Changing topics

For today. Here.

Switching lanes

Eight weeks into my pregnancy, a phone call from the doctor’s office made my blood run cold.

“Your blood sugar is very, very high,” said the nurse in her Jamaican accent. “It is very bad for the baby.”

“What does that mean, ‘very bad for the baby?’” I asked.

“It’s very bad,” she answered, providing no other guidance.

It was late Friday afternoon. I had nowhere to turn and she had no other answers. The doctor would be in on Monday. Until then, “take good care of yourself,” she said.

So began the longest weekend of my life. It continued into the longest 16 weeks of my life, during which time we had no idea whether eight weeks of cooking in very high blood sugars had done something terrible to the sweet baby girl growing in my uterus.

When we finally learned that the sugars had simply made her sweeter, the relief caused Husband and me to drop to the curb in the parking lot of the hospital and cry.

Being diagnosed with a disease when you’re pregnant brings a terror you can’t imagine. Knowing that your physical failing could doom another being to a lesser life is a burden I can‘t describe. Seven years later, I can still conjure the feeling in its full glory.

Looking back, though, I realize that while the risk to our daughter definitely wasn’t worth it, being diagnosed while pregnant carries a bit of a silver lining. Learning to manage a disease so that you don’t kill your child makes you learn fast and learn well.

Again, seven years later, the results are manifest. My endocrinologist calls me the kind of patient that would put him out of business. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, so I feel pretty certain he’s not joking.

Truth is, I’ve been a damn good diabetic for all the days of the disease. I’ve taken all of my meds, even when I didn't want to. I've pricked my finger a gazillion times and changed my diet to meet my blood sugar fluctuations. I’ve said no to things I wanted — not every time, but most times. And I’ve recalculated my life to meet the disease head-on.

As I sit here today, two weeks after surgery, it’s beginning to sink in that I won’t have to do that anymore. I’ll have to be a different kind of careful, sure. The kind that every healthy person is.

But I won’t have to turn my family around from our pursuit of a weekend breakfast meal because I forgot to do my shot. Again. And I won’t have to worry whether I have all my meds before I board the plane. And I can let myself think about watching my Urchin live out her dreams.

Awesome as it sounds — don’t get me wrong, it sounds terrifically awesome — it’s going to take some getting used to.

Happy Thursday, friends.

Speeding bullets

So, it’s been too long since I last posted and I can’t really figure out where to start. So, like my friend bzzzzgrrrl, I'll resort to bullet points:

• A morphine pump is a beautiful thing. I’m just sayin’.

• Morphine isn’t nearly as wonderful as the drugs they put in your IV before they wheel you into surgery. I don’t know what those are called and it’s probably best.

• Biggest lesson learned: I would rather be in pain than be vulnerable and flat on my back. Prone and vulnerable, especially in a gown that doesn’t close in the back, is my biggest nightmare.

• My Greek surgeon was assisted by a Russian fellow and an Iranian-born anesthesiologist wearing cowboy boots. I feel like I should have come out of surgery at least bilingual.

• Getting out of a hospital bed and into a hospital bathroom and out of the bathroom and back into bed, attached to an IV stand that plugs into the wall and wearing a gown that doesn’t close in the back, ought to be an Olympic sport.

• I don’t have a wealth of experience, but for my money, I’ll take a male nurse every time.

• Removing 80 percent of your stomach is one cure for hunger pangs.

• There are some seriously tasty protein shakes on the market. And some seriously not. The seriously not will find their way into your life first and cause you to lose hope. Be strong. Tasty’s just around the bend.

• Lortab elixir doesn’t compare to morphine. Which is probably best.

• A surprising number of people like to look at incisions. Lucky for me. I like to show mine off.

• Overdoing it is way easier than it looks.

• The only person who can save me from myself is my mother. How cliché is that?

• True love is sitting across the table from four family members who are eating Five Guys burgers and fries while you drink an Orangeade clear protein shake, and not ripping anyone’s throat out.

• There are few feelings as wonderful as tasting real food for the first time in a month. Even if it’s Greek yogurt. And even if it’s pureed.

• Yes, even Greek yogurt must be pureed.

• A hard-boiled egg pureed with a bit of Ranch dressing is heavenly when you haven’t eaten in a month. And it’s still heaven nearly a week later.

• Recovering from surgery is no excuse not to drop into Williams-Sonoma and pick up a splatter screen on sale.

• Watching my parents drive away after nearly two weeks together made me terribly sad. No one is more surprised by that than I am.

• I never imagined it possible to spend an entire day sleeping, reading and being quiet. Turns out, it’s more than possible. It’s awesome.

• I wonder how much longer I’ll feel that way?

• Finally, the big news: I haven’t had any diabetes meds for more than two weeks. For the past six days, my blood sugars have been normal.

• Translate: It worked, friends. It worked.

Peace and love to you.