So I failed my glucose test today.
The results came back surprisingly fast for the shitty clinic I go to.
The frustrating part is that I wasn’t told the test was happening at this appointment, and nobody told me to fast beforehand. Technically, the 1-hour glucose test doesn’t require fasting, but I had a full-blown cheat day beforehand. I ate a Costco chicken bake, a calzone (which I do not recommend because it was SO salty), and then after a late movie we ended up getting Taco Bell around midnight. Walking into an 8 a.m. appointment, my body was probably still processing all of that.
Then came the glucose drink.
I don’t know what demon invented that thing, but it made me throw up so violently that it honestly made me reconsider having a second kid someday. My first trimester was relatively easy. Morning sickness barely affected me. But that drink? That drink took me out. The only thing that’s made me feel that sick during this pregnancy was trying to eat over-easy eggs because apparently the parasite currently living inside me—the one that’s now roughly the size of an ear of corn—has declared war on all forms of runny eggs.
Now I have to get a glucometer and test strips and start monitoring my blood sugar. My fasting numbers need to stay under 95, otherwise medication becomes part of the conversation, and that’s something I’d really like to avoid right now.
I’m trying not to spiral over one test result, but between the surprise test, the mystery sugar drink from hell, and spending the rest of the day feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, I’m definitely not having the best time.
Pregnancy is magical, they said.
They forgot to mention the part where you get ambushed by orange sugar syrup and spend the morning questioning every life choice that led you there.
