You had one job, Pancreas!

Last night as I couldn't find my phone, which was a problem because I knew it needed to be charged. The last place I had it was at the playground—we met some friends for a picnic lunch yesterday—but I was pretty sure I brought it home because I used it for navigation purposes.

The GPS Andrew's parents gave us for our 6th (maybe) wedding anniversary (to help us find our way out of their house and into the real world) has been acting up a lot more than it's been working lately. Instead of replacing the GPS we got a stand-thingy to hold our phones since they're equipped with GPS already.

That's when it dawned on me that I probably left it in the car. Because I always leave my phone in the car now, which is probably the biggest downside to having our phones double as the GPS for the car.

Andrew went out to get my phone for me. He handed it to me and I checked for notifications. There were several. One was a voicemail from my doctor's office, specifically from the lab/health information supervisor, asking me to call her back. 

"This can't mean good news," I sighed. "I have gestational diabetes, which means you'll have to deal with grumpy wife."

"You don't know that!" Andrew said. "Check your chart online."

"I've checked it multiple times today. There's nothing there."

"Check it again. If she called that probably means they have your results."

"Yes, and it also probably means she's calling to tell me that I failed."

"They've never called you before."

"I've never failed before. Other places, the saying 'no news is good news' was true because if the results of whatever test were good they just wouldn't ever call you. Getting the phone call was bad. Here it looks like the results go straight to your chart online if they're good. But if they're bad...you probably still get a phone call before they post the results, so...I failed. I know it."

"You don't know it."

"I don't know-it-know-it but I know it."

I was a donkey on the edge with my glucose test at 20 weeks because "according to ADA, a glucose threshold of >139 mg/dL after a 50-gram load identifies approximately 80% of women with gestational diabetes mellitus, while the sensitivity is further increased to approximately 90% by a threshold of >129 mg/dL." 

A normal level would be somewhere between 65 and 139 mg/dL. 

My blood sugar was 131 mg/dL. 

I made it by the skin of my teeth, being under 139...but slightly over 129, which did not give me high hopes for my 28 week test. So I'm fairly positive that I failed. 

I called the office first thing this morning but couldn't get through to the person I'm supposed to contact. So I left her a message. She hasn't called back yet. I called again but got her machine again. 

Good thing Andrew's on spring break and is free to watch the kids on Thursday because I'm pretty sure my 15 minute appointment just turned into a three-hour commitment. Not that the three-hour test will help because if it's anything like the three-hour test I took with Benjamin I will fail...with gusto.

There goes my "eat whatever you want" card. Ain't no doctor going to be complimenting me on my weight gain now! Instead we've reached the part where my doctors will be like, "You're not gaining weight! Tsk. Tsk. Go home and have a big bowl of ice crea... Oh, wait, never mind. You have diabetes. Go home and have a bowl of steamed broccoli." 

I'll wait for the phone call before I have my real hissy fit. 

(I definitely cried when they told me the news when I was pregnant with Benjamin—you'd have thought they told me they had to amputate my leg or something. But no, they just took away cookies. An equal tragedy for sure.)

Maybe I won't have to have a hissy fit at all. Maybe what happened was a vampire carjacked the vehicle transporting my blood to the lab and now it's gone so I just have to retake the test. Sounds equally likely to me.