I’m all about the sugar, friends, which is why yesterday was such a mystery unto my brain.
The 1 hour glucose test is no amusement park. The sugar drink is only slightly better than downing half a bottle of pancake syrup. It tastes like warm, liquid sugar. Yum.
Come to think of it, the sugar drink would be a feast for hummingbirds. However, I am not a hummingbird, not even close.
I drank my whole mug of diabetes and was fine until a few minutes before the blood draw, when I started to feel a tad woozy. I am still wondering whether I should blame my small stomach, the fetus, the sugar concoction, or my needle phobia for what was about to transpire.
Heck, let’s blame them all.
I had my blood drawn (AND DIDN’T CRY! High-five!). But, somewhere near the end of the draw, I started feeling nauseous. Upon saying that I might (translation: definitely would) vomit, Husband and Nichelle started running around looking for a bucket of some sort. Lucky me, I got to throw up in a clear, plastic bag – perfect for the spectators.
Also, I threw up all over the exam table and myself.
(Boy, did it feel good to throw up! What a relief!)
So, all was well last night, except that I had to attend my birth class in my vomit attire. No one would have noticed, but I told them, anyway. Husband even let me cuddle with him for the full three hours, all while sporting a sexy pair of suit pants and a button-up shirt.
Come to find out, he didn’t realize how much puke I had caked on my clothes, until he put his hand on my leg in the car, on the way home.
That Husband is a good man.