The good, the bad, and the big

So, this weekend sucked.

I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes - diabetes that goes away when you give birth. But, in the meantime, no sugar whatsoever, crazy strict diet, and lots and lots of finger pricking blood sugar testing.

It seems that it's controllable and won't harm Micah so long as I follow all the rules, but one would have been hard pressed to tell me that two days ago when I found out.

First, Kaiser posts their lab results online. So I found out before there was anyone to explain it to me. Travis was at work, so I did what any pregnant woman would who hears bad news: I pathetically sobbed to my dogs, threw anything in my cabinets containing anything resembling sugar into the trash, and starved half to death because I couldn't figure out what I was allowed to eat for breakfast. Being Sunday, I was only able to talk to the advice nurse (who gave me minimal information) and look on the internet. I'm a fairly intelligent person, and I fully realize that looking at answers on chat boards is equivalent to walking into the average American Wal-Mart, yelling out your question, and accepting the responses you hear as gospel. However, the word "stillborn" will strike an immeasurable amount of fear into any pregnant woman's heart no matter who it comes from. And despite all the women who shared their stories of perfectly healthy babies, that was the one I heard loudest. My only comfort was my husband's reassurance that tomorrow I would get into the doctor.

Fast forward to Monday, and I'm home from work (thank GOD). No one from Kaiser had called me back (or even just called on their own accord due to my positive labwork) by about 10:30am, so I spent about an hour trying desperately for someone, ANYONE, to give me some information. The nurse I spoke to at the "end of the line" told me not to eat anything that tasted sweet and to wait about a week and someone would call to schedule a class for me to go to that would be sometime the following week. Here's where my math teacher brain came in: They were supposed to test me at 28 weeks (standard), they instead waited until 30. Then, they want me to wait another 1 1/2 - 2 weeks to learn how to eat??? I'm no brain surgeon, but I was pretty sure I was being told, "Just put down the cookies, fatty, and we'll get to you when we can." I lost my shit entirely and called Travis, practically falling apart at the seams.

He left work and went IN to Kaiser, planning on storming the place until SOMEONE would see me. I don't believe in miracles, but what happened next just might have been for me. My lovely BPFF, Becca's, mother (who doesn't even work in that building) *happened* to be standing right inside the building when Travis walked in. Keep in mind, she's met Travis maybe once, and it was at Becca and Norm's wedding, let alone the fact that you never really expect to see people you know (or hardly know) out and about. So she goes, "Aren't you Travis? I'm Becca's mom!" He swears he didn't jump across the room and hug her, but I don't believe him. She knows the nurses, so she took him upstairs and got someone to talk to him. I was seen later that day, and thanks to another insane amount of phone calls made by Travis (not to mention a started trip down to Santa Clara), I got to talk to the specialist that day, and got scheduled for this Thursday's class. I can't imagine the horrible quality of healthcare people must receive by Kaiser's system if they don't completely beat people's doors down trying to get information. I wouldn't have even gotten my glucometer until I was almost 33 weeks!

Long story short (or still long, actually, but if you're still reading at this point it's your own damn fault. The internet is chock-full of interesting things to read, and you're still here.), Micah and I are going to be fine, I understand the basics of what to eat enough to get through the next few days, and I will get all the care I need day after tomorrow.

The good news is, I found my maternal instincts. Most people pick up babies and coo at them until they smile... I pick them up and ask them what kind of job they have and if they can speak English yet. I was pretty sure my instincts were around here somewhere (under the couch? in the pantry?), but I thought I'd have to wait until Micah was born to figure out if I had any at all. Well, I do. I was as scared as any mother could be, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make sure Micah's healthy. And Travis proved to be father of the year already.