Tag Archives: high risk obstetrician

The lasts

Hallelujah, my friends, we have entered the week of the lasts. The last pregnancy related appointments I will ever have to endure. Wahoo… I mean, I’m so sad this is ending… note the sarcasm 😉

1. Blood work: After two years of monthly blood work, which involved more than one year prior to getting pregnant to ensure my blood sugars were perfect pre-conception, and then nine months of once-a-month tests to ensure BG perfection throughout the pregnancy, I held my pin cushion of an arm out for the pretty little vampires one last time last Monday.

When you get blood work done this much, you learn which labs are the quickest and which ones have the best (and by best I mean least painful) blood suckers on staff.

2. Diabetes in pregnancy clinic: Last Tuesday was the last time I will ever step foot in that god-forsaken, numb-skull driven place again. When you have a nurse who works in a pregnancy in diabetes clinic who asks if you might be pregnant – one month after regularly going there! – and when you’ve got an evil hag of a dietitian who makes you want to go and vomit every time you eat, I’m thinking you got a problem.

Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye!

3. Eye exams: Each trimester of this pregnancy I have required an eye exam to ensure the pregnancy hormones and pregnancy blood sugars haven’t caused diabetic damage to my eyes. And you know, I figured, given that I had to endure those blinding eye drops, the eye gods could have done me a solid and granted me my wish of finally being sentenced to a life of eye glasses (when a girl looks as great as I do in glasses, she should NOT be deprived!) but nooooo, the eyes continued to be the epitome of sight perfection.

Not even pregnancy could mess with my sight 😦

4. Non-stress test: As of Monday, the one-and-a-half months of twice-a-week non-stress tests, which at times were actually quite stressful, were no more.

We aced those tests kid 😀

5. Obstetrician: Today, I went in for my last obstetrician appointment, which means no more freaking the crap out of me, no more poking and prodding, and other evil things to me (in the office that is) and no more peeing all over my hands. Oh happy day.

This book in the obstetrician’s office always made me laugh, but nine times out of 10, I left not feeling like a hot mama.

6. DINKs: Tonight could very well be the last night Big Ring and I are a Dual Income No Kid family.

Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap!

The reason for the lasts: My due date is Sept. 20. It was suspected I’d be induced around Sept. 6 (the day before my grandpa’s birthday; the most amazing man I ever knew). But following the results of my last ultrasound last Thursday, which showed a long-legged, pot-bellied, eight-pounder with a highly visible “layer of fat,” it was decided I’d be induced on Monday. Labour Day (how appropriate!). But today, that all changed. After complaining of an incessantly itchy belly last week, I was sent for some blood work, and it turns out my liver enzymes have elevated (yet another pregnancy side effect I’ve been plagued with) and they figured it would be best if we start the process sooner rather than later.

Cue the freak-out session!

She-Diabetic: Hear me roar

Oh man, I walked into that doctor’s office, pounded my chest with great amounts of bravado and announced I am She-Diabetic, hear me roar! Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly how it went down, but in my head that’s how it played out.

As you know, after last week’s appointment with my maternity doctors, I walked out feeling crushed, defeated, like I was the worst mom-to-be ever. But thanks to the advice of my moms and sister-in-law, I decided to take charge. I made a follow-up appointment on Monday with the senior doctor in the clinic who has a pretty good history with my family. I had a page full of notes with me to ensure I wouldn’t forget a thing, and with my voice somewhat on the shaky side (Hey! Even She-Ra didn’t like confrontation without her super-chick costume!) I listed off all the reasons why I had concerns regarding my appointment with Dr. Jackass and why I in no way wanted him to be a part of my delivery.

Throughout my entire spiel, Dr. D’s face was contorted into a grimace – eyes squinted, nose crinkled, lips puckered, and neck buried so far into his shoulders, I was surprised he was able to pull it back out again. He was either thinking a) Holy crap, how the hell did I end up with this one today? or b) Why the hell would Dr. Jackass tell her that?

I’m going with the latter.

So here’s the thing, Dr. D told me that technically speaking Dr. Jackass was following proper protocol. Because I have Type 1 diabetes, I’m automatically considered high risk, which means, following the book, I should be sent to a high-risk obstetrician. But what Dr. Jackass failed to take into consideration is my knowledge, my history, and my excellent control of this disease. He was looking at me as a label, not as a person. Not the first time that’s happened in my 25 years with this disease, but still frustrating as hell!

Dr. D also said that he and the other senior doctor in there had no problem caring for me during pregnancy because in their history they’ve dealt with several high-risk patients (long before the town got a selection of obstetricians) and because I was so well controlled with my diabetes going into pregnancy. And furthermore, he told me I had no need to worry about getting Dr. Jackass, given that Dr. Jackass would be retiring from obstetrics come August – one month before I am to deliver.


However, Dr. D recommended I keep my appointment with the high-risk obstetrician. He told me she has a great reputation, I’d really like her, and that she is the highest level of care I can get. As well, because it would solely be her I’m dealing with (not a group of doctors like I do at the maternity clinic) she would more than likely schedule my inducement on a day she could be there, ensuring I had a medical professional there I trusted. And if I didn’t like her, Dr. D said I was more than welcome to come back there, and they’d work it out for me.

The appointment concluded with Dr. D telling me not to take too much stock into the so-called “larger than average” belly I’m sporting, because regular ultrasounds, which I start getting at 28 weeks, are a far more accurate measurement of the baby than my bloody belly. He also said that by all accounts, I’m doing great with my diabetes … which is exactly what my regular diabetes specialist (who’s not handling my diabetes during pregnancy) told me in an email earlier that day after I had frantically fired off an email to him seeking advice.

Here’s an excerpt from Dr. Hottiecrinologist:

I suspect the increase in sugar after breakfast is a strong increase in hormone resistance from the placental hormones at that time of day.  It means the placenta is healthy.  You may have to increase your basal rate earlier, before breakfast,  to get ahead of the glucose surge. (In addition to the CHO ratio change).  It sounds like you have been doing very well overall…

So, to all the other medical peeps out there giving me a hard time, treating me like I don’t know my disease, or that I am solely my disease and nothing else,  you can all just fugg off! ROAR!!!

24 weeks: Counting down the days

Dear Blood Sugars,

Are you unaware that my birthday, one of my most favourite days of the year, is just around the corner, five days around the corner to be exact, which means we’re in birthday three week time, a time that is supposed to be happy and joyous and beautiful and wonderous – NOT TEAR FILLED! Or, are you just being plain nasty? Because after the week you’ve put me through, I’m having my doubts about you. I’m beginning to think you hate me and I’m wondering why. Don’t keep me in the lurch here, dear BG, I would very much like to know, because then maybe I could tackle your evilness, put a stranglehold on it, kick it to the bloody curb. Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I would like to do. Because right now, you’re making me look bad, real bad, and in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like to look bad – YOU JERK!


My blood sugars the last few days are so beyond the roller coaster. I’m teased with perfection first thing in the morning only to be sucker punched an hour later with ugly highs. And no matter what I do, they just keep going up, up, up. It’s like they’re spending the entire morning and a good part of the afternoon too climbing the Mt. Ventoux. But then in the evening, after a full days worth of rage bolusing trying to get them back down to reality, then, and only then, do they decide, hey let’s go for a swim, and why don’t we tie a few bricks around Princess’ ankles – see how she survives then. JERK!

And because of those BG spikes, I was made to feel like the worst mom-to-be this morning by the doctor manning the maternity clinic I go to once a month. It’s not bad enough that I’m already super anxious about keeping my little alien thumb-sucker healthy and on the up and up, but to be lectured by this doctor who told me I was “endangering” my baby with the highs (9, 10 and 11 readings) nearly sent me over the edge. Oh and he couldn’t stop there, nooo, he stuck a little jab in when he measured my belly and noted that I was two inches larger than where I should be, stating that all that “added glucose” in me is taking it’s toll.

Take note: I did say I’ve been experiencing highs for three days, not three months! My three-month BG average is more than perfect, so I highly doubt they’re the reason I’m soon to be the size of a hippopotamus. JERK!

I already feel like this and according to all these medical peeps I’ll soon be the size of it too.

And then after all that, after making me feel like I’ve been doing everything wrong, that I’ve been neglecting my baby, that I’m worse than a freaking alcoholic or drug-addicted pregnant chick, he tells me that “truthfully I have no knowledge when it comes to Type 1 diabetes,” and that I would be better off with a high-risk obstetrician.

Uh what? Then why the hell have I been going to this clinic for the past five months, building a relationship with the doctors in this clinic, if they were just going to wash their hands of me? If they had no knowledge of Type 1 diabetes back then, then why the hell wasn’t I sent to a bloody high-risk obstetrician back then? Are you freaking kidding me?

Counting down the days ’til I never have to deal with these jerks again!

Getting really sick and tired of the lack of Type 1 knowledge when it comes to pregnancy! Seriously, not cool.