Through the storm

The last couple of weeks in the Gagnon household have been pretty stressful ones. Around 28 weeks of a pregnancy they check you for gestational diabetes. You get to drink this glucose drink that tastes like 7 of those barrel juices we used to drink as kids and then they draw your blood and check your blood sugar level. It’s done with all pregnant women because gestational diabetes can literally happen to any woman who is pregnant. It has to do with hormones your body is producing to create a healthy environment for the baby. My doctor said that they have women come in who are marathon runners and have an impeccable diet and still get gestational diabetes.

For me getting gestational diabetes was my worse fear behind having a miscarriage. Diabetes is something that is very prevalent in my family’s history. Very prevalent. I was obsessed with how much weight I was gaining, how my tests were coming back, and the possibility that I could have gestational diabetes. My doctor was actually becoming concerned because I was becoming so obsessive about talking about it in my appointments. She wondered what my biggest concern was and all I could say was, “I don’t want gestational diabetes”. She would then again explain to me how it’s not something I could control in my world that I was desperately trying to control. It was all hormonal and that’s it. I had to accept that it was a possibility. 15-20% of pregnant women get it and that’s 1 in 10 women. Huge numbers when you consider how many women in America get preggo in a year.

I had the test and then got the phone call, “Amy, your tests were high. We’d like you to come back in and take a three hour glucose test.” I got to go to the hospital and have my blood drawn four times in three hours and sit in waiting room chairs. It was not a fun morning. I was terrified that my worse fear was coming true. The next day I got the call, “Amy, your tests were too high. Really high. We are referring you to the Diabetic Healthcare Center. You have gestational diabetes.” The tears were pouring down my face. It wasn’t my fault but it sure felt like my fault. Every medical person I spoke to over the next day tried to remind me that it wasn’t my fault. They were talking in one ear and it was going out the other.

I went to the healthcare center and got educated on what to eat and when to exercise. That night I checked my blood sugar when I was suppose to, ate the correct amount of carbs, walked after dinner, the whole shebang. Anything so I wouldn’t have to go on insulin. The next couple of days went by and I checked in with a nurse. My morning numbers were high and my afternoon numbers were fine. Between that and my three hour glucose test they were recommending that I go on insulin. I had to go in yesterday and learn how to do insulin treatments. The educator said something that finally clicked, “Think of it more as a hormone treatment for the rest of your pregnancy.” It made sense. I would do anything to keep my baby safe. Doing a hormonal thing was nothing compared to her coming into the world happy and healthy.

I then met with the endocrinologist and was told that there is a possibility that I have diabetes and not just gestational diabetes. My world literally crashed around me. I couldn’t hear what the doctor was saying anymore, just my heart beating in my head. I didn’t understand. I was told for months that I was totally healthy. I didn’t know the questions to ask other than, “Is she going to be okay?” which I got a kind smile and, “Yes. She will be a healthy little girl that we’re expecting you to have because you took care of her.” All I could comprehend was that something that wasn’t my fault was entirely my fault. I should have exercised more. I should have eaten better. I should have had my blood tested for diabetes whether I had insurance or not. I should have taken care of myself whether I was pregnant or not. Something I was running from my whole life came up and just smacked me into the Milky Way without even saying, “Sorry, buddy.” Rude.

This morning I had blood drawn again to confirm or deny if I have diabetes. So I know this post is pre-mature. “Kicky Housewife, you’re sharing something that you don’t even know about yet. Calm down!” I know that. This is my life right now. This is me. While I’ve been reassured that if I do have diabetes it is totally manageable these days. If I take care of it and do what I’m suppose to do I can live as long as anyone else. For me I think about my family. My husband has to deal with this now too. My daughter has to wonder why mommy has to prick herself all the time and why she can’t eat the birthday cake she made. I hate the idea that a large chunk of our income will go specifically to me and my needs every year because of choices I made.

In reality this means one thing. Me and my family with have to live a healthful life. We have to eat the right things. My daughter will learn that being healthy is eating more than eating a Pop-Tart for breakfast or not eating when she thinks she weighs too much. Hopefully she will live a life of health and not have to go through what her mom is right now and maybe for the rest of her life. Me and Tim are trying to be positive whatever the outcome is. This week has been one hell of a storm that I’m trying to work my way through. Hopefully when the skies part and I can see clearly ahead of me I’ll feel better about everything, whatever that “everything” may be. I can’t fall a part and get lost in the storm because I have a little one on board that is relying on me. She comes first. I just wish she was here right now to physically remind me that life is so much more than a bump in the road.

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