Call me Ms. Dramatic

I have pricked my fingers a total of 24 times in the past week, with a needle the size/width of an eyelash. Seriously the thing is so small. But I have to be honest, each time I have to check my blood sugar, I have to give myself a pep talk. A really big pep talk. 


The worst part about it is the sound that it makes.


Each time that I have to stab myself, I have to cock the needle, and then I have to pull the trigger. It is spring loaded and really does make a noise that sounds terrible. It is like a gun. A really small gun, that doesn't even draw enough blood to bleed for more than 4 seconds. 


Oh dear Lord I need to put on my big girl panties. I can't believe that I am complaining about this. But I have to tell you that my fingers are really sore. Typing is not easy. I m srpzed tht I my tping is actlly mking snse rght nw.


Well, after a week of shooting myself with the wussy gun, there was only a small change in my blood sugar levels. They were lower, but not where the doctor wanted them. Oh and did I also mention that I have been watching every bite that I take and counting carbs? I have been very diligent, with little change. I can't tell you how badly I want to eat an entire bag of double stuf oreos. I haven't even gone down the cookie aisle at the store. That's how hardcore I am. Sorry, moving on.


So at the appointment today the nurse practitioner told me that she wanted to put me on insulin. I got excited because a friend told me that she took the pills and her babies were healthy and it was no big deal.


While I was silently rejoicing that I was going to be able to control my sugar levels with a simple pill and mentally going over the whole process, I heard the word shot.


SHOT.


What the? I am already shooting myself 4 times a day with the eyelash gun, how much more torture can a woman endure?


I may have actually laughed when she said it. I didn't mean to, but I thought she was kidding.


The rationale was that the insulin pill takes a couple days to a couple weeks to fully take effect. She said we don't have that kind of time. I am 35 weeks on Thursday. I have at most 5 weeks left in this pregnancy. While this makes me elated, it also terrifies me.


I have 5 weeks to:


a) get my blood sugars to a manageable level


b) get the baby's room ready


c) get sleep


d) enjoy alone time


e) enjoy only having to do 4 loads of laundry a week


f) enjoy sleeping


g) take naps


h) not have bags under my....wait, I already have bags thanks to 3rd trimester joys like heartburn and feeling so huge that rolling over once your legs go numb at night is a 20 minute ordeal that ends with you deciding that since you are up you might as well get up and go to the bathroom. 


Wait what was I talking about? Oh the insulin, right.


She told me that giving myself a shot of insulin is effective immediately and will help my levels even out right away and it will be better for me and the baby.


How can I argue with that? Well I am sure that I could, but at this point the nurse had already pulled out the needle and I figure that I was in no place to argue. She is really fit and could totally beat me in a foot race.


So she had the needle in her hand that looks like a pen with an even smaller eyelash needle than the first gun.


She told me that I have to give myself the shot right before I eat, I have to flush the line, and I need to turn up the dial to 8 cc's. Then she said to lift my shirt. 


What? Why do I have to..? What? You want me to what?


She wanted me to give myself the shot in my stomach. Surely she was kidding. First of all, there is a baby in there. I am pretty sure that babycenter had an article about not stabbing anything into your belly. It was right after the article  on not eating fish because of excess mercury levels.


Anyways, before I knew it, my mommy instincts were kicking in and my shirt was pulled up to reveal my old stretch marks from Brendan and fresh ones from this pregnancy as well. My belly really is a vision. (Jeff, you will be rewarded richly in heaven for commenting often how beautiful you think I am and for not being repulsed by my battle wounds.)


She handed me the gun and told me to rest my hand on my belly, stab my belly and pull the trigger.


HA! I can't believe that this is considered normal. She acted like this was something completely normal, stabbing yourself in the belly.


But whatever, I took a deep breath, and then looked up at her and apologized for being a wuss. She smiled and was really patient with me.


I started to think about this wonderful baby inside my belly. I started to think about how if I had to, I would cut off my arm to keep him safe and sound. I would literally do anything for him.


Then I pulled the trigger and was shocked that it actually felt like being stabbed by an eyelash. I laughed to myself thinking that I can always be counted on to overreact and make everything WAY more difficult than it needs to be.


Sincerely, 


Ms. Dramatic.