Last week when I had my glucose screen, and I had to get up and out earlyish to do it, one of the complaints I grumbled to myself was, "This is totally unnecessary anyway, I don't have diabetes." And then the universe called (via the doctor's office) and was all, "Oh yeah, except you totally do lolz!"
So I had to do a three-hour glucose tolerance test two days later, in which I fasted for 9 hours, had a blood draw, drank a drink twice as nasty as the first one, then had a blood draw once every hour for the next three hours, in the meantime sitting in the OB-GYN lobby trying to reread Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix while watching other lucky people come and go, including a Really Loud Cell Phone Talker, who apparently had an epidural for back pain the day before and was concerned she would contract meningitis, the latest affliction that was "All Over the News."
The confirmation of The Diabetus came Friday afternoon, mere hours before my friend Elizabeth's 30th birthday party, which featured a glorious strawberry lemonade cake with gorgeous purple frosting sprinkled in what appeared to be sparkling fairy dust and surrounded by adorable cake pops, from her husband's cousin's business, Cupcake Cuties. Incidentally, none of it was sugar free.
I have to go to a class on Thursday in which I'll be taught about diet and how to test my own blood sugar, which sounds super fun!, but until then my friend Jessica (who also was blindsided by her gd diagnosis a few years ago) gave me some good pointers, like whenever I have a snack I should combine a carb and a protein. So this afternoon, I'm having an apple fritter with roast beef.