I didn’t spew. The Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT) actually required four blood draws in all – that’s more in three hours than in my entire pregnancy last time around. And I didn’t spew. I feel empowered, a Queen of the needle and Princess of the blood draw. It is done. And actually, it really wasn’t so bad after all.
While sitting in the hospital waiting room between draws, I wrote and addressed 25 Christmas cards, watched 17 re-runs of the same suspected-serial-killer-on-Long-Island news bulletin, read seven pages of Rhoda Janzen’s hilarious Mennonite memoirs, received three texts from Husband N at home with Eliza asking where her pink shoe/ toothbrush/ woolly hat were and heard one Australian accent.
I’d stuffed my bag full of GTT-friendly goodies – an apple, an ounce of cheese, two slices of unbuttered whole-wheat bread, one bottle of water – thinking that after fasting 12 hours and following the first blood draw, I’d be able to eat something. Not so. I needed to wait three hours until the test was complete. I was ravenous and suspect my stomach rumbles were heard by fellow waiting room-ees even over the news bulletin re-runs. Never have two slices of unbuttered whole-wheat bread tasted as good as they did when that test was done. I almost ate them in the hospital bathroom out of sheer desperation but managed to make it to my car.
I was told I’d need to wait overnight for the results but my ob/gyn clinic rang that evening to say they’d been received and everything was fine. No gestational diabetes for me, thank goodness. But I have to be careful of my sugar intake from now on. It’s funny because I’m way more a nuts, crackers and seeds girl than a sweet-tooth, although there’s nothing like a Chips Ahoy cookie after dinner. Last night I swear the packet winked at me and peeled back its titillating foil cover as I stretched past it for the peppermint tea. But I did not partake. Because one leads to another, then to another etc.
So I can away to Scotland on Sunday with a spring in my step and an apple in my bag. We’re geared up and ready for flight action. We’ve spent a small fortune on items to entertain toddler Eliza – a portable DVD player, headphones, tiny wooden toy emergency vehicles, sticker books and a new car seat.
Yesterday, I met with US friends and as we said goodbye they joked I was to make sure I came back to the States after our trip. I know how tempting it will be to stay in Scotland, especially after we’ve seen friends and family, visited old haunts and drank good tea. But hard as it at times, we’re invested in our lives over here now, for as long as that needs to be. We’ve had such wonderful experiences so far – Eliza sees deer in the yard every day, in the summer she swims in the lake with her friends, feels sand between her toes at the ocean beach, in the fall she can play in corn mazes, pick pumpkins from fields and dress up for the village Halloween parade, in the winter she feeds wild turkey in the woods near our house.
I want all this for our growing baby too. And somehow, having conceived the baby in the US, I feel like he or she is entitled to being born and raised here, even if just for a little while so that they too can experience the things Eliza has. Once we have our two, of course I’ll miss the support of my family, especially in those tricky early weeks, but we’ll learn to cope and it will make us stronger and more appreciative of time with them when it comes.
Plus, I’ve learnt a whole new language and that can’t go to waste. My regular vocabulary is now sprinkled with ‘diapers’, ‘strollers’, ‘trucks’, ‘gas’ and ‘wiener dogs’. ‘Pants’ I can’t and don’t think I’ll ever get comfortable with. Pants will always be knickers to me.
So I’ll be off with my Star-Spangled stretch marks for now. But I will return. In the meantime, wishing you all a very Happy Holidays.