After hanging around the laboratory at the Cleveland Clinic for four hours and nearly starving to death, the official "diagnosis" is that I am "borderline diabetic", which is fancy doctor-speak for "you have diabetes except your numbers don't add up, so we can't actually tell you that you have diabetes or do anything to help you".
I passed the damn glucose test by one point, which, in my mind, shouldn't qualify as passing at all, especially if you are a 210+ pound whale-beast with a family history of diabetes who pees sugar like it's her job. But hey, I'm not a doctor, so what do I know?
Basically, I have to pretend like I'm diabetic and keep up the low-carb, no-to-low-sugar thing that has been working so well these past couple months. I'm extra salty over this. I don't get a glucose monitor, I don't get treatment, but I have to follow the diet (that doesn't work) anyway?
If I were a more petty individual, I'd be eating boxes of doughnuts before all of my remaining OB/GYN appointments and/or pouring sugar packets in my urine samples. My doctor should be glad that I am not that petty.