Gestational Diabetes Journey

(Warning:  This blog post contains some pretty honest words about dealing with depression and the thoughts that come along with that.  It was hard to write and it may be hard to read, but I hope that somehow, some way, it might help someone else in their own struggle.)

Kolaches - the diabetic's nightmare.

 The look of shock on the phlebotomist's face could only mean one thing.  I'd failed the test.  Sure enough, blood sugar was 210.  "Let me try that one more time", she said, "Let's hope that wasn't right."  She tried again, and the number changed to 206.

Sigh.

It wasn't my first clue that I could be dealing with gestational diabetes.  I had been craving sugar like crazy the past few weeks.  I even ate 4 pieces of pound cake in one sitting.  If you know me, you know I don't normally eat like that.  It was just like my body couldn't get enough.  So it wasn't much of a surprise that I failed the one hour glucose test.  They scheduled me to come in a week later and take the 3 hour.  "Don't worry", they said, "Lots of women fail the one hour test and don't have a problem."  I repeated this mantra to myself over the next few days, but there was this little voice in the back of my head the whole time saying "Well, you have been really tired and you have had several bladder infections....", both of which are signs of GD.  But I didn't have hardly any risk factors, the only ones that fit me at all were being over 25 and having Native American heritage.  I had hardly any of the symptoms, having only gained about 12 lbs by 31 weeks of pregnancy.  But regardless, there were the numbers, in black and white.

They led me to an exam room and my favorite midwife came in, Brenna, and we spent most of the time talking about our kids, and eventually got around to the diet and tracking blood sugar.  She didn't seem worried, so I tried to convince myself it was no big deal.  On the way home, I sent Kevin a message telling him the diagnosis, and then stopped by the church to see him.  He sat with me, listened to everything I had to say, then offered to go grocery shopping with me. (I know, isn't he a sweet heart?)  It wasn't until my first couple of times actually testing my numbers and having to conform to the diet that the gravity of the situation really hit me.  From the information I was reading, I got the strong vibe that if I messed this up, I could hurt myself and my child and I would be the only one to blame.  I could lose my dream of a natural childbirth and face my fear of being induced again.  That was when the tears and the depression came.

"Why are you so upset about this?  It's just gestational diabetes, it will be over in a few weeks," was something I heard from several people.  "Yeah, easy for you to say, it's not happening to you", I thought.  Why did I feel so angry, so hopeless?  Well, a few reasons. For one thing, I felt so betrayed by my own body.  I felt so out of control.  I felt like a huge failure as a mother.  The pregnancy itself was an unexpected and not all that welcome situation to begin with and I was already having trouble coming to terms with having another child that I wasn't sure I could handle.  It wasn't necessarily that my child was unwanted, but the whole situation of pregnancy, labor, and delivery that led up that child - that part of it was very deeply unwanted.  One of the only things that helped me cope in the beginning was that I could really enjoy food once the baby started gaining weight - and that too had been taken from me.  I'd suffered a miscarriage already and was terrified of suffering another one.  Friends had recently lost not one, but two of their children, in a very short time frame.  I suffered from prenatal depression and severe morning sickness that lasted all 9 months with my oldest child. It was just overwhelming, to say the least.  During the second trimester, through a lot of prayer and therapy, I had seemingly come to terms with this pregnancy and was even excited about it.  Then the third trimester hit and suddenly I remembered everything I'd tried so hard to push out of my mind. After my diagnosis, I found myself sitting on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, unsure if I really could handle the stress.  I thought about checking myself into the hospital because I didn't know what else to do, I literally felt like I couldn't continue existing as I was.  If you've never been there - let me tell you - that is a very very scary place to be in.  If you have been there and feel like you're there now, please please reach out to someone and tell them how you're feeling.  I felt so completely, utterly alone.  I was afraid of scaring my still-sleeping daughter, and since it was Sunday morning, Kevin had already left for the church and is usually unreachable because of the demands of his job.  I already had a text message conversation going with a close friend and she had offered to come help me get everything ready for church.  I wrote back that I wasn't sure church was an option at this point and told her what I was feeling.  Fifteen minutes later, she showed up on my doorstep, with a waiting hug and prayed over me as I cried.

I felt such release in that moment.  I still felt sad and angry and overwhelmed, but I didn't feel alone anymore. I listened to her wise words and took her advice:  "Let's focus on the here and now.  Right now, we can't control your diagnosis, we can't make it go away. What can we do?  We can get you and Karis ready for church."  She was right.  I knew that what I wanted to do most, withdraw into my cocoon of sadness, was the last thing I really needed to do.  I know the church as a whole is broken and undervalued today, but our church is different.  They are my family.  They love me and I love them.  We show up because we need each other and others in our community need us.  So, we got ready.  I found something that still fit and was fairly "churchy" looking, Janis got Karis dressed and ready to go, and we left. 

I will never forget the outpouring of love that day.  I walked into orchestra rehearsal at the church and exclaimed, "I'm here!!!!", raising my French Horn over my head in triumph.  (Since I'm carrying this baby so low, it hasn't affected my breathing, so luckily, I'm still able to play.)  I was greeted by smiles and sincere questions of "How are you?"  Instead of conforming to the old rule of not letting anyone under the facade, I told them the truth.  "I've got gestational diabetes and it's awful.  I've really been struggling with depression and didn't know if I was going to make it this morning."  They nodded in understanding and encouragement, not in the least shocked that their pastor's wife would admit to struggling with depression.  They shared with me others they knew that struggled with the same issues and what had helped them.  Above all, they just loved me, as I was.  It was an emotional church service as well.  Kevin baptized a young woman coming from a troubled background and was struggling to make a new life for herself.  The focus of the service was on 1 Corinthians 13, the famous love chapter. We celebrated communion together. That focus of love is what I felt from everyone in the room that day.  An overwhelming, uplifting sense of deep, abiding love.  We don't love each other because we always get along or agree.  We don't love each other because of our status in society or how much money we make or the fact that we have our lives seemingly put together.  We love each other because Jesus first loved us and he told us to love others as we love ourselves.  We love each other because we're broken and we're hurting and we just need someone to hug us and say "I love you."  And boy, are there a lot of people at our church that will do just that.  No judgement, just love.

I'm still struggling with the frustration over GD.  I mess up and eat something with too many carbs and then feel like pitching a mini hissy fit when I see the numbers that are too high.  I look longingly at my Oreos and then grab a handful of almonds.  But instead of collapsing to the floor in anguish, I take a walk.  I increase my protein intake.  I go back to the grocery store and try different foods.  I get up and I try again.  I'm sure by the time I get it figured out, my baby boy will be here and hopefully, I will no longer have to struggle with it.  But I will always have to be mindful of my blood sugar because having GD increases your chances of having type 2 down the road.  I have regained some control in knowing that if I try my best, I have a good chance of avoiding induction.  But, it's still hard to read some of the articles and not feel like I'm being talked down to so I'll leave you with this...

To all you struggling Moms out there:

You are doing a fantastic job.  No one else could be the mother that you are to your children.  They need you and they love you.  You are beautiful.  You are wonderful.  You are valued.  You are not a failure.