No more lies. This is the G.D. truth.

You may (or not, whatever) recall that roughly (almost exactly) two years ago I found out I had the ol' G.D. Gestational DI-UH-BEETUS.

Sugar is stupid anyway, so who wants it? (Meekly raises hand.) I do.

I spun a tale about how much fun I had getting not one, but two glucose tolerance tests and how I was sosososoSO very excited to get gestational diabetes.

If I may, and, excuse me, but I do sincerely hope you'll forgive me, and, please, please don't hold a grudge, but you probably didn't pick up on all the sarcasm in that post way back then.  

You may have really thought I was, like, so stoked to get all in some finger-prickin', carb-countin' shenanigans.

Well, I wasn't. It was a major pain in my over-pricked fingertips. So I essentially lied to you.

And you probably shouldn't read any of my highly popular, critically acclaimed stuff anymore, because it's 90% sarcasm, 9% failed attempts at sarcasm, and 1% me being an actual, normal person.

But enough about you (were we talking about you?). Back to me:

This time around, I had the wisdom of prior experience and I knew a few things:

1) I had about a 60% chance of getting gestational diabetes again.
2) SKIP THE ONE-HOUR TEST IT IS A WASTE OF EVERYONE'S TIME AND MY BLOOD.
3) The three-hour test takes blood and spiritual life force out of your body. Translation: it's the worst. 

(Not THE worst, like, in the sense of all the mess our world is in, the diseases and traumas people face, depression, financial stress, deteriorating relationships, etc. More in the sense that if you compare having coffee and breakfast on a leisurely morning then kicking back in your highly comfortable recliner verses NO COFFEE and NO FOOD and then sitting in a lab's waiting room for 3 hours to have your blood drawn 4 times, IT'S THE WORST.)

(See? Dig deep and you can find social commentary here, as long as it somehow relates back to breakfast!) 

Because I failed so spectacularly last time, I knew I wasn't going to pansy about getting some weenie one-hour test. No. That's for beginners. I'm advanced. I will go straight for Master Level Glucose Testing.

At my 24 week appointment they said,

"Hey, hey, hey! Time for that most best part of pregnancy, the glucose tolerance test! You'll have a one-hour--"
"NO." (I cut them off.) "I will have the three-hour test. I shall not play games this time. None of this, 'Oh, you only failed by 2 points, but you should proooobably just go back and get another test that's 3 times as miserable. GIVE ME THREE-HOUR, OR GIVE ME PIE."

They had a choice, and they did not give me pie, so you can see how the story does not deviate in the slightest and we're still talking about my test.

And, yes, the test. I'm finally getting around to the actual thing itself instead of just weirdly talking about it for so long.

Since the last time I was pregnant, I've switched insurance providers, which meant a whole new lab for me to go to. You never really know what you're going to get in a lab, but last time I had very ill-seeming people and classic rock piped into the waiting room.

This time, as I later observed to my beloved husband, it seemed a little less disease-y, which was cool. But there was no music and no WiFi. There was also a 15 minute delay before I was called back, which started things off on a less than desirable footing.

But they did call me back. The guy taking the blood had gospel music playing and prayers and scripture printed out and posted on the wall.  Somehow I felt like, "Okay, cool. This is an acceptable person to be stabbing me in the veins and stealing my blood. For medical purposes, of course."

So he stabbed me, and then I drank the gross stuff, then he told me I was "on the clock." He also told me that if I tossed my cookies pink drink that I'd had to start all over. I assured him that would not be necessary.

One hour and some odd minutes, and one April 2014 issue of Better Homes and Gardens later, I was called back for my second stabbing.

Another hour and some odd minutes, and a People Magazine, 2014's Most Influential People edition, later, I got my third stabbing.

Another hour and 17 minutes, and an October 2015 Allure, Best of Beauty edition, later, they finally called me back for my last draw.

And the guy said, "We have a situation."

Because this is a police movie, right? Or a movie where Liam Neeson speaks of a very specific set of skills? No! It's still just my glucose test!

"The situation" was that they didn't call me back until 17 minutes too late. Fifteen minutes is supposed to be the cutoff. Please keep in mind that my appointment was supposed to be at 7:30am, which meant I should have been done around 10:30. It was presently 11:15. When you've been at a 3 hour test for an additional 45 minutes with nothing but water, glucose drink, and moderately outdated periodicals to get by, you're not too interested in the fact that it's 17 minutes too late.

But I was so polite, guys. Even hungry, uncaffeinated, and mildly dehydrated, I was SUCH a nice lady.

So when he was all, "We have a situation," I was all, "Well, can we still take my blood?" 

What I was thinking was, "You are not going to get me back in this lab and I will just pretend I have gestational diabetes and voluntarily check my blood sugar 4 times a day before going through another 3 hour test. So you'd better draw my blood now because it's never going to happen again. N-E-V-E-R. Never ever. Nevuh-evuh. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen. I need coffee so bad. So bad. Please let me go. You can take a double draw if you want. Get both arms. Please, just let me go. Let it go, let it gooo, turn away and slam the door..."

My internal dialogue took a turn from defiant to desperate to theatrical in a very short space, as you see.

And he was like, "Yeah, we'll go ahead and take your blood."

And I was like, "YESLET'SDOIT."

I didn't know I could get so jazzed up about a blood draw. But I had a ride waiting in the parking lot with breakfast, coffee, and water waiting for me. This was no time to dilly dally. So, at long, long last, they stole the last of my blood and released me into the wild.

You have no idea how amazing it feels to walk out of a diagnostics lab waiting room until you've been parked in one for close to 4 hours. I sauntered on out like, "BYE GUYS. I'm done. I'm free. I'm soooo sorry you're still here but not sorry enough to wait with you for another second of my life, because COOOFFFFEEEEEE."

Something a little like that.

Then my ride, my ride-or-die, my boo, took me back home. I called work and was like, "Sorry, my appointment ran late. I must eat food or I'll die, be in around 12:30. Then around 12:20 I called back and was like, "Sorry, I lied. I cannot. I just cannot. Headache. Need nap. We're in recovery over here!"

Then I drank a gallon of coffee (just kidding--maybe 2 cups?), all the water, and ate pizza and other treats. Then I took a nap.

I was ready for Master Level Glucose Testing; I just wasn't ready for the after-test-fatigue. Patrick was so understanding, seeing as how he was recovering from his appendectomy.

WAIT. WHAT? I hadn't mentioned that just days prior my sweetie pie's appendix decided to revolt and the good doctors and people decided to just snip that annoying ol' appendage out? Surely I must have mentioned it. 

Whatever, he's fine. That's another story anyway. Back to me and my fatigue from having blood drawn. Because I'm pregnant and that trumps everything.

So, I napped and then made pancakes for dinner. I felt like, "Well, I'm gonna find out I have the dreaded beetus. I better enjoy my last meal before I know better."

The next day, I got the results.

And what do you know? I AM SO GOOD AT THE THREE HOUR GLUCOSE TEST THAT I PASSED THAT SON OF A BEE STING.

"Heeeeyyy, girl, it's been a while, right? How's it going? Did you like the new lab?"
"No. But it was better than the last one. It felt a lot less disease-y, you know?"
"No music?"
"No. But lots of magazines."
"Cool. Well, anyway, we got your results in just now."
"Aaaannnndddd....??"
"You passed."
"I--I passed?? For real?!"
"For really really realz. But your iron is low, so take a supplement and enjoy all the steak."
"Wow, this is incredible. I feel like a million carbs--I mean, bucks! A million bucks."
"I bet! So, enjoy all of the Thanksgiving treats and things that are NOT denied to you because you kicked that test's little booty."
"I so will! Thanks!"

So, I mean, that's kind of it. I can eat some pie and potatoes in one sitting without worrying about checking my blood sugar or doing exercise to bring my levels down. I can just... you know... be a pig like God intended pregnant women to be.

Pie and potatoes and blood draws to you and yours,
xo