A Brief Reprieve (Sort Of...For Now, Anyway)

Cramming three doctor visits into one day leaves this Voodoo Doll a bit tired, a bit drained (literally), but in good spirits. 

Here's the lowdown:

After a bit of a mishap with a rusty screwdriver, I had called my doctor on call over the weekend to see if it was safe to get a Tetanus shot/booster during pregnancy. 

 Not only did she give me the go-ahead, she noted that since I'm in my third trimester now, and the CDC had just changed their recommendations for vaccinations, I am due for the whooping cough vaccine too.  (It used to be given after the baby was born but the concern is so high, women in their 3rd T are supposed to get it.  If you have kids, are around kids, or ever want to go near my baby, PLEASE go get it!)  My doc told me to take care of it at the next appointment, which was this morning.  What I didn't know was that the whooping cough vaccine is in the same shot as the tetanus booster--so, two for the price of one poke!  Otherwise, uneventful visit; Niblet's measuring on track, and we scheduled another visit with an ultrasound so we can see how we're doing on the "too much amniotic fluid" issue.

On to The Center!  I must say this was the best.visit.ever.   After noting that I'd barely gained any weight since my visit a month ago, and looking over my levels, the clinician gave me the go-ahead to do all of the following:  (1) Add more carbs to my diet;  (2) Snack when I'm hungry, even if it's not the right time, so long as it's protein or a veggie and not a carb; and (this is the best, as far as I'm concerned,) (3) Test every OTHER day.    That means no more daily pokings for this Voodoo Doll!   Only every-other-day!    

She also said that I will absolutely not have diabetes after I give birth.  She said she'd bet me $100 that I don't.    I probably should have shook on it, since I have crappy luck, but I'd rather just let her gloat if she's right.   Will I have it later in life?  No way to know, not at this point, but if I don't let myself fall apart, eat sensibly and incorporate exercise into my routine, I don't think I will have any greater risk than most women.  

The flip side?  For future babies, I am almost guaranteed another trip to The Center.  And worse?   I may need insulin.  Apparently, the pancreas gets taxed the first time to the extent that women who have GD the first time but get by without insulin are more prone to need it the second time.  But that's years away.  Can't worry about hypothetical future babies when I'm still cooking number #1.

Finally, on to the last visit of the day: the hematologist!   Who found... (wait for it...)



NOTHING!

Yeah, I'm not shocked either.    My current count is still with an elevated white count and a low red count.  (Just the opposite of how I'd stock a wine cellar, actually.)  On the bright side, I made a face and whined when the lady came to take my blood through the "jab the finger and rub it furiously" process and she offered to take it out of my arm.  Heck yeah.  That doesn't hurt, so that's what she did. 

Anyway, all the hematologist came back with was that all the tests he ran last time--checking for things like a chronic leukemia or other myoproliferative disorders--all came back negative.    His opinion?  It's probably stress related, that my body is taxed by being pregnant.  Ok, that's no shocker.  He said we should just continue to monitor everything every few weeks.  He thinks it will probably stay level through the rest of my pregnancy, and if so, it's all good, and he thinks that a a few months after I deliver, my levels will return to normal.    The only other thing he said is for me to take my iron supplements twice a day instead of once a day, because my iron levels just aren't increasing.   So more heavy metal for this poppet.

All in all, a good day.  A shot and a draw later, and my left arm isn't exactly happy, but I'm looking forward to tomorrow:  a day when I won't poke myself at all.

At least on purpose. 

(See above re: screwdriver incident.  Yeah that didn't even happen at a testing time so that gash and blood totally went to waste.)

You Must Walk Your Voodoo Doll!

I'm officially in love with a pair of sneakers.

Let's back up here. 

I tend to focus on the food-restriction/dietary guidelines that go with being a Voodoo Doll.  I'm a foodie, so what would you expect?  You tell me I can't just eat what I want and that's what I'm gonna fixate on.   Pregnancy craving for a hot fudge brownie?  Tough cookies.  Except no cookies, either.

Sorry, buddy.  See me in November.  We'll talk.

But being a Voodoo Doll also means you have to get your round self up off the couch and move it.  That's because part of controlling your blood sugar means getting some exercise every single day, whether you want to or not.  And for me?  It's been years since I really made a habit of regular exercise.  I know, I am going to Fitness Hell.  (Whatever you do, don't tell Jillian from the Biggest Loser.  She SCARES me.)    So being told that I have to do it now, not because it's for my health or benefit or long term wellness, but for my Niblet, well, now I'll actually do it.

And in truth, I was an active kid.  Eight years of soccer.  Got to high school and became a swimmer, 4 years, 3 years Varsity.  (I was never actually all that good but I didn't complain, so I got the events nobody else would do:  butterfly and the 500.)   I slowed down in college but did have to do a lot of walking and hill climbing, because whoever designed UCSD put it in a giant salad bowl, so to cross campus, you have to go downhill and then uphill, wherever you are.    I didn't put on the freshman fifteen.  I didn't even put on the first-year-fifteen in law school, but I'm sure that's where my sluggishness began.  It got worse by the first year of practice, and since then, there have been a few bouts of the South Beach Diet to trim the tummy, and several different gym memberships which got used for about six month increments before being discarded.  (Last was before I got married.  Note to other brides to be who are about to wear strapless gowns:  Try not to exercise and diet to the extent that you look great in a bikini but your dress is barely staying up, even with the falsies shoved in the front of your gown.    Believe me, I would have needed those anyway, but one of my bridesmaids, who is herself now engaged to be married in April, still berates me for having to lace me up so tightly that she nearly pulled a muscle.  She has now opted for the world's most complicated bustle, specifically for payback.  It's only fair.)

Anyway, before I got pregnant I was at a healthy BMI and could have stood to shed a few pounds (again around my stomach) but exercise was not a part of my routine.  The hubby and I do like to hike and kayak, but these are things we have done so very rarely (uh, we went kayaking on our honeymoon and that was it) that they can hardly be counted as part of our routine.  And I still like to swim, but the pool at our place is outdoor, so the weather must cooperate. 

So when I get told that I have to exercise daily...well, it's not "worse" than having to prick my fingers four times a day, per se, but it is a bigger hassle.   The pricking takes a minute or two.  The exercising takes at least 15 minutes for it to be worth anything, and beyond that, I am supposed to exercise after dinner (if not also at other times as well.)   After dinner is when I want to put my feet up and do my kick counts.  Niblet is the most active then, and I generally just want to sit and digest, not go waddle around the neighborhood, avoiding the crazy old lady with her giant stick or her seventeen cats.  It's also late enough that it's no longer warm enough to swim (usually, today being a notable exception), and besides, I still have that hangup about not swimming after you eat.  I don't even know if it's true but I was brought up to count down the minutes until we could swim after lunch.   So I won't chow down and then dive on in.  

Which pretty  much leaves the brisk walk.  Some nights, I just walk around the house, like an idiot.  I walk from one wall to another.  I go up and down our stairs.  I get out the swiffer and multitask by swiffing furiously around the house, cleaning up while working out.   I dance around a little bit, like a bigger idiot, but it's not like anything I do right now looks particularly graceful.   Other nights, we actually take on the neighborhood for a stroll.  Last night, we had dinner with my parents, and my dad and hubby did the dishes while my mom and I walked their neighborhood, which was a great change of pace because I've quite tired of mine.  

So here's the rub (literally):  recently, I have noticed that I *might* be experiencing some mild pregnancy related swelling in my hands, feet, and ankles.  Specifically, I noted that my ankles are MIA.  They're not cute.  My legs aren't heavier, so I know it's swelling and not weight gain, but I've never not seen my ankle bone before, and I don't like it.  

With that, obviously, comes some shoe issues.    Early on in my pregnancy, I bought a couple of pairs of flat black shoes for work, since I shouldn't wear heels while pregnant.  These shoes were bought a 1/2 size bigger and still fit...mostly.  But my sneakers are another story.  One pair I haven't been comfortable in for weeks.  The other pair was a little more loose fitting, and I thought I could get away with wearing them through the end of my pregnancy.

But today, I was on an errand, and planned to meet my mom, but she called to tell me she was hung up and would be a bit later than we'd expected.  I now had an hour to kill in a shopping complex.  And Payless started serenading me.   

This wasn't the first time I had been lured to Payless with their BOGO promise.  I'd been looking for brown flats as long as I'd been looking for black ones, to no avail.  I already have wide feet, and finding inexpensive wide width no heel non-flip-flop brown shoes was apparently an impossible task.  But I kept checking, figuring different stores at different times may yield different results.  Possibly shoe results.

So I poked through the aisles, and started looking at the athletic shoes.  I hadn't come in for them, but there they were, all perfectly white, not all cracked and dirty like my well-loved four year old sneakers.   What could it hurt to try on a pair?

Nothing. 

In fact, there was no pain.  There was the sudden absence of pain.   By putting on a pair of sneakers 1 1/2 sizes bigger than I normally wear, my feet experienced their own podiatric rapture.   I was sold.  So I bought 'em.  (And a pair of open style brown sandally things, which, since they're mostly just a few straps of plastic, will allow my feet to swell as much as they want, and they'll still fit.  I hope.  And now I can wear brown!  (Despite my name, Pinky's favorite color is actually brown.  Go figure.)

After the clerk rung up my sneakers, I switched out of my old pair immediately.  I ran the rest of my errands while walking on a fluffy little set of clouds. 

Honestly, if I didn't have gestational diabetes, I would have just said screw it.  I'll go barefoot at home (which I do, I would rather not wear shoes at all if I could help it,) and wear flip flops (which I hate, because there is something between my toes and it's irritating) when I must wear shoes.  But that won't fly if you have to walk every day to get your exercise.  I don't walk all that well in flip flops, and there is no support for my feet in those anyway.

Finding this pair of shoes was a Godsend.  It makes Walking the Voodoo Doll bearable.  Certainly better than pricking myself four times a day.   No pair of shoes is gonna fix that one.