** warning: this post has absolutely nothing to do with Lily, Down syndrome, or anything lovely. It's just me venting. Thankyouverymuch. ***
It's going to be a great day, I can tell. When it starts off like this, things can only get better.
I was scheduled to have my glucose test this morning...the one they have you do every pregnancy to check for high blood sugar (gestational diabetes). I asked my OB if I could somehow escape this dreaded test, as I know I have LOW blood sugar, not high blood sugar. I had it last pregnancy and I have all the signs this time as well...if I don't eat every few hours I get light headed, dizzy, shaky, tunnel vision, I start cussing, etc. It's a lot of fun. After many episodes in stores or the library where I have almost passed out and had to borrow cheese and crackers from someone...a library clerk, a stranger, etc, I have learned to always have a Fiber One bar in my purse with me at all times.
Anyhow, my OB said I absolutely had to have this test, and I scheduled it for this morning at seven a.m. I had to fast for twelve hours before..which was already not easy because of what I just described.
On typical mornings I open my eyes, and there is Caleb standing by my bedside with a cup of tea. I'm not kidding. I have trained him well. I stumble downstairs and shovel Special K in my mouth before my brain is fully engaged. This is my daily pregnancy routine, and it shall continue to be my daily morning routine until I die or Jesus comes back, world without end, amen.
SO not eating after seven last night was bad enough (I forgot and ate at eight)... knowing I couldn't have my morning tea or beloved Special K was even worse...but add to that the anxiety of having my blood taken for three consecutive hours this morning on an empty stomach, and you have a very restless night. I kept waking up to check the clock and make sure I hadn't overslept...Sam took our van in to the shop yesterday, so Mackenzie was taking me to the hospital today on her way to work. I was worried I would oversleep and either make her late or miss my ride altogether...and my stupid stomach decided to act up all night as well...I think it was protesting the bottle of thick syrupy orange flavored liquid sugar I would have to down in five minutes or less once I arrived at the lab this morning. (WHO INVENTS THESE TESTS ANYWAY?!?!)
Sam's alarm woke me up at five. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I had plenty of time to get ready before Mackenzie and I had to leave at 6:30...and I promptly fell asleep until 6:15. When I woke up and asked Sam (who was just getting up) what time it was, I jumped out of bed, realizing I had fifteen minutes to get out the door. In my twenties this would not have been a problem..at 44 and 362 days, this was a nightmare. It takes fifteen minutes just to get my hair to stop looking like something out of a horror movie (think Elvira on crack) let alone my face. I looked in the mirror, swallowed my pride and decided I wouldn't see anyone I knew at the lab anyway (hopefully)... and forced my unruly mass of bedhead into a ponytail.
Fifteen minutes later a sleepy Caleb (moral support - hey, he was jobless this morning!) and I climbed into Mackenzie's car.
"Do you have my Cliff Bar for afterwards?" I asked Caleb in a panicked voice. Maybe because I was. Panicked that is. "Check." he replied. "Water bottle??" I barked. "In my jacket pocket," he dutifully answered.
Side note - every mom should have a Caleb. When pregnancy and motherhood depletes all your brain cells, you need a Caleb to fill in the gaps. Did you ever watch M.A.S.H growing up ? Caleb is my Radar. If you don't know what I'm talking about, google it.
Kenzie dropped us off at the hospital, where the lab is located - in the basement, where all torture chambers are located, of course. It's been there for the fifteen years we've lived here. So Caleb and I headed confidently to the torture chamber, my stomach churning and my teeth gritted, ready to face Nurse Nancy and her dreaded needles.
Have I mentioned how much I hate needles? Let me push a seven pound baby out of a place nothing weighing that much should come out of ANY day...but do not show me a needle. The mere sight of them causes waves of nausea to course through me while gallons of sweat drip profusely from my brow.
I hate needles.
The kind gentleman at the front desk asked us where we were going as we were confidently whizzing by... I muttered "the torture cha - umm... lab" and he held up his hand. "They moved it," he apologized. "Are you kidding me?" I asked him. Maybe my voice sounded a bit desperate. After all, I was just deprived of my morning tea and beloved Special K. "Oh, it's not far," he smiled, then glanced at my protruding belly. "Well, not too far," he mumbled, and pointed across the street to a brick building.
Poor Caleb was the subject of my tirade against needles, doctors, thick disgusting syrupy orange flavored liquid, and all of humanity, as we lugged ourselves across the street and into the new and improved torture chamber/lab.
"WHO THINKS UP THESE TESTS ANYWAY???!" I whispered hideously. Have you ever heard a hideous whisper ? Listen to the pale faced guard in the torture chamber from Princess Bride and you'll get a clue. It's not a pretty sound.
*Side note...we don't have a tv. But you might think that we do from reading this post. I watched a lot of tv growing up. Obviously.
I swear my legs weighed a hundred pounds each as I forced myself to the registration desk.
"I'm here for my glucose test," I whispered pathetically. (Not to be confused with hideously. Those kind of whispers are reserved for friends and family.)
"Orders ?" the stone faced man behind the window barked at me.
"I...order you...to give me a glucose test?" I whimpered.
Okay, I didn't whimper that. But I wanted to.
"What orders ?" I asked.
"Orders. From your doctor. We have to have them or we can't do lab work."
"The lady on the phone told me you had my orders," I said.
Stone Face turned to rifle half-heartedly through a stack of papers.
"What's your name?" he spat over his shoulder. Clearly he loves his job.
"Patti Rice," I yelped back. I wasn't in a barking mood...yet. But his lack of compassion for pregnant mothers about to undergo torture treatments was irking me.
"Nothing here," he said over his shoulder. "Sorry."
And then he just stared at me.
"What does that mean?" I asked him.
"It means you need to go to your doctor and get your orders," said Stone Face.
"They don't open til eight," said a very large nurse from behind the window, licking her sticky fingers and continuing to munch on an equally large donut.
"Whatcha got there?" smiled Stone Face at Nurse Nancy, suddenly looking more like Marshmallow Man.
"A yummy donut from the cafe...the last one," grinned Nurse Nancy, and polished off her last sticky bite.
"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but I'm confused. Do I have to...reschedule ? Or...??" Mackenzie was at work by now, and Sam was on his way out of town to a meeting. My tummy was rumbling, and the smell of donuts was wafting through the air.
"Apparently," Stone Face glared at me. (Marshmallow Man was nowhere to be seen now.) "Call your doctor today and get some orders and we'll see you when you reschedule."
"I'm SO GLAD I fasted for this!" I barked, and threw my book on the counter as I frantically dialed my son Josiah. Suddenly I didn't care what Stone Face or Nurse Nancy thought. Or anyone in that stupid torture chamber.
"Get me the President of this hospital STAT!" I barked into my cell phone.
Okay, not really.
"Josiah ??" I cried into the phone. "Can you come pick me up from the hospital?" Poor Josiah had just woken up and he said he would be there in five minutes.
A nice nurse from the back of the torture chamber came out to apologize and told me we could reschedule for tomorrow morning. She said this kind of thing happens all the time with doctors - they forget to give their patients their lab orders and they have to reschedule. She wrote me down for seven a.m. tomorrow and assured me they would poke me gently.
Josiah picked us up, and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing my Special K and English Breakfast tea were waiting for me at home, just minutes away.
And suddenly my Venting Novel has become so long that I don't have time to tell you about the rest of my crappy morning...the one where I bent over to pick up a crushed ball point pen in the driveway after Josiah drove off...and promptly covered my hands and only pair of maternity jeans that fit with dark blue ink...and how someone locked the garage door when they left this morning, and Caleb and I didn't have a house key...and how I stood drooling at the front door and ringing the doorbell for ten minutes, praying one of my older kids would wake up and hear it while ball point pen ink dried quickly on my hands and jeans... and a coughing fit triggered by the cold Oregon morning triggered another episode of weak-bladdered-pregnant-woman-syndrome.
So here I sit at the computer, typing away, wearing a fresh pair of maternity yoga pants, an empty cereal bowl on one side of the keyboard, and my second cup of tea steaming beautifully on the other. My jeans are soaking in the washing machine with oxyclean, and The Rice Ranch is just now coming to life.
And it just gets better from here.