Thursday, February 13, 2014

24 hours and four finger sticks later...

Yesterday as my first day as a diabetic. It sounds so weird for me to say that or even think that. I am not diabetic. But I am. No matter how I say it or think it, I don't like it.  I'm still holding out hope that the doctor calls me in the next few days and says that I'm fine and can discontinue the finger pricks and food measuring. I know I shouldn't even hope for that, but I do.

Anyway.

My meeting with the nutritionist yesterday was helpful, if discouraging. I can't have any sweets at all for at least two weeks. At the end of two weeks, I have to call her so we can talk about it. I can't have fruit or milk before lunch. Eating whole grains doesn't let me have more and doesn't count as less. The next twelve weeks are going to be less than pleasant. She told me that once the baby is born, I'll likely be able to go back to normal. I'll be wishing away these next 12 weeks like no pregnant woman has ever wished before.

My appointment with the diabetic educator was also helpful in that she taught me to prick my finger to test my blood sugar. She also gave me the "this is all your fault" talk. When I told her how much I exercised before I was pregnant, I could see the judgment in her eyes and on her face. When I told her how much I exercise now, I saw it again. My new routine, because that is what it has to become, is to walk for 30 minutes after breakfast and 30 minutes after supper. Every. Day. Really, because I have time for that. Apparently, had I made time before, I wouldn't be in this mess. She also told me that I was pretty much going to get Type 2 diabetes when I get older. I felt like I was a contestant on Biggest Loser and was meeting with the doctor for the first time. But, the whole time I couldn't help but think that it didn't make sense. Sure, I was overweight before Baby and didn't exercise but 3 or 4 days a week but I wasn't obese or a complete couch potato. I didn't think (and still don't) that I needed a "wake up call."  I just don't understand it.

So now I have to eat three meals and three snacks every day, exercise for an hour, and check my blood sugar four times a day. Today will be my first full day on my new routine. I woke up this morning and all I could think about was that I needed to check my sugar and find out how to get more testing strips and needles. As I ate breakfast this morning, all I felt was sad. I have a baby growing (but maybe too much) inside of me. I should be the happiest person on the planet. But I'm not. I don't like having to constantly think about my food options and what time I can eat something and exactly how many ounces of what types of food I can have. I don't like pricking my fingers. I don't like crying about it but can't seem to stop.