I have very keen memories of my grandmother pulling up her shirt to expose her bare abdomen and inserting a scary looking syringe full of a clear liquid, which she would empty into her gut. Invariably, this medical ritual would be followed by indulgence in some treat from either Pepperidge Farms or Godiva. Once I got old enough to understand what I witnessed as a child, these images became more disturbing - one of the few instances that education led to MORE fear about a given circumstance.
My mother has since lived by a philosophy of improving each generation. My mother is more vigilant about her blood sugar, but struggles with it. We found my PCOS and insulin resistance early on and have endeavored to make exercise (once a dirty word to our family) a regular part of our life, with improved eating habits as an earmark of our daily routines. I will not lie, I still love a good pastry. An Italian girl without a cannoli or a Hispanic girl without a flan is a terribly sad figure. However, I have learned the importance of proteins, complex carbs, pairing foods, regular meals, and sustained raised heart rates. While my energy on an eliptical is impressive, my ability to outrun the DNA in my grandmother's bathroom is, apparently, not necessarily within my control.
I have been identified from the beginning of the pregnancy as a slightly elevated risk due to my insulin resistance. With my dependence on Metformin well documented and fear of PCOS symptoms apparent, the pregnancy began with a plan for vigilance and attention. And, the results have been pretty admirable. The doctor I work for has repeated checked in and praised my regular readings, which fall WELL within what is normal. Sadly, we had a holiday season.
Travel, emotional stress, holiday mania, and the increasing power of placental regulation led to readings that were not within the range with which I feel comfortable. The numbers were still numbers that most people sharing my struggle long to see. For those of you who are familiar with monitoring blood sugar, the highest number I have seen 1 hour after a meal (wherein my hunger and inattention led me to a meal devoid of significant protein) is 165. Typically, I am below 120. My fasting sugars are rarely at 90 anymore, with 98 being more average and 123 being the highest fasting reading since my December checkup.
These readings are not devastating at all. However, I am TERRIFIED of child birth involving a child over 7 pounds. The idea of a C-Section makes me shiver from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head. And, while I am mentally preparing myself to sacrifice my body in whatever way is required to ensure this baby boy is healthy and safe, I am also preparing myself to avoid extreme measures if at all in my control. Thus, I resolved to admit to my doctor the concerns and elevations I am seeing in order to head this problem off at the pass.
Resolving to do what is needed and relinquishing myself to the idea of no pasta or sweets for the next 14 weeks are 2 different things. On Friday morning, with a fasting sugar reading at 99, I was unable to shake the sad image of my grandmother in that bathroom those many years ago. And I cried. A lot.
I am going to depart from the narrative for a moment to do something I usually do not do and had relatively designed never to do: I am going to publicly and effusively sing my husband's praises. I usually reserve this sort of talk for the quiet of our home and the sanctity of our bedroom - those moments seem to be the most meaningful. However, Nathaniel needs to be recognized for his role in assuaging the morning drama.
One of the hardest parts of marriage for Nathaniel has been learning when to stop talking and when just to hug me. When to abstain from fixing and just support. When to stop feeling bound to making me a better person and when to provide me a place of repose in my shortcomings. On Friday morning, as I battled my own demons and fears of 14 weeks of insulin injections, Nathaniel hugged me. For a long while. While I cried warm, large tears on his t shirt.
The comfort of a partner who may not feel comfortable with his understanding of the situation, but is committed to supporting even the most irrational emotional outbursts is a comfort beyond measure. I am so thankful for my husband who has used the past 8.5 months to learn to love me better and shows it in such significant, tender ways. I can truly say that I enjoy being married to Nathaniel more each day we are married than the day before - and, we're coming up on a whopping 300 days here... Impressive, no? Back to the narrative.
In the privacy of the nurse's inquisition/confessional, I admitted my fears about the blood sugar readings and the increases I am noticing. She made note of my fears and took my other vitals. Thankfully, my blood pressure is still that of a 17 year old (knock on wood). I only gained 3 pounds over the past month, bringing my total weight gain to under 10 pounds at 26 weeks!!! Every indication aside from my pancreatic failures seem to say that I am a picture of gestational health. Had it not been for the sugar concerns, I would have faced the January appointment with confidence and pride.
When the doctor, who was my age at best, entered the room, he engaged me in the discussion I feared most. Armed with my mother and the generations of sugar-laden concerns, we heard his recommendations, concerns, and suggestions.
First, he told me that my numbers, if I were not pregnant, would be great news. The readings I am currently seeing are not terrible. However, being pregnant, Doctor Babyface told me doctors are extra vigilant and want to ensure regular birth weight as well as avoid possible hypoglycemia for baby boy. So, we were told that a gestational consultation with an endocrinologist is now appropriate and would be beneficial. Thankfully, I have a long history with an AMAZING endocrinologist, who was the doctor who initially solved the puzzle of my PCOS. After much voicemail self advocacy, I was able to secure an appointment to see her and to work for a solution that may still avoid insulin, although require additional medicinal assistance.
My mother and I adjourned to an early lunch of high protein with complex carbohydrates as we mourned our metabolism and genetics, and praised the circle of medical professionals with whom we have involved ourselves. While I was able to calm and bought my husband a 6 pack of fermented delights as a thank you for his understanding, the sugary monster continues to loom large. Our commitment to protein has never been greater, nor has our love of the local Y.
The rest of the weekend has moved along successfully. Our bodies are still on Utah time - those 2 hours can be killer! We are awake until midnight and cannot move at 7 am. That MUST change. We went for our tour at WakeMed on Saturday. Oddly, that tour caused me anxiety rather than bringing the calm of effective preparation. I think the reality of the room in which I will go through the most enormous pain imaginable was a little overwhelming. Also, questions of epidurals, birth plans, circumcisions, and all other eventualities reified. I am hoping that the hormones and nesting reflexes are the cause of this most recent round of anxiety. I will be taking advantage of the therapists with whom I work to identify some new coping techniques!
Last night, I went out with my parents looking for cribs. I believe we have found the set we want and, in keeping with the tradition of amazing men in my family's past, my father will be providing our child with the place to rest his head. My next step is to go fabric shopping. The concept for the nursery is beginning to come together in my head, but is all contingent upon a series of endlessly-shifting variables. I believe we may be closing in on something we can love, but nothing about our concept is concrete at this point.
We've eaten lots of protein, returned to the Diabetic's best sweet friend, unsweetened baker's chocolate, to satisfy sweet teeth, and returned to planning and scheming about colors and nurseries. The weekend has been successful and calming. This week, I have a consultation at my endocrinologist's office to start us off on that newest bunny trail and I am hoping that the snow and ice do not interfere with my billable quota!
I'm assuming that I am typical for this stage of pregnancy. My email newsletters seem to indicate I am. I am definitely experiencing more anxiety about the tasks which need to get done before this baby emerges. However, I am feeling more at peace about our combined ability to parent and make it through the rest of the process of becoming parents.
Baby boy is as active as ever and can now make the laptop move when I rest it on my stomach. He has definitely "popped" and there is no denying his presence. He loves food and responds so well to food. We have begun exposing him to 20th century music - we are SO excited about the possibility of a baby who hears nothing different in music that has no common practice tonal center. Most of all, the recent past has made me so anxious to hold him in my arms and see what color his hair will be and if the process of birth will calm down his seemingly endless movement. It's so strange to already love someone I only know in shadows.
I'm off to make some more chicken. And then to the gym. For the rest of our lives!
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