My Reckoning

I have had a life-long love affair with sugar.  When I was younger, I ate 1 lb bags of skittles like they were a single serve and could down a dozen donuts in a single sitting.  It never occurred to me that eating that much sugar could cause problems down the road.  I simply assumed that you either had diabetes, or you didn't.  And, since I didn't, I was fine.  Now, I'm not saying that I would have changed my habits had I known the finer points of Type II diabetes, but it certainly would have left me a little more prepared for now.

So, I did the 1-hour glucose tolerance test and failed by a single point--needed 133 and got 134.  During my visit with the doctor about adjusting my meds, I discussed the additional anxiety I had over having to take the three-hour test.  We discussed my last pregnancy and I indicated that I had had gestational diabetes and been insulin-dependent.  She advised me that chances were strong that I would be again.  This made me sad, but at least she didn't pull any punches.  I took the 3-hour test last Friday and the results came back today.  They were less than stellar.  Whereas with Lil' Bit, I had only failed 2 of the 4 readings, which was sufficient for the diagnosis, I failed ALL 4 this time around.  For fasting, I needed 95, I had 96.  For the 1-hour I needed 172, I had 188.  For the 2-hour I needed 150, I had 154.  For the 3-hour I needed 135 and I had 146.  With the exception of my fasting number, these were not even close.  Ironically, it was my fasting number we had real issues with last time, so maybe this bodes well for being able to control it with diet and exercise this time rather than insulin.  Who knows.  But, since it's been 3 years since I had the diabetes class, I have to go again because "some things have changed."  I still have my meter, so I may be able to just use it rather than having to get a new one.  We'll see.

In any event, what is clear to me is that I need to make major dietary changes.  How I do this I'm not entirely sure.  I am not a huge fan of vegetables and those I like are the starchy ones.  I love fruits, but they are high in the sugar index.  I have already removed soda and french fries.  Although I indulged in a few candy bars yesterday in fear of the results today, I had mostly kicked those out of my diet, too, along with cake, cookies, and the like.  What I'm getting at is that all of the easy changes are done.  There are no more simple solutions.  I have to do the hard work now.  It's even more difficult because last time, since I wasn't diagnosed until 28 weeks, I ignored calorie counts and simply went with anything that didn't raise my sugar too far.  Thus, I figured out that I could have 2 McDonald's Sausage McMuffins with egg for breakfast as long as I took the top muffin off of both of them.  That would keep my numbers in range, which was all I cared about, never mind the huge calorie and fat content.  And then, I proceeded to eat that for many, many mornings.  This time, I'm only supposed to gain 15 pounds the whole pregnancy.  If you know anything about pregnancy weight gain, this essentially means I am losing weight during the pregnancy.  Not gonna happen if I focus solely on how food affects my blood sugar without regard for calories and fat.  

So, I have to do things differently this time.  I don't really have any choice.  I can't even console myself by saying I can stop after 7 months.  Given that this is my second time to have gestational diabetes, and this time I will have it for much longer, my chances of type II diabetes are increasing all the time.  I need to make changes now before it's too late and the diabetes doesn't go away when I'm not pregnant.  This sucks.  I hate it.  But hating it won't change it, and ignoring it won't make it not true.  This is my warning.  It's now up to me to listen and do something about it.  It's time to dig in and figure out how to do things right while I have a chance to protect my pancreas and stave off any more long-term damage.

Hello, Mr. Hole. We Meet Again.

These past few weeks I have been struggling, physically and emotionally, to get my life in order.  It hasn't really been working.  I tried catching up on sleep, taking time off work to get caught up, being good to myself, all of the usual things, but each day I have felt a little more in the hole.  Today, I was determined to make it a good day.  I got up, showered, got Lil' Bit to daycare, and headed off to work.  I never got there.  I got too overwhelmed just thinking about driving in.  I started crying too much for driving to be safe.  I headed home.  The worst part was, heading home made me feel worse.  I have always been capable.  People could (and did) say mean things about be, but I knew deep down that nothing they did could stop me from being capable and people would be able to see my ability.  My capability was my safety net, and now it was gone.

As I pulled into my driveway, I was racked with sobs as the negative thoughts flew through my head--"You weren't capable.  You couldn't make it to work.  You're useless.  How do you expect to take care of the kid you have, let alone the one on the way?!"  It was too much.  My mind looked up at the huge walls of the hole I had fallen into, curled up into a ball, and shut down.  It was frustrating and scary, but I am grateful that I was not so far gone that I could not see that this was a big problem.  It was my wake-up call.  I needed help.  I needed to up my meds.  Yet, even as I knew the truth of those statements, I railed against them.

"You're pregnant!"  I shouted at myself.  "You don't want to expose the baby to all that!"
"True," I answered myself, calmly and quietly, hoping to make myself listen to reason.  "You have done the best you could with that, but the time has come to say when."
"I don't want to!" I wailed petulantly.
"I know.  But you don't want to feel miserable and worthless either.  And you don't have to."
"I do want to be functional again.  Enjoy the life I have, the family and job I love..." I sniffled.
"Exactly.  You want to be you again."
I nodded, much like my toddler, hanging my head, knowing I was beat, but not wanting to concede just yet.
"It's okay," I comforted myself.  "This is not a moral failing."
"I know."
"Yes, but you don't believe me.  Yet.  But you will.  Once you're out of the hole, you'll look back and wonder why you fought so hard for so long, just like last time."
"But I feel like I'm taking the easy way out."
"You think this has been easy?  You did all you could.  You are a fighter.  But you can't out-think a chemical imbalance.  It doesn't work that way."

We sat quietly for a while--me, myself, and I.  And then I physically got up and contacted my doctor's office and left a message about getting my meds adjusted.  I hate feeling weak.  I hate feeling incapable.  But, I would hate myself more if I let things get worse instead of heeding the call and getting help.

And now I write.  I write so I can remember for next time, in case there is one.  I write so that maybe someone else can see their hole before it gets as deep as mine.  I write to remind others that they are not alone.  And, to be perfectly honest, I write to convince myself of the rightness of my choice--because I argue better in writing than out loud.  It's time to begin again, and find my way out of this hole.  And maybe, just maybe, now that I've seen this hole a few times, I don't have to fall in it again.  Here's hoping.

My Toddler, the Seagull

If you've ever seen Finding Nemo, there's this brilliant depiction of seagulls as single-minded birds that all fly around squaking, "Mine.  Mine.  Mine."  My two-year-old, having learned the word from one of her friends at daycare, has made it her own.  We have had to have several discussions about what is actually hers and what she is simply being allowed to use, although it still belongs to us--like an iPad, for example.  We have attempted to deal with each of these episodes, and I'd like to think we have made a lot of progress.  Overall, Lil' Bit does a great job sharing.  This gave me great hope for a smooth transition when the Jellybean arrives.  This weekend, however, it has become abundantly clear that the arrival of the Jellybean this fall is going to stir the pot when it comes to Lil' Bit's ownership issues.

It started with the cat.  Lil' Bit can be happily playing across the room, or even lovingly snuggled on her daddy's lap, but if the cat should dare to hop up and snuggle in my lap, she will suddenly shriek, "No, meow!  My momma!" and wave her hands wildly.  Should the cat dare to ignore her, she will run over and climb into my lap, thereby forcing the cat's displacement.  Once the cat had been moved, however, she will hop down, having successfully defended her territory.

Then came Easter Sunday.  Baby D, an adorable one-year-old, was in the nursery and she and Lil' Bit were playing and coloring together, happily.  Baby D then got up to play with the big purple ball, which she proceeded to kick across the room.  I told her, "Wow!  That was a great kick!"  Suddenly, from across the room, Lil' Bit points her finger accusingly at me and shouts, "No.  You my momma!"  In other words, "Mine!"  Guess we still have a lot of work left before our toddler is no longer a seagull.  Fortunately, we've got a few more months to work on it.