The OGTT Kiss of Death

The OGTT.
It elicits so much fear in me.
And most of you probably have never heard of it, had to take it, or care what it is.

The Oral Glucose Tolerance Test, or OGTT, is a hellish one hour test that almost all pregnant women are put through between 24-28 weeks to screen for gestational diabetes. The basics are as follows: go the the lab, drink one of the bottles shown, wait exactly one hour, and have your blood drawn.

It truly is, for me, one of the most nerve wracking, stress inducing, worst parts about pregnancy. There are only three things I loathe about being pregnant, and they are, in order: vomiting repeatedly, having stitches after delivery, and the OGTT.

See, I am already predisposed to diabetes. It runs in my family- 3 of 4 grandparents have it. My mother could end up having it. I am overweight. It is something that I have always been afraid of. Type II Diabetes, to me, is a great disease to have if you have to pick one, because you can control it. But it's also a stupid one to have, because for the most part, it's completely preventable with they way you treat your body. My last pregnancy, my OGTT was within normal range by 5 points. It needs to be less than 130 to be okay, or they make you take a challenge test and drink twice as much,

This time around, I was prepared to do my own reading. Tuesday morning, armed with my own pocket glucometer (blood sugar checker), I tested my fasting glucose. 79. Not to shabby, The lemon lime drink can't touch me.

I go to Quest, lab sheet in hand, at 8:30. No breakfast, no water, the way-too-chipper gal hands me a 50 gram glucose drink, and I have to stand there in front of her and chug it. It is like drinking a flat Sprite, but WAY sweeter. A Sprite, I found out, has 38 grams of sugar. This is like drinking 1.3 Sprites in 10 seconds, but making it flat and warm. And for someone who doesn't buy soda, and drinks her tea in the south UNSWEET, it is enough to make me start getting nauseated before I even get back to the waiting room. "See you at 9:35!" she says. I don't even turn around.

I pace for a while, start reading my book, and decide to head to the car and read. At the half hour marker, I can't take it any more and whip out my glucometer to see how high I am. I can FEEL that it's high- nauseated, hands shaking from the sugar high (or nerves??), and I psych my self out to poke my finger. 166.

I AM DOOMED. Here I go. I am a raging diabetic. I knew it. Now I am having to give my self insulin every day. And have a grotesquely huge, 11 pound baby. And probably have a C Section. And my life is over as I know it. (This is where being a nurse and knowing the complications make me crazy)

I sit in the car for the next 30 minutes, and hover between crying, praying, trying to read, singing to the radio. I know things could be worse, it's not like I am waiting for a cancer biopsy, but to me, this is a big deal. I walk back in at 9:35 promptly. This little blonde brings me back to draw my blood, and I know she is new there. As in, totally inexperienced, and is in NO WAY hitting my troublesome veins. After digging around in my arm with a needle, she goes to find someone else more experienced to do the same. This lady gets me on the first try, I fake a smile, and waddle back to the car, mid-Braxton-Hick from all the stress. Levi is wiggling around in my belly, turbo charged from the sugar rush, and it's making me want to ralph.

I whip out my glucometer, and see the reading for my 1 hour marker: 122. Somewhat relieved, I am counting down the days to this Tuesday's appointment for my results.

Please, God, let it be less than 130!