Here We Go Again

If it were possible, I would call my pancreas into a meeting, point at it and snarl, “You’re fired!”

But apparently, it already quit on me, jealous of that attention-seeking temp worker, the placenta.

So, hello, Gestational Diabetes!

We meet once again. T’was more than eight years ago since we last worked together, but oh, I remember. The daily pin-pricks. The re-vamped recipes. The food journal.

The test was just like in the United States — an awful, sugary drink followed by blood work over the course of a few hours. Martin called a few days later for the results, initially holding up a thumbs-up. I thought this meant I was in the clear, and briefly rejoiced. But then his face changed, realising I misunderstood his intent. Thumbs-up simply meant my test results were IN, but as the nurse explained, results indicated elevated blood glucose levels.

I’m disappointed, but it wasn’t completely unexpected. I had it when pregnant with Lola, which was a surprise since my only risk factor at the time was my age, being older than 25. This time, I could check off a few more risk factors, to include having it before, my age, and being overweight. Knowing all these things, I decided as soon as I knew I was expecting to be more careful with my diet and hope for the best.

Fortunately, none of this is new to me or Martin. The kids are super interested in the whole process of monitoring my blood sugars and keeping track of the numbers. Miss C remembers the work involved. Lola is incredibly empathetic. As she watched me prick my finger and bleed onto the strip, she asked, “You really did all this for me, too?” Though all the kids have been helpful and attentive, Lola is the most eager to be my assistant, setting up my lancing device, making sure my kit is stocked with alcohol wipes and strips, keeping an eye on the clock to make sure I’m getting an accurate reading. Jaz is impressed with the technology of it, amazed that a tiny strip can pull data from a drop of blood.

It took awhile to figure out what I could or could not eat. It’s not just a matter of skipping the donuts and ice cream, and other carbs such as bread and potato chips: those are easy to identify. It’s the other stuff that’s tripped me up.

For example, after the first three days of a new super strict diet, I could NOT figure out why my blood sugar remained so elevated. Literally made the joke that I was going to turn into a panda living off of nothing, but water and bamboo. Finally, it dawned on me to have Martin read the German label of the magnesium supplement prescribed to me a few weeks before the GD test. Ha! I won’t be taking that anymore.

We had an appointment with a diabetes specialist earlier today. Martin got stuck in traffic and was late for my appointment, so I had to go in and speak German myself, give my full medical history, my experience with gestational diabetes almost 10 years ago, what I’ve been doing this past week, etc.


But things went well. By the time Martin got there with my paperwork, the doctor and I were done with everything, exceptfor the information she needed from the paperwork. When Martin started explaining some of my history, she was like, “No, no, your wife already explained.” Ha! 

I may not need him at my appointments as a translator anymore, but definitely for support. While tests showed I did not have diabetes a few weeks ago (meaning this is definitely pregnancy-related), it appears I will need to give myself insulin shots every day until FestBaby arrives. (Got to track my levels for a few more days to confirm.)

This means careful management and salad for days!!! 

With Martin, Wynter (who has been researching recipes to make for me), and my three little nurses at home in my corner, I ain’t even fazed.

We got this.