Prick Me All You Want, But I Draw the Line at Syringes!

Yesterday, I had my one-week follow up appointment with The Center. (Isn’t that where Jarrod escaped from in The Pretender?) I’ve decided not to refer to it as “Sweet Beginnings” as it just annoys me. I’m considering using the names of other random fictional evil corporations instead, but I just keep coming back to “Manticore.” (And I never even watched Dark Angel, but how awesome is the name Manticore? Isn’t it also the tiger that ate Roy?)


The big reason for the appointment was to check my weight gain (a pound since last week? Really?!) but also to see how I was doing overall—and whether I needed to start using insulin. If following the diet plan wasn’t enough to keep my blood sugar levels from spiking after meals, it’d be the syringe for me.


Isn’t it bad enough I have to poke my finger four times a day, force myself to bleed, and smear it around? Do I also now need to play with actual syringes?






What’s the difference, you ask? It’s the same reason I am afraid of scuba diving. As a kid, I remember hearing about your lungs popping if you don’t depressurize properly, or something, when you resurface. (I was in 3rd grade, and was all proud of myself because I knew what SCUBA stood for, because I’d seen it on Family Ties. And they say TV rots your brain.)


But with a syringe, you can die if the tiniest air bubble gets in your veins. Is that even true? I honestly don’t know. I don’t know when I heard it. I just know I don’t like syringes. I’ve had my blood drawn a ton of times, and so long as it’s just taking a little blood, I can deal. But I prefer not to get shots—and yes, I’m Rh negative so I just got a shot in the butt of Rhogam last week—because I am not a fan of syringes.


Still, in the hands of professionals, I figure they know how to handle a syringe. And I figure: I don’t. And I shouldn’t be allowed to play with sharp things, either.


So I was relieved that after discussing my blood glucose levels over the past week, my diet and exercise regimen, and my (quite-on-track) weight gain, the counselor told me that I was in the clear, and did not need to add insulin to my daily list of Pinky-Pokings. HOORAY for one test I’ve gotten “right” during this pregnancy!


And on the quick topic of Pinky-Pokings: the counselor I saw yesterday wasn’t the same one that I saw for my initial orientation, but I did tell her (and the intern sitting in our visit) that the other nurse/whatever she is conveniently omitted that I need to put the blood on the edge of the test strip, and not come down directly on top, or it WILL NOT function. I told her about the issues I had the first night, and she was very apologetic. She didn’t, however, offer a free bottle of test strips to make up for all the ones I wasted. (Maybe I should have demanded it, but whatever.) I just hope that the next ladies who have been told to steer clear of the Chocodiles who get counseled by Manticore are given better instructions than I was. Pay it forward, people!