My last OB appointment...

I had my final OB appointment today. The next time I see my OB/GYN, I'll be six weeks post-partum.

Amanda, the medical assistant whom I seem to get most often at my OB/GYN practice, commented on how much better my PUPPP looked as she strapped me up to the fetal monitor this afternoon for the final NST. My OB was also pleased at the results from a week of steroids, antihistamines and antibiotics.

Pax behaved for his last non-stress test, thankfully. Things seem to be going pretty well for him in there. My belly is, for the record, huge--as my OB put it, "you're getting big!" As if I haven't been big...

The weight gain has stopped. I've held steady at [insert embarrassing amount here] for two weeks, now. It's making me giddy to think that I will never have to step onto a scale and see that number again.

Amanda asked if I wanted more kids. I told her there was a Master's degree with my name on it waiting for me before I attempted to do this again. She laughed.

I'll be admitted to the hospital on Monday afternoon, and after a night of Cervadil, they'll start me on a Pitocin drip Tuesday morning. Like it or not, I'm having a baby this week. :)

Four prescriptions later...

I went in for my weekly OB appointment and NST at 9:45 this morning. The NST went well (Pax wasn't completely uncooperative like last time) and I actually had a couple little contractions while hooked up to the monitor.

My OB gave me my induction date--May 2, 39 weeks on the dot. It's hard to believe I'm going to have a baby in just over a week... I feel like I still have so much to do!

HOWEVER... my PUPPP is still horrible and my OB really didn't like the look of it, especially since I've been treating it for a week and it's gotten worse, not better. She left the room for a minute, came back and told me that she'd called the dermatology office upstairs and made arrangements for them to squeeze me in immediately. I thought that was nice of her.

So I rushed upstairs--I didn't even have to wait very long to see the dermatologist, just a couple of minutes. She said I had a textbook case of PUPPP but she also thought that it might be compounded by an infection, so she took cultures from the worst places to check for staph. I asked if it could be worse because I have eczema, and she said she wouldn't be surprised if I were more susceptible to bacteria to begin with because my skin is sensitive, but that eczema wouldn't make the PUPPP worse (thank god). She gave me antibiotics even though the cultures will take a bit to get through the lab since she's 90% sure I have some sort of infection making the PUPPP so horrible.

She also told me to keep taking Benadryl at night to help the itch and to help me sleep, but also to take Zyrtec during the day--it'll help with the itching but won't make me drowsy. She also wrote me a prescription for Temovate (hooray, clobetasol!) and had the on-site pharmacy make a special compound lotion with menthol to cool the itch (I'm hoping they call me to come pick it up soon, I can't wait to try it out). In any case, I should finally stop itching soon, which makes me EXTREMELY happy.

Diabetes... for real this time!

Finally.

Three weeks ago, I went in for my usual appointment and my OB/GYN and I did our little dance about my weight gain. The tape measure came out, and my OB frowned. Apparently, I was suddenly measuring a month ahead, and my scheduled 36-week growth ultrasound became a surprise 33-week what-the-eff-is-wrong-with-you ultrasound.

Thankfully, nothing is wrong with Pax except that he is freaking gigantic. Why is he freaking gigantic? Well, that's my fault. That's my big, fat diabetic fault.

It took the attending OB for the ultrasound all of five minutes to check over my glucose tolerance scores and diagnose me with gestational diabetes. Why no one (besides myself, of course) could've figured this out sooner still baffles me. A pregnant lady presenting with inexplicable weight gain, a family history of Type II diabetes and borderline glucose intolerance... what part of that doesn't scream "please treat me, oh please, oh please"?

Anyway. I will climb down off my soapbox now...

The fun doesn't end there. I am currently living off a limited supply of glucose test strips given to me by the kind people at the endocrinology center, since my extremely crap-tastic health insurance is giving me the runaround on paying for the damn things. They denied my pharmacy claim, then, when I called, the customer service rep told me that test strips are "over the counter items" and the insurance won't pay for them. The HR manager at my husband's work contacted the insurance rep, who replied that the insurance will cover the test strips if I buy them from a medical supply store, since they will then be billed as DME. The problem now is that there is still a $100 deductible for DME and the nearest medical supply store is not exactly "near".

These are the same strips that are available at the pharmacy. I don't see why I need to order them from some specialty store a million miles away and drive forever to pick them up when they are available at the local CVS.

We'll see how this plays out.

BTW, the photo above is Pax at 33 weeks. He's already larger than my cousin's newborn, who coincidentally, arrived at 2 AM this morning. :)

Beetus (part two).

I just realized that I never followed up on my post about gestational diabetes. Oops.

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.

Beetus.

You guys.

Hey, you guys.

I failed my one-hour glucose tolerance test so hard on Tuesday. I have to take the three-hour test--I'll probably go in on Monday and do it--but at this point I'm really kind of wondering why my doctor wants to bother.

Here is my reasoning:

1. I've packed on 25+ pounds in three months regardless of diet.

2. I was 40+ points over the threshold for the one-hour glucose tolerance test.

3. All of my female relatives were/are diabetic and I've always known it was just a matter of time before I earned my insulin pen.

Just hand me a glucose monitor and a prescription for Metformin and we'll call it even, right? I mean, I'm all for wasting Medical Mutual's money (it's not like I'm really paying for all this), but is drawing my blood three times in three hours really worth it? I think I may come out psychologically damaged. I mean, more psychologically damaged.

My eastern-European angel did a number on my arm yesterday, for the record. I don't know if maybe she had an off-day or what, but I've got a funny-looking bruise now. Frowny-face. :(

That's another thing--where the heck are they going to get all this blood from? I only have one viable vein and now it's bruised. Can they get blood through a bruise? Won't it just bruise more? Are they going to have to root around in the crook of my arm with one of those giant needles? If they do, then it's going to bruise up and then were are they going to get draw #2 and #3? Can they just leave the needle in and draw out of it three time? Is that possible? Do I even want to think about that being possible? Could I sit for three hours with a needle in my arm without having hysterics? I'm pretty sure the answer is "no".

There's always the slight chance of my passing the three-hour tolerance test, in which case I will probably be very pissed off.

I am, quite possibly, the only person alive who would be excited to have gestational diabetes.

GD would be a handy scapegoat for the... dare I say it? The 30+ pounds I've gained while pregnant. You know, the 30+ pounds I've gained while starving myself. (NOTE: You will never get to hear an actual number. 20+, 30+, probably even 40+ by the end of all this, but no actual numbers, ever. It's just too sad.) I'm willing to bet that, once medicated, my exponential gain will stop, maybe even reverse.

If my doctor suggests trying to control this with diet, I am going to turn into a feral, rabid animal and claw her face off. What does she think I've been doing for the past three months, laying on the couch eating bon-bons? Just give me the pills/pen and no one will get hurt...

And now for something more positive.

I had my glucose tolerance test today. The one-hour blood test is basically a candidacy screening for the three-hour test, so... we'll see how it goes. I hope I pass, if for no other reason than that I don't want to sit around the Cleveland Clinic for three hours.

I got my eastern-European lab tech with her lifesaving butterfly needle again. High point of my day, right there. I kind of want to tell her that she looks like a Russian mail-order bride, but I think she might take that the wrong way. What I mean to say is that's she's pretty, in an interesting, foreign sort of way.

I kind of did my OB/GYN appointment today ass backwards. Everyone and their mom was at the Clinic this morning, so I went in, used the bathroom, and immediately realized that I was supposed to pee in a cup in the next ten minutes. Oops. No pee in the cup for me!

I headed over to the lab, waited around for a few minutes, drank my glucola, hit the button on the little timer they gave me, and walked back to the OB/GYN area for my appointment. I sheepishly admitted to having peed only a few minutes before and was (thankfully) told that it didn't matter so long as I somehow left some pee behind before I went home.

By the way, glucola is tasty. I don't see what the big deal is. It's orange pop with a couple extra sugar packets, and it's not like you have to drink a two-liter. Seriously, who has problems drinking half a pint of orange pop? I don't even like sugary drinks and I didn't gag on the stuff.

Anyway, after my (embarrassing) weigh-in, I was left in the exam room for over half an hour. My OB decided to be late to work, apparently. I then had a hurried appointment, got chastised for my weight gain (see previous entry, with f-bombs), and went back to the lab, where I was told I had seven minutes and thirty-three seconds to kill before my blood draw.

I then went back to the OB/GYN area, booked by next appointment, went back to the lab (again), had my blood drawn, and went back--again--to the OB/GYN area, where I let myself in the back and waited in line for the restroom so that I could finally pee in my cup.

And then I went home and cried about being a whale.

The end.

Screw this, I'm just going to stop eating.

WARNING: This post contains gratitious f-bombs, because I am a pissy, pissy whale today.

Another day, another OB/GYN appointment that leaves me feeling like a fat fucking failure.

I gained six pounds in three weeks on a 2,200 calorie, low-carb, low-sugar diet.

Such a thing is, apparently, impossible. But it can't be that impossible, because I did it. My body is somehow making something out of nothing.

The next thing to go is fat. I am now on a low-carb, low-sugar, low-fat diet. Basically? I am not allowed to be in the same room as food that tastes good. I might as well start eating all of these cardboard moving boxes we've got hanging around. Hell, you know what? I might as well just stop eating altogether, because my body doesn't need things like calories and carbohydrates and all that. It just makes fat all on its own! Maybe, if I took away everything it was making fat out of, I'd stop gaining two pounds a fucking week, except my body is making fat out of fucking air and water.

I was doing really well for a little bit, and then I let myself have some cookies and chocolate. My husband and I had chocolate fondue for Valentine's Day, and now I'm kicking myself because it probably made me gain three pounds. I am just simply not meant to fucking enjoy eating anything, apparently.

I'm about ready to tell my OB/GYN that she can shove it. I want some fucking potatoes and candy and I'm pretty sure I will die if I stop eating cheeseburgers. I am not cut out for carrots and lettuce. I fucking hate vegetables. I am reaching the end of my goddamn rope with this food thing.

Can I somehow get my insurance to cover liposuction as reconstructive surgery? Because I have gained an obscene amount of poundage while actively trying to not gain any weight at all, and my body is ruined. Completely and totally ruined. I'll need a boob job and some laser peels for the scar tissue as well, okay, Medical Mutual? Just put everything back the way it was...

Whale-tale.

I am fat.

I know, I know, "you're not fat, you're pregnant". As if offhandedly saying that is really going to make me feel better about it, y'know?

The truth is, I am fat. I've gained 18 pounds in the past two months and my OB/GYN has no idea why.

At my December appointment, I also peed out enough sugar to bake a cake, leading her to think that maybe my sudden bout of fatassness was due to diabetes. After a month of trying to force myself into the GI diet, I went back last week only to have no glucose in my urine whatsoever--which didn't stop the scale from budging up almost ten pounds more.

The problem is that I'm simply not eating enough to be gaining this much weight. Weight, after all, doesn't just pop up--you have to put food in your body for it to be converted into blood, tissue, fat, poop, whatever. For the last four weeks, I wrote down everything that went into my mouth, halved my carbohydrate intake, ditched the sugar--and gained eight pounds.

My doctor warned me that if this doesn't stop, I'm going to weigh way, way more than either of us would be comfortable with by the time my pregnancy was over, and it wasn't going to come off. Hell, I weigh far more now that I'm comfortable with, and it's only going to get worse from here.

My OB whipped out her pink rhinestone tape measure* and plopped it over my belly--at least I'm not having a 38 pound baby. My stomach isn't measuring large--so where am I packing on the pounds? I found out where all the poundage is going at the Chinese restaurant during lunch on Tuesday. They have a full-length mirror in the restroom, something that I don't have at home. I hiked up my shirt, dropped my pants and took a look, and dear god my legs are disgusting. I knew they were getting bag, but holy Christ, I look like I have chicken drumsticks for thighs. My butt is one big stretch mark--literally, I have stretch marks--horizontally--from hip to hip. It's disgusting, and I want to know why this is happening because I don't eat enough for this to happen.

I re-downloaded the fitness app for my phone that I had been using to successfully track calories and lose a few pounds before getting pregnant. I had a normal day and then a force-myself-to-eat-a-lot day. What happened? For the normal day, I came in 300 calories under my "goal", and for my day of self-imposed binge eating, I came in 250 calories over. My "goal" calorie limit was set to "maintain current weight", and the tracker calculated that if every day was like the binging day, I'd gain a pound in five weeks. I can't imagine trying to stuff myself that full of food on a daily basis.

I don't understand how I'm gaining almost two pounds a week. I suppose I could have a tumor, but don't people with tumors usually... lose weight? I thought cancer made you skinny. Then again, cancer just made me depressed and angry, then it took a dump on my sex life, and then I got fat (being depressed and angry and losing your libido will do that to a person).

My OB wants to see my gaining half a pound a week from here on out so that my overall weight gain during pregnancy is still less than 35 pounds. 35 pounds--that's almost forty! I don't want to gain 35 pounds. Why couldn't I be one of those cute pregnant ladies who only gains 20 pounds and gets the cute little bump instead of some sort of magical fat-producing whale creature with drumstick thighs?





*Remember when I said I had a soft-spoken, serious OB? I do. She has a pink, sparkly tape measure. This amuses me.

27 Weeks To Go

Well, technically, right now, I have 23 weeks to go, but I've neglected making this entry for almost a month.

Here is the baby again. It now looks considerably more like a baby and less like a dinosaur, which I suppose is a good thing. I could also do without the cutesy text the ultrasound tech put on the image--I am not a cutesy person.

The good news here is that the NT measurement was 1.6 millimeters. The acceptable range is 2.2 millimeters to 3.something millimeters. My age alone (I guess I'm considered pretty young for this sort of thing) lowers the risk of chromosomal disorders significantly, to a factor of about 1 in 700. The results from the ultrasound and bloodwork (always with the bloodwork) skyrocketed those odds to 1/9000 for Down's Syndrome and 1/10000 for Trisomy 18. Those are good odds--I'll take them.

I need to get more blood drawn for an AFP on Tuesday to test for spina bifida and neural tube defects. Always with the bloodwork. I'm not going to have any blood left by the time I have this baby.

Yes, I know blood regenerates, I'm just a pansy. Hush.

My OB/GYN is probably going to yell at me again about my weight. I have managed to not gain any weight whatsoever. Of course, I look like a complete cow at the moment (a fat, pregnant cow) but the scale has, so far, refused to budge.

Here's my question: if I'm expected to eat healthy food and exercise, how am I supposed to gain weight? I don't exercise and I love junk food and restaurants, which is how I got fat to begin with. So now I'm supposed to eat vegetables and start taking walks and gain weight? I didn't think it worked that way.

Also, I'm still sitting on my ass all day. It's almost December, and this is Cleveland. If anyone thinks I'm going out for long walks in the freezing cold, they're wrong. Also, I hate vegetables. I have made concessions to this whole "pregnancy diet" thing by trying to eat bananas on a regular basis. My OB/GYN said that bananas are good because they don't contain a lot of sugar--I think bananas are the blandest fruit in the entire world and I don't particularly want to eat one everyday.

The whole "three meals a day" thing has always escaped me, except now I guess I'm supposed to be eating six meals a day. Three big meals, six small meals--what's the difference? You're eating the same amount of food, right? I've never been able to eat before 11:00 AM, which is when I try to eat the banana and have some tea or something to tide me over until around 1:00, when I start to scrounge around for lunch. If I force myself to eat in the morning, I feel completely sick for the rest of the day and don't eat anything at all, which I think is probably worse than my weird, off-kilter eating schedule. Dinner usually takes place anywhere from 6:30-9:00 at night and consists of meat and maybe some sort of excuse for a vegetable--usually a potato or sometimes broccoli. I like broccoli and potatoes, except my OB/GYN told me not to eat a lot of potatoes. Carrots are okay, too, but if it's not a potato or broccoli or a carrot, I'm probably not very interested in eating it.

I think my OB/GYN is just out to ruin my fun and my food and my entire life for nine months. I can't wait until this is over and she goes back to just being the woman who saved me from cancer instead of the woman who scares/harasses/coaxes me into eating vegetables and peeing in a cup each month.