Ugh.
Mr. Forty and I have terrible colds. This is terribly unfair because it means I could give a shit about his needs (Although I did offer to make him tea this morning. He declined and I took that as a sign to roll over and go back to sleep). And frankly, I think he has a worse case than me, so I feel guilty asking him for things like Kleenex, orange juice, and the remote control.
He was stuck having to go give a presentation today for work, but I’m at home. He’ll be back around 2 and I have set a goal to be showered by then. I also am washing the sheets. These two things make me a big winner.
Mr. Forty posted about my high-larious glucose test last week. And it might have been the most insane thing I’ve experienced since I learned about the wonders of Demerol while passing a kidney stone (I was unaware that I was passing a kidney stone, in fact, I was unaware of most dimensional issues and had become one with the breeze…). The glucose test was what I can only imagine smoking crack is like. You know before I get all hyperbolic for the sake of comedy, let me check on that. Please hold.
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Okay, yep. According to the first crack site I found, these are the short term effects of smoking crack (I put my experience during the glucose test in parentheses next to each symptom):
SHORT-TERM EFFECTS
Because it is smoked, the effects of crack cocaine are more immediate and more intense than that of powdered cocaine. (Try drinking 8 oz. of pure cane sugar after 4 and a half months of clean living – that is immediate too my friend).
- Loss of appetite (Food was the last thing I was thinking of)
- Increased heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature (I was sweating, my heart was pounding out of my chest and I’m sure my BP went up)
- Contracted blood vessels (well I don’t know – oh wait – they had to poke me TWICE to get the blood for the test, so let’s say, “Yes!”)
- Increased rate of breathing (Ha! I thought I was hyperventilating at one point and I couldn’t stop laughing and so that made it worse)
- Dilated pupils (I don’t remember, but Mr. Forty told me I was totally doing the “I swear I’m sober” walk through the doctor’s office)
- Disturbed sleep patterns (I guess, does sleeping for THREE HOURS after the test count?)
- Nausea (Sweet mother of Mary, yes!)
- Hyperstimulation (There was a four year old in the waiting room while I was allowing the
crackglucose to course through my veins. She was dancing and making a very high pitched shrieking sound. I TOTALLY got her vibe. I really wanted to dance and shriek with her. I also wanted a kitten and a Big Wheel very badly). - Bizarre, erratic, sometimes violent behavior (See above)
- Hallucinations, hyperexcitability, irritability (Yes, Yes, and Yes)
- Tactile hallucination that creates the illusion of bugs burrowing under the skin (I got really itchy, so I’m totally going to say yes)
- Intense euphoria (IT WAS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE)
- Anxiety and paranoia (UNTIL IT WAS OVER AND THEN I JUST WANTED TACO BELL AND A HUG AND DON’T HUG ME TOO HARD BECAUSE YOU’LL HURT THE BABY)
- Depression (*sob* The Baby is unhappy, because there’s no more sugar)
- Intense drug craving (I made an offer on Facebook to buy glucose drinks from any reputable manufacturer or supplier)
- Panic and psychosis (Well that’s just an average day for me)
- Convulsions, seizures and sudden death from high doses (Okay, fine, one lousy symptom doesn’t apply)
So yeah, it’s crack. They give you crack.
Turns out. I failed my crack test. They just called. Now I have to go in for THREE HOURS and do more crack so they can see if I have become a crackhead gestational diabetes.
THIS IS UTTER BULLSHIT.
There are a lot of reasons why this is utter bullshit, but let me explain my reasons for why this is utter bullshit.
1. I gamed the system and fasted. I wasn’t supposed to, but all my girlfriends have failed the damn test and they told me the three hour one is a pain in the ass. I didn’t totally fast. The test was at 2 p.m. so I hate hard boiled eggs all day. When I talk to all my girlfriends who failed it, they all passed the three hour test no problem. Huh. Maybe because the three hour test is REALLY EXPENSIVE?
2. I call shenanigans on the test itself. They give you 8 oz of pure motherfucking sugar. It’s not a calibrated test. “What do you mean Ms. Forty?” you may be asking, well, I’ll break it down for you:
I am not big. You may have caught this from a few references that Mr. Forty and I make regarding our size. We are Hobbits. I am just barely 5′ and my wonderful mate is the “Tall Person” in the house at 5’5″. This child will have a very large personality. That said, he will likely share in his parent’s shared experiences of being at the front when lined up by height, and having an irrational fear of barstools. It’s life. He’ll be fine. If all goes well, he’ll get his Dad’s broad shoulders and powerful legs, his Mom’s ability to put on muscle and strength of an ox, and become one hell of a gymnast.
Or he’ll become a really great magician. I don’t know, he can be whoever and whatever he wants – except tall.
When I peed on a stick all those months ago (it was really only three months ago, but it feels like freaking forever), I weighed about 119. Pounds. It was a bit heavy for me, but I had been traveling a lot and I wasn’t running as much as I would have liked. I’m usually a content 115. Also, I had been married for a whopping six months and I was still enjoying the glow of “I can eat this steak AND potatoes and you’re still gonna have sex with me cuz we’re married.”
18 weeks, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years into this pregnancy, and I weigh 125 pounds. I’m not bragging by a long shot. Some of it is just dumb luck. A lot of it is really paying attention to what I eat. Yes, I eat cookies, but only if I’ve mostly eaten carrots. I really do prefer fruit over about anything else, but still, I will cut you for Taco Bell any chance I get. I am finally starting to get my energy back enough to wander around the neighborhood and yesterday I downloaded some prenatal yoga – so I’m guessing that will help the weight through the next couple of months.
I only tell you all this so that you can laugh at me when I hit 148 at week 24 and you all say “And there it is, bitch!”
I also tell you this, because I know you’re not going to say that, because you aren’t all catty twats (well maybe one or two, I don’t know, I don’t know your life), but because it goes back to the glucose calibration. I’m 125 – that’s pretty normal weight for you normal sized people. It might even be a bit light for you folks who can also reach the top shelf at that grocery store. Hell, some of you, the ones who can see the tops of their cars, might say, “I haven’t been 125 pounds since high school.” Right? Well, you also don’t know how to shorten pants, because you never had to. It’s all good. You can probably have 2 glasses of wine with dinner, over a three hour period and not know, FOR A FACT, that you would fail a Breathalyzer.
(I do not have a DUI, I took part in a test in college where they paid me $50 and I got to get hammered for free, so long as I did these “tests” every ten minutes. It would have been awesome, but it turns out I got “hammered” after 1 drink and so I was stuck there all night – doing really well on the tests btw, with people who actually got to drink a lot. It totally sucked, but it taught me a good lesson – live in houses walking distance to bars. I’ve followed that advice ever since).
I know my size means that I can’t have one drink and then drive for at least 90 minutes. Running shoes for kids are significantly cheaper than for adults and I wear a kid’s size 3. If I bundle up completely and put on my goggles, I can totally get the under-12 ski lift pass. And, in the case of the kidney stones I referenced earlier, if possible, I request a pediatric catheter. (Bet you could have lived without knowing that last part).
So, we’re all supposed to be REALLY WORRIED when I didn’t process 8 oz. of pure sugar as quickly or effectively as women who have 25, 30, 40, or more pound on me? REALLY?!?!?
My three-hour test is on Wednesday. They told me to bring a book. I’m going to do one better… I’m bringing my laptop. Get ready, you’re coming with me….
God I hate barstools. I particularly hate having to present from them. MY FEET THEY DANGLE.
I’m having a very spirited discussion on all of this on Facebook. I wish I could share, but then you would know our real identity and all hell would break loose.
FWIW, most women who are chiming in failed the first test and then passed the second. We’re now having a wonderful discussion about how pregnant women in this country are frequently lectured and chastised for drinking soft drinks, eating soft cheeses, having cold cuts on their sandwiches, even smelling beer or wine, etc. Yet, this test requires fasting and loading up on thousands of milligrams of sugar in a concoction full of artificial flavors and dyes, and then blood letting every 30 minutes.
If my research is correct, lots of women actually PASS OUT during the test.
Yeah, keep your baby safe, unless we tell you to just fuck your entire system up – then it’s okay.