I was supposed to do the second level of the glucose test today.
There are two tests - the first level is the 'easy' one. No food or water after midnight the night before. You drink what amounts to 16 ounces of flat Sprite syrup within five minutes, then sit around being hideously nauseous, hungry, and cranky for an hour. They take your blood. You leave and go stuff your face with food. It's a delightful way to while away the morning. You know. If you're insane or a masochist.
It tests for the possibility of Gestational Diabetes, which tends to show up around this time in a pregnancy. Because my luck generally can be held up as proof that God really, really has a sense of humor, my results were "a little high". Thus setting in motion what promises to be a really unpleasant couple of days.
I was scheduled to go in today to do the second level, a three-hour test (so essentially four hours of my day, with an hour to an hour and twenty minutes needed to get to work after that depending on traffic, which basically just means don't even bother working that day).
So I went in at 9 AM. My mother-in-law actually took time off work to come in and keep me company in the waiting room, because she is lovely.
I went into the back, where the lab tech just gave me the stuff to drink. Now, on the second-level test they take your blood BEFORE you drink the flat Sprite stuff, then you sit. And then they take your blood. And then you sit. And then they take your blood. Then you sit, THEN they take your blood and then you are allowed to go find food. Because being cruel to pregnant ladies who are already known for their irritability and need to constant ingest nutrients is just one of the glorious benefits of being an OB office.
But the lab tech just hands me the bottle. I asked him about whether or not that made sense with the three-hour test, and he tells me they're just repeating the one-hour. I shrug and figure my numbers must not have been too high in that case, whatever, it's all good. I drink the stuff like a good girl and go out to the waiting room to chat with my mother-in-law.
About forty minutes later, the lab tech calls me back in.
"This can't be good," I say as we head back into the lab room.
"It's... not," he replies.
Turns out I was supposed to do the long test today. It was marked incorrectly on my chart, so they just proceeded with the one-hour test instead of the one they were originally meant to do. They needed to reschedule and by the time I would actually be able to get in on a Monday (I don't work Mondays), I'd be outside the test window they need.
So I get to go back tomorrow! And do more fasting! And I get to be hungry and nauseous from my wake-up alarm until late afternoon for two days in a row! Yay!
Not to mention that I get to drive over there three times this week. Today, tomorrow, and I have to go in Thursday morning too - although at least I won't have to miss any more work for that one.
Thankfully, my workplace is being very understanding. I work as hard as I can to have every appointment be on a Monday, and this last few weeks has been the first time I've failed at managing that. At least I can comfort myself with it not being my fault. And also with the fact that they're already adjusting to the concept of me simply not being present for many weeks soon enough, a day won't kill anybody.
I mean, after four hours of nothing but syrup in my stomach I might kill someone, but... I'm pretty sure I can blame that on temporary insanity, right?