The life of a T-1 pregnant chick

Thank you everyone for your congratulations and well wishes; the last couple months have been a whirlwind of excitement and trepidation… and specialists appointments. Oh man, have there been a lot of those.

In fact, it was in the ER that I first found out about the little thumb-sucking alien baby growing inside me.


Remember this?

Remember a couple months back when Mario and I were out running and the cement demons latched onto my ankles causing me to do a perfect 10.0 face first dive into the cement, and how Mario suspected a dislocated shoulder? And how, when he suggested the hospital, I completely freaked out? It’s not odd that I would freak out given that hospitals totally wig me out in general, but this time it wasn’t because of that. It was because I was worried about getting an x-ray.


A reenactment of the dive.

See, I had suspicions about something going on in my belly at the time. I hadn’t told Mario my suspicions as it was still super early and I wanted to be sure. But I did tell the docs when they checked me over. They did a test and sure enough I was preggers. Three weeks along.

I was still good to go for the x-ray, but the thing is, I was in a completely different waiting room then Mario. And so, for three and a half hours, I sat there, ready to burst with this news, but couldn’t exactly text him now could I. Can you say torture?

Or, a little foreshadowing maybe? Since then, I have been running all over the map getting myself to this doctor and that specialist and 1,000 others after.

Every two weeks, I’m required to attend the pregnancy in diabetes clinic, which consists of an endocrinologist specializing in pregnancy, dietitian, and nurse, and for the first while, I was seeing them every week. I’ve also been in to see my diabetic eye specialist, something I have to do every trimester because apparently diabetic retinopathy can present itself in pregnancy. I have to get my hemoglobin A1c tested every month to ensure BG perfection continues, as well as my thyroid, the dose of which has already been increased due to alien baby sucking all the good thyroid out of me. An obstetrician has been recommended as a result of Dear Diabetes being earmarked as high risk, and I’ve also been given advance notice of stress tests coming my way. And that doesn’t even include ultrasounds and regular visits with my GPs that specialize in pregnancy.  Oh joy.


The result of one of my many appointments: the first pic of our little thumb-sucking alien baby.

Seriously, it’s like the world thinks if you have Type 1 and are pregnant, life stops. You don’t work, you don’t have commitments, you don’t have a social life, nothing – except a wide open calendar to fill with specialists appointments!

This post was first published March 14, 2012.

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