Healthy Gal, Healthy Pregnancy? Not So Fast.

Every now and then, I miss the good ol’ days.

Not my childhood, or even the days pre-Ubiquitous Cellphone (although, there are days…) but no. I’m talking about the gloriously ignorant time of Less Medical Knowledge.

Don’t get me wrong. Penicillin is fabulous. Polio? I’m glad it got eradicated. But sometimes, knowing too much can be just as harmful as scurvy (and cannot be cured with limes.)

When I was carrying Nora, my OB/GYN (whom I generally love and also generally refrain from mentioning in polite conversation), pretty much told me that I was obese. Why? Because, with the recommended pregnancy weight gain of 25-35 pounds, I had packed on a whopping 40. I took this with a grain of salt (and some Tostitos) because I figured- Hey, that’s their job. Keeping me afeared of Heiferdom. And for the most part, it worked. I attempted to curtail my late night snacking and- within a healthy ten month window- slimmed back down to my size 4 jeans.

But during this, my second pregnancy, they’ve pretty much tried to convince me that I’m dying. And it’s getting really old.

At my 20 week ultrasound, the technician noticed an irregular heartbeat. Once. They repeated the heart check- and it was perfectly strong and normal. However, since they had noticed what could be an arrhythmia, they HAD to refer me to a specialist. Even though my doctor said the blip was most likely either a) user error, b) common and something that fixes itself, or c) because the technician pressed too hard, it was still a “good idea” to get an EKG.  And the baby was fine. The doctor was actually shocked at how incredible the kid’s cardiovascular system looked.

My husband was shocked at the thousand dollar bill sent to us by Blue Cross Blue Shield.

And today, after I had fasted for eight hours and had an inner arm that resembled a veritable pincushion- I was informed that I had failed my glucose tolerance test. By two points. The fasting levels were what did me in, even though the second and third blood draws (with a pint of straight sugar coursing through my system) looked “great.” Could it be a fluke, I asked? Nope, he said. Even though my weight and blood pressure were both stellar, and I wasn’t their typical gestational diabetes candidate at all, they still had to go by my initial [dangerous] level.  So now I’m a diabetic. And need to see a nutritionist. And an endocrinologist. And come in for more monitoring, on top of the [now] bi-weekly belly checks.

And I get it. We have all of this technology and medical research. We should be using it. And if I can guarantee a non-hypoglycemic baby by simply cutting out all sugar on my part- then of course I’ll do it. But when a decently healthy woman is being made to stress over every step of her pregnancy, it’s a bit much. (By about two points.)

It makes one long for the days of ether deliveries and martinis at supper because- hey, it was the good ol’ days.

Okay, I’m kidding about the ether. But the martini is sounding pretty stellar right about now.

Maybe a sugar-free one.

Image: Truthout.org