Today I took the dreaded glucose test, or as the instructions on the bottle of sugar-water read, the test that you just fit into your daily routine without any inconvenience. (I’m paraphrasing there a bit.)
The bottle basically says to go about your business as usual, eat your breakfast and/or lunch as usual, then wait exactly two hours, then drink the bottle of putrid sugar water that’s supposed to be lemon/lime flavored but really tastes like rancid sugar dissolved in barely-potable water. You must drink it all in 5-10 minutes, stand on your head, not vomit, begin driving the 40 minutes to the blood draw facility where you should tell the employees exactly when you finished drinking it so they can take out half of your body’s total quantity of blood at exactly 60 minutes past the time that you finished your last drop of liquid. You should continue not vomiting and not eating until after your blood has been taken.
I’m not sure what all those vials of blood were for. I know one is to test for gestational diabetes, which is what the sugar-water is for. (Am I the only person who thinks of Edgar’s wife from Men in Black when I say “sugar-water”?) I suspect the other 13 vials are either just to make you feel like your whole trip was worthwhile or to continue the Jane Austeny tradition of “bleeding” someone to get the oogies out of their system.
I had an OB appointment directly following the glucose test in the same building so I wanted to plan to get done with the blood work and to the doctor at precisely the correct time, which meant I made a plan where I followed the directions backwards from the time of my appointment, figuring out when exactly I had to eat breakfast in order for all the planets to align.
It worked. My blood has been taken and I visited with my doctor. I told him that the test went fine but I’d rather have taken my glucose in some other way, like by eating a pound of peach rings. He said someone has actually calculated the exact number of jelly beans a pregnant woman has to eat to equal the amount of glucose in one of those drinks. I told him that next time I’d take the jelly bean route.
“Next time? There’s going to be a next time?” he said with raised eyebrows.
“Well, you know, if,” I backpedaled. I told him that a next time would be much more likely if he could help relieve some of the symptoms I’ve been having lately. So I’m off to physical therapy, water aerobics with old people, and he even gave me a little something that’s supposed to stop me from waking up coughing on my own stomach acid at night. Such a helpful lad.
Only 12 more weeks to go, peeps.