Two weeks ago, I downed a bottle of Kool-Aid's second cousin, "Glucola." Turns out, Glucola is not my friend. I threw up 3 times that night and then got the call a few days later letting me know that I have gestational diabetes. My numbers were so high that I was not even asked to come back and try to reconcile with Glucola. Nope, I'm just diabetic. Me and Wilford Brimley.
Here I’d finally gotten to eat the way every future mom envisions herself during those nine months of pregnancy: no guilt desserts, pass the cookies BECAUSE I WANT THEM, and yes, I am having ice cream for lunch, why do you ask? Now, the nutritionist from Shawnee Mission Hospital's "Nutrition Education Center" was going to yank that bag of mini Reeses peanut butter cups right out of my hand, and I didn’t appreciate it. (And I have no clue how that entire bag got in my hand, honest.)
Fortunately (I think), the "Nutrition Education Center" was able to get me in the same day that I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. This gave me only 3 hours to panic and imagine worst-case situations.
After spending as much time at work as I could looking up info on this alarming new twist in my pregnancy while still appearing to be teaching my students, I was reasonably sure that I wouldn't, in fact, give birth to a 12 pound colossus. I calmed down enough to drive safely to the hospital for my meeting with the nutritionist.
Here is where things got interesting. You may have noticed that the name of the clinic I visited has thus far been presented in quotation marks. That is because I doubt their ability to call themselves an "education center." See if you question my judgment after reading about my appointment...
My appointment started with the nutritionist asking if I had been experiencing any of the following symptoms of diabetes: weight gain, drinking more water, frequent urination. I reminded her that I have a 3 pound baby growing inside of me, which tends to contribute to all of those issues. She then reminded me that since I had been diabetic prior to my pregnancy, I probably already knew most of what she was going to teach me. I pointed out that I have GESTATIONAL diabetes, meaning that this is a new and impermanent condition.
Since she then understood that I am new to the world of diabetes, she took out a book from the 1970’s with cartoon illustrations showing me how my pancreas currently creates insulin but the insulin can’t get into my blood cells to break down the sugars. The first illustration was a man in a red suit with an I on it (Mr. Insulin) trying to get into a red igloo (representing a blood cell) with a giant lock on the door (representing diabetes). In the second illustration, Mr. Insulin had a giant key to fit the giant lock, allowing him to enter the red igloo which was full of circles with an S inside them (representing sugar). This, apparently, is how I combat diabetes. I resisted the urge to tell her I have a Masters degree AND I took Biology.
Then, we began discussing meal options. She explained that I have to have both carbs and proteins with every meal and that I could combine those items to make more exciting meal options. She demonstrated by taking 2 carbs (2 slices of bread), 4 proteins (3 oz turkey and 1 oz cheese) and combining them to make….A SANDWICH!!! Truly astounding.
In the last 15 minutes of the session, we actually designed a meal plan so I know how many carbs/proteins to eat. By that time I had kind of stopped listening to her, which was kind of too bad since she then gave me a booklet explaining the food groups for diabetics. She then went through the booklet with me, explaining the generalities (which I knew) before getting into the specifics, which I didn’t know because they defy logic. In short, Milk is a group. It isn’t a Protein. Yogurt is in the Milk group. Cheese is not. Cheese is a Protein. Cheese is not in the Milk group. Yogurt is not in the protein group. Yet cheese is made of milk and yogurt is high in protein. You should be confused at this. Also, refried beans and hummus are not Proteins, even though I am positive they are.
She then proceeded to walk me through the chart of what I have to eat each day: 3 small meals, 3 large snacks. A large snack is still smaller than a small meal, but overall I am reminded of Dr. Seuss Cat’s Quizzer, which asked, "Is a tall pygmy taller than a short giant?" And I still don’t know the answer to that.
Overall, the foods I’m allowed are pretty expansive. There are very few things I can’t eat (cookies, cake, etc.) because they really can’t be done sugarless without defeating the purpose of having them in the first place. On the other hand, I can have as many sugarfree jellos as I want, and can count sugarfree ice cream in place of milk. Like the jello, some foods don’t even exist as far as the nutritionist is concerned: garlic, mustard, vinegar, and others are considered free. Non-stick cooking spray is also “free,” but I’ve never mainlined that into my mouth (I only do that with ReddiWhip and Ez Cheez).
So...after my "education" on gestational diabetes, I went home and cried to Tom. I cried because I wanted a glass of chocolate milk (not because I truly wanted it, but because I knew I couldn't have it). I cried because I hate math, and counting carbs and proteins involves...well...math! I cried because he was super supportive and brought me roses (to make me feel better) and carrot sticks (to make me eat better). Most of all I cried because my fixation on the food helped me to completely ignore the other component to having GD: testing my blood. I was told they’d deal with that at the appointment, and give me the supplies and show me what to do. I figured if I got fixated enough on the food aspect and sugar deprivation, I might not realize I had just been told I would have to draw my own blood four times a day for the next three months.
A couple of days after my "nutrition education," I returned to the hospital to learn how to test my blood sugar levels. This time, I met with a nurse who, in addition to being super nice, was super educated! She answered all of my questions AND told me it was fine for me to have a piece of cake at my baby shower - thus endearing her to me for life! She then gave my gizmos - the glucometer, which looks like a mouse (for a computer, not the rodent) and is the brains of the operation; a film canister full of tiny sticks with what looks like a computer chip at one end; an automatic lancet and ammo for this voodoo revolver; and a little carrying kit for the whole shebang.
She then showed me, in way-too-quick succession, how to replace the tiny needles (use one per poke, so 4 swap-outs a day), how to stick the test strips in the meter, and finally, how to jab the side of my finger with the voodoo revolver (lancet stick) at whatever depth you want to draw blood, touch it to the strip, and get a reading. I followed directions just fine and was ready to go.
The next morning, I got up early to get my fasting rate. Then I went about my day, eating, testing, eating, eating, testing - all the while observing these strange dietary guidelines that aren’t Kosher but are still all about not mixing certain food groups. I also have to exercise for 10-15 minutes after I eat both lunch and dinner, so now I pace through the house (it's too cold to go out), touching each window in each room one time per lap (so I have to go all the way into the room) for a total of 5 laps (that's the magic number that gets me close to 15 minutes of walking). If the baby is OCD, we'll know why.
So I’ve become a voodoo doll, eating my voodoo doll diet. If I’m a good doll, hopefully I will be able to give birth to a normal-sized healthy baby, and not a moose. Meanwhile, I can have cake at my shower...and then go poke myself, just for kicks.
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