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Posts Tagged ‘#5’

Bionic Woman

So, I’m not quite the six million dollar man.  And I can’t say I have much in common with Lindsay Wagner (of the original “Bionic Woman“), but I’m beginning to feel like I ought to have a fancy name like that anyway.  I currently have a PICC line, two infusion pumps (one that runs through the PICC line and one that is run subcutaneously), IV Fluids and medications, and a home uterine contraction monitoring system that I have to strap myself to a minimum of two hours a day (it’s usually 4-5 hours per day).  Going to the bathroom is… an ordeal, to say the least.  It’s so easy to get tangled up in tubing and wires, and it’s frankly too complicated sometimes to figure out what has me attached to what.

So imagine my amusement today when I went to the OB’s office and got threatened with an insulin pump.  Because I didn’t have enough infusion pumps.  Oh well,  at least insulin pumps are small.

Here’s the thing, though:  how exactly does a woman who doesn’t eat end up with gestational diabetes?  HOW?  My blood sugar levels have been ridiculously high.  The first few days that I was checking my blood sugar 4x a day, they were a little high sometimes, but on average were basically okay, if borderline high.  But after the first few days, my levels kept creeping higher.  And higher.  And higher.  Yesterday I was at 181 at noon.  I’d had IV fluids running all day, yes, but that’s (at most) about 25 calories per hour.  That’s not enough to blow my sugar that high.  Terbutaline can raise blood sugar, but how much?  Steroids can raise blood sugar – but I haven’t had steroids in nearly a month, so that’s not what’s effecting it either.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter WHY or HOW my blood sugar is elevated.  What matters is that hyperglycemia isn’t good for moms and growing babies.  So whatever the cause, it has to get under control.

So my doctor has prescribed Glyburide, with the curious instruction to take one tablet every morning before breakfast.  Um, before WHAT?  Yeah.  I told him I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep it down regularly enough to matter (though now that I have them at home, I can see it’s a TEENY TINY pill, so at least it has that going for it).  So if I can’t keep the glyburide down (or it doesn’t work), I get to get an insulin pump. He also ordered labs to check my hemoglobin A1C level.

Of course, the OBs office does not coordinate an insulin pump – they’ll send me to an endocrinologist to handle that.  Because I don’t have enough doctors and specialists in my life.   Oh, and I get to start having weekly appointments with the OB (in addition to my appointments with the perinatologist).  Because I don’t have enough appointments in my life.

Someday I’m going to write my memoir and no one will buy it because they’ll say “this chick made up every word of this!  It’s too preposterous to be fact!”

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Bored Now

Dear Self:
While you might enjoy the quiet irony of how well the irritable uterus combines with my sunny disposition, I do not share in your enjoyment.  Please cut it the heck out.
No love,
Me

So another visit to L&D today, but today I got to meet the day shift, which is oh so much more exciting!  Here’s the thing – when I left Sunday night/Monday morning last week, the discharge instructions said to call my doctor if I have more than 4-5 contractions per hour.  Um, except they discharged me with contractions coming 2-3 minutes apart.  Go ahead, do the math.  I’ll wait.

And so it’s quite difficult to imagine what my threshhold really ought to be under the circumstances, capisce?  Needless to say, I pretty much ignore contractions until they really start to get so painful it’s hard to concentrate.  I get my 17P injections Monday evenings and contractions aren’t terrible from then until … oh, Thursday or so.  By Friday, they aren’t any fun at all.  So I spent the weekend thinking, “well, I’ll call if it gets too much worse” but never really figuring there was any point in calling… since contracting is what I *do*.

So this morning I called the doctor’s office  – I just can’t see the point of waking up a doctor on the weekend for something that’s totally normal for me – and got an early appointment with a doctor I’d never met before.  He was very nice, and extremely ticked off that I hadn’t called sooner.  I told him I don’t like to be the girl who cries wolf when, hello?  This is NORMAL for me.  “No, this is not normal,” he said.  “You’re not far enough along to have the luxury of calling this normal.  We’d rather you call and wake us up than wait until 7 or 8 in the morning and tell us it’s been going on all night.”  He found the heartbeat, pronounced it okay, and sent me to L&D.

Hooked up to monitors and… hello there contractions, my old friends… how have you been?  Contractions every 2-3 minutes.  Negative fFN again (good news).  Three shots of terbutaline and my contractions became less severe and slowed down… to about every 3-4 minutes.  The doctor wasn’t a big fan of sending me home with that many contractions, but she let me on account of the negative fFN.  With a reminder that I should *call* when I’m having contractions.  I told the L&D nurse that we’d be well acquainted by the time this baby enters the world.

And when is that?  Not soon enough.  I’m due in May, but don’t ask me when in May and don’t ask me how far along I am.  I’m not going to tell you.  It’s my own neurosis about it – when I start thinking too hard about the numbers, I get severely stressed out, something I can definitely do without right now.

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