Thursday, May 26, 2011

Bite me, JerkNurse.

In general, I've been very happy with my MFM OB's office. The people there have been spectacularly nice and, aside from the weird placenta confusion (not that my placenta is confused, which would be weird, but that the details of its position kept getting miscommunicated), I feel comfortable with my care and confident in their competence.

Except for JerkNurse.

For the record, I'm one of those people who - to my detriment, most times - constantly makes excuses for other people's errant behavior. I believe the best of people, and it often means people take advantage of me. For years, B has said I'm a terrible judge of character (truth)...but watch the eff out if I hate someone. If I am able to say bad things without backpedaling, if I have developed a complete irreversible allergy for a person, they will prove to be a craphead. And JerkNurse, ladies and gentlemen, is a craphead.

At my very first prenatal appointment, JN weighed me. I felt weird about it, because all the books told me I'd already gained too much for the first trimester. (My butt also told me this.) So I did some nervous laughy thing when she asked me for my prepregnancy weight and she saw I'd gained 11lbs since then. Direct quote, "You're KIDDING. Did you just eat everything in sight?"

Now, she couldn't possibly have known my history with disordered eating. But this is an OB office, yo. I cannot be the first preggo who's sensitive about the weight gain, amiright? When I said "Well, I've been eating a lot more carbs than usual, and I've been treating a lot of lows" she cut me off with an "OHHHH...so you're the one who's been overcompensating."

She hasn't improved, folks. She's a jerk whenever she calls, she's a jerk whenever we see her in the office, and when I called yesterday to see if my anemia results were in she proceeded to ask me - while my chart was presumably sitting right in front of her - if I'd been scheduled for my glucose tolerance test. Crickets chirped, I barely managed to avoid banging my head against my desk, and I said "Ummmm. No. As I'm Type 1 diabetic, I'm quite certain I don't need to take that test."

What's a girl supposed to do with this?! Currently, I just keep telling myself "It's only 9 more weeks, it's only 9 more weeks" but jeez.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Dammit, I'm a PWD not a fiddler, Jim!

Everyone always said that insulin needs would increase with pregnancy. I didn't think they were lying, of course, but I certainly didn't think it would be unending fiddling with everything in my routine. Not just increased total daily dose, but constant tweaks to I/C ratios, insulin sensitivity, food enemy status (CHEESE has joined this list, and it is a horrific new relationship), and always, ALWAYS basals.

The basal tweaks are driving me batshit crazy. One day it's mornings that don't work. The next it's dinner time. Two days later, midnight starts sucking it. And then the 3am shift starts imploding. I feel like I'm trying to keep a little dinghy afloat, but leaks keep squirting up everywhere. The last aggressive rage-basal tweak, however, seems to have plugged all those leaks for the time being:


Monday, May 23, 2011

The Diary of Anais Nin, by Anais Nin

"When I cannot bear outer pressures anymore, I begin to put order in my belongings....As if unable to organize and control my life, I seek to exert this on the world of objects."

I saw this quotation in Real Simple's June issue. Man, oh man, if that just doesn't perfectly capture my current OMG WHY IS OUR HOUSE SUCH A DISASTER?! desperate obsessing over cleaning and getting the house in tip-top shape for BabyH's rapidly approaching arrival.

Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert (Davis translation)

"Ah," he thought, "Madame Bovary is much prettier than she is, and fresher. Virginie is definitely beginning to grow fat. She's so tiresome with her enthusiasms. And what a passion she has for prawns!"

Friday, May 20, 2011

Previa shmevia

So we had our follow-up scan yesterday. The verdict? The Jeffersons would be highly disappointed in my placenta, but I don't think it's the placenta's fault.


I did not finally get a piece of the pie.

Apparently there was some sort of miscommunication at the scan in March - it turns out I have (and have always had) complete placenta previa, not partial. Not a gigantic difference in what I had to do for the past four weeks, but certainly a different prognosis. Obviously, it's less likely a placenta will move from totally covering a cervix to 2cm away from it than a placenta that's just covering a smidge of the cervix, right? It would have been nice to know the truth, if only to manage my "Maybe it'll move!!" expectations.

At any rate, this means that our OB is pretty damned positive we'll be doing a c-section. Like, so positive that - even though she was all "We'll confirm at the next scan in four weeks" - she told us we might want to consider canceling our birth class to save a few hundred bucks since "you won't need to know it" and suggested just taking a breastfeeding class instead.

We also discussed the timing of the c-section. Between the previa and the threat of bleeding that it poses AND the diabetes and the degrading placenta it can cause, Dr. D said she tends to schedule the section for weeks 36 or 37 to make sure the baby will be safe. They'll be watching me like hawks (2 scans per week after week 32!) to make sure she isn't in distress until the surgery, of course, but no one wants to hear their uterus described as some sort of ticking time bomb of doom.

She also encouraged us to find a pediatrician and make an appointment for shortly after the birth - there was some level of urgency to her suggestion, which freaked me out. Why would the baby need to be seen so soon? Is it because she'll be so early, or because of the diabetes, or...? I'll get clarification at the next visit, but yo doc. Could you keep the freaking me out to a reasonable level for one visit?

I remembered to take a picture of the waiting room!

The only happy news (and really, the thing I'm most concerned about) is that baby girl is just peachy. She's clocking in at 2lbs, 8oz - 43rd percentile for growth, so smack dab in the middle of the curve and exactly where we want her to be. I was thrilled of course, since I always have that dreaded macrosomia living in the back of my mind. She has a cute button nose, and had her leg up over her head for some acrobatic moves during the entire scan.

So. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything. I'm disappointed about the previa, of course. It's hard to hear that you're probably going to be one of the very rare women (1 to 2 percent) who end up having the birth affected by the previa - those odds make me roll my eyes at my craptastic luck. I'm also a bit anxious about the c-section, as I've never had real surgery beyond getting my impacted wisdom teeth removed. I'm also totally weirded out that I may very well know my daughter's birthday in less than four weeks - nothing is stranger than scheduling delivering your baby like you would schedule a lunch date with a friend. And I don't even want to begin to describe the instant "OMG NOTHING IS READY!" panic state my brain jumped to when Dr. D started talking dates - all of this got real in a hurry, let me tell you. I mean, I know it's not that much difference in actual time. But my "Oh, I'm due in August!" instantly became "Oh, she'll be here in July!" and that just feels like such a big shift!

In the end, I know we'll get it all done before her arrival. (Well, at least she'll have a crib, clothes, diapers, and all the basics ready to roll.) B will do his damndest, as usual, to keep me as sane and calm as he possibly can whenever I start to freak out too badly. I have faith in my medical team keeping me and baby girl safe as houses for the c-section and all the uterine stalking leading up to it. And if you told me I had to pick between the potentially-scary-but-maybe-just-inconvenient complete placenta previa OR a totally healthy baby at the end of a type 1 diabetic pregnancy, you can bet your ass I'd choose the healthy little girl every single time.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

My RLS bouquet

Nowadays, when people look at me, tilt their head, and say "How are you feeeeeeling?" I finally have something to say other than "chubby." My friends, we have begun the Omigod, How Do People Have More Than One Child? phase of pregnancy.

Aside from waiting with baited breath to find out if I have an upwardly mobile placenta (scan next Thursday! Keep those fingers crossed), I'm also rockin' quite a few other side effects from playing hostess to BabyH's swinging bachelorette pad.

*** I have sausage fingers. Medical types like to call it "edema," but I'm not quite so high-falutin'. All I know is
  • my fingers look like they would do well on a hoagie next to some peppers and onions
  • it's hard as hell to do a finger-stick (have you ever tried that with water-retentive fingers? It's like squeezing blood from bloated alien-cow udders)
  • my paranoia has me wearing my wedding rings on a necklace chain, since I'd be devastated if they had to get cut off
*** My legs have a mind of their own. Every night without fail, all of a sudden one of my legs will freak the hell out - kind of like when you're falling asleep and your body gives one big jerk and wakes you right up. This started weeks ago as a sign that it was time to head to bed. I'd thought it was just my body saying "You're TIRED. Stop fighting it." But now it has evolved into some boogie-woogie leg-jitterbug that keeps me awake for hours, tossing and turning on top of my boppy, my B, and two very irate cats. Handily, my What to Expect daily newsletter has informed me that restless leg syndrome can indeed be a symptom of pregnancy. Of course, B feels terrible that the Hoffmanderson house-papoose isn't sleeping so well, so today I got this delivered to my cube at the office:

 My RLS bouquet

From everything I've read and heard, I've had an incredibly easy time of it for the pregnancy. (Well, you know, aside from all the Evil Nan / diabetes stuff.) I knew my lucky streak couldn't possibly last forever! And I'm okay with it. Or I will be in August....