Tag Archives: HGA1C

Scatterbrained…

Because I’m rather scatterbrained these days, like seriously scatterbrained, I figured I would grace you with a rather scatterbrained, oh-so-random post. These are my Wednesday musings:

1. Last night Big Ring and I took thumb-sucking alien baby to its first concert: John Mellencamp. The venue was a little shoddy, the sound had issues, the band didn’t really seem to be gelling for the first half of the show, and I don’t know if ol’ Johnny Boy was drunk or what, but I’m pretty sure he forgot the words to Jack and Diane! However, the second half of the concert picked up quite nicely, with John thankfully finding a second wind to give us that hip-swilling heartland rock we came for.


Mellencamp performing Small Town.

Throughout the entire concert, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any possibility thumb-sucking alien baby could get shaken fetus syndrome from all the loud pounding. Hmm… probably should have thought of that before going 😉

2. I recently discovered that my five-year-old nephew thinks it his right to name our baby. See, before he was born, I was the one who came up with his name, and when he found this out, he asked his mom “Does that mean I get to name auntie’s baby?” Seems fair, right. But the thing is, this five-year-old nephew is the same five-year-old who wants to change his name – to Rat! Yeah, you’re so not naming our baby kiddo!

3. Yesterday, I had to go in for a fetal echocardiogram test to check and see if the little alien has a fully functioning heart. For Type 1s and 2s, the worry is if the mom’s blood sugars are high at conception, the baby will develop abnormalities of the heart.


Which is why I was getting my HgA1c tested every month leading up to pregnancy.

Apparently I was supposed to be sent weeks ago, but someone in the medical field completely dropped the ball. Awesome.  The good news, baby’s got four solid chambers, a completely average heart rate (I’m good with average) and from what the perinatologist could see, nothing wrong with the heart. Wahoo! She also informed me: “Your baby likes to move,” to which I replied, “Yep, that’s a future runner/cyclist in there!” 😀

4. I think Dallas may become a new guilty pleasure!


He may be a lot older and with more unruly eyebrows, but he is just as evil – and awesome –as the old days!

5. This morning when I checked the tracking information on my super pretty birthday shoes, and saw that they’d arrived in Bellingham (which is where I get them shipped to for cheaper shipping rates) I practically jumped out of my seat for joy at the thought of being able to slip them onto my feet later in the evening.

However, when I arrived at the shipping place, the chick behind the counter said there was no package for me, and after checking my tracking information, she notified me that I had read the details wrong, and was in fact, a day early. Oh crud.


Sigh 😦

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. I left the shop wondering how the heck I was gonna explain to the border guards why I was not coming back with any goods after all. After crossing nearly two streets, I heard my name being shouted from behind. I turned around and saw the behind-the-counter chick running after me – with my passport in her hands! Yeah, totally left that behind! What the?

Scatterbrained!

26 weeks: Channeling Aretha

R-E-S-P-E-C-T! That’s the song I felt like belting out as I soared out of the diabetes in pregnancy clinic earlier this week all afloat with good momma-to-be vibes swooping through me.

When I walked into the clinic Tuesday morning, I was prepared to give them hell if they gave me any trouble – any trouble! – with my weight gain or BG control. I’d been practicing in my car all week with strong one-sided conversations with that nasty dietitian I saw last, and I was determined not to let her break my shell again. But the practice was all for not. This week I saw a new dietitian, and my favourite endocrinologist of the clinic was back from her European holidays.


The past couple appointments I’ve felt dread walking through these doors, but not anymore!

So what happened? Well, let’s start with the weight gain: It seems I’m down a smidge from a month ago (0.7 kg to be exact) which could have something to do with the fact that because these medical peeps have essentially freaked the crap out of me, I wouldn’t step on that scale without first removing my shoes, jeans, insulin pump and watch! (FYI: the scale is in the washroom, no one is around me, I could have gotten stark naked if I so desired… and believe me, the thought did cross my mind.)

The new dietitian, who I really liked was a little concerned with my slight weight loss, and so I told her what I did and why. Her eyes half bulged at my reasoning for stripping down. She told me I am in no way overweight for my pregnancy, that in fact, I’m slightly below the range I should be. Not upsettingly low, just 1 kg below the 73 to 77 kg range they’d prefer I be in. She told me not to worry about weight gain, I’m “on the right track.”

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!


Seriously, with meals like this, how could I not be viewed as healthy?

She was also super impressed with how much I check my blood sugars. I half-laughed and told her that over the years I’ve become a bit OCD with my BG control, even before pregnancy, to which she replied I was a breath of fresh air after dealing with so many others who hardly ever check their blood sugars.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

When it was time to see my favourite endocrinologist of the clinic, I was so super happy and took the opportunity to combine the diabetes appointment with a counselling session. Pretty much as soon as I walked into her office, I was spilling out every bad appointment I’d had since she left more than a month ago, the tears, the nasty comments, the worries, the fears, everything. And I kid you not, I think she might have been more offended than I was with the situation. She told me in no way should any of that have been said to me. She said my HgA1c is “outstanding,” and that “it’s the best of anyone in that clinic,” and that my belly, which measured 25 and a half inches, was perfectly in line with being 25 and a half weeks at the time, and that the higher blood sugars I was experiencing corresponded to the exact same time that non-diabetics get tested for gestational diabetes due to a healthy placenta pumping out added hormones that make it more difficult for insulin to do its job efficiently. “You are doing everything right,” she said. “Don’t let them freak you out!”

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!


You better believe I was channeling Miss Aretha!

So basically, suck it nasty doctors and dietitians!

There will be blood

This morning I was driving down the highway, on my way to a specialist’s appointment, and for a brief second I looked to my left before setting my eyes back on the road. Something I saw, though, had my head reeling back to the left side of me so freaking fast. My arm was splurting blood – splurting!

I had just finished up at the BC biomedical lab for my once-a-month blood work, and you know, I thought the needle-bearing chick was a little rushed given how freaking hard she jabbed that needle into my arm and how quick she was to stick a Band-aid on and send me on my way – the cotton-ball, clot-the-spewing-vein-before-you-leave method completely thrown out the window.


The Band-aid didn’t quite cut it.

And of course I ran out of Kleenex in my car earlier this week, and I don’t do my own oil changes so no fresh paper towel in my car, and I’m wearing white, so I’m freaking out that I’ll soon be wearing red, andddddd yeah, dirty, week-old paper towel sitting in my garbage bag it was. Awesome.


So sanitary!


I seriously look like a cross between a junkie and a vampire lover. No lies, there are TWO angry red jab holes surrounded by purple!

Today’s blood-gushing event had a touch of deja-vu attached to it. About 23 years ago, I think I was 10, maybe 11, my moms took me in for blood work at the hospital, and afterwards as a reward she took me to the golden arches. (Oh how perceptions change; that would be like punishment these days!) We were sitting in the drive thru lane, I was wearing a long-sleeved pink sweater, which was kind of feeling a little moist, so I pressed down on it, and it squished, and I was like, hmm, that’s odd, so I pressed down a few more times before realizing ah cool, I’m gushing! Now, imagine this, my moms doesn’t do well with blood, and when I leaned over and showed her with a “Look ma!” she – not the one losing the blood – nearly passed out, before squealing out of the drive-thru line and speeding us right back to the hospital!

Given how much I give blood, I’m actually kind of surprised this has only happened twice in 24 years.

LAST NIGHT’S PILATES:

  • 5 p.m. BG before: 7.4
  • Temp. basal: 0
  • Time: 1 hour
  • 6:30 p.m. BG after: 2.6 (Yikes! Been having lots of lows lately which I’m not liking :()

Ankle update: It’s still gushing. It was getting better, though, I had put a strip of Second Skin on, which seemed to demagnetize it from my shoed foot, and when I hopped out of the shower this morning it was starting to feel itchy, which is a sign of healing right. So I figured I’d let it breathe and I ripped the bandage off. But eight hours later, just as I was walking into the wine store, I totally smoked my ankle! Mario says it was oozing, I say gushing.

Do you have any blood-loss war stories?