconds away from Lab Lady Smackdown 2017 on this horrible woman. Team Karen all the way — I’d ride with her into battle any day of the week. Vern informed me he is also on Team Karen.

9:30am: To everyone’s dismay, Vern has departed the lab, dutifully following his human, James, out the door. No one is more devastated than I am. How will I make the last leg of this journey without you, Vern?

I’m never washing these pants.

9:45am: Janet Jackson is blasting in my earphones. If this woman can dance like it’s her last day on earth and pop out a baby at 50, I can handle a secondary test for gestational diabetes at 33.

10:00am: Karen beckons. It’s time for my third and final blood draw. I’m not sure I want to do this without Vern to come back to. I’m not even sure that I can.

10:30am: It’s over, and now we wait. Special shout-out to Vern, for giving me the support I needed during this difficult time. Full disclosure — today, I’m eating like there’s no tomorrow, because in mere hours, I’ll probably have a diagnosis of gestational diabetes and it’ll be, at the very minimum, a strict diet of vegetables and chicken from now until July. This is unbelievably devastating for reasons I’m not quite ready to acknowledge, so in the meantime, I’m going to savour these Toaster Strudels like I’ve never savoured anything before.

Bon appetit.

My Fat, Disgusting Pregnant Body Was Tested for Gestational Diabetes Today, and I Live-Blogged The Entire Thing

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.

I’ll wait.

Okay, everyone settled? Bottoms up!

Glucose drink

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.