Early this afternoon my cell rings and the number looked like a number from the hospital.  I put my meeting that I was holding on hold and took the call.  Apparently the diabetic doctor would like to see as soon as possible.

They received my fax of my glucose numbers during the last week and feel that I need to go on insulin.   My  educated, grown-up response was to pretend that my cell was breaking up and responded with: *static sound*  “I’m sorry, what did you say . . . . . . insulin?” *more static sound*.  The nurse didn’t buy it.  She wanted me to come in within a couple of hours.  After crying through the rest of our conversation I agreed and scheduled a time.

Now on to the frantic calls to my husband to see if he would make it on time since there is NO WAY I can put a needle into myself.  An hour later I get a hold of him and he’s headed the almost 2 hour trek to the doctor’s office.  (Which he did get there on time.)

They are not happy with my numbers I’ve been producing and they don’t want to play with my diet or exercise.  Because of my borderline numbers the first pregnancy and all the high numbers this one they want to be aggressive right away.  So, they want to start me off with a very low dose, it’s actually only a drop, literally.  And I am only doing 2 injections a day.  Right before breakfast and right before lunch.  Okay, so my husband can do my morning one and my school nurse can do the lunch one.  Good, I don’t have to do it; I hope.  If my numbers start to drop too low because I increase exercise then they will take me off of it.  However I need to exercise 20 minutes right after every meal.  Breakfast will be the difficult time because I eat right before I leave for work and by the time I drop off the baby and get to work it’s already been an hour and I’m checking my glucose.  And that is the reading that tends to be the highest.

So tomorrow is my first shot.  My ‘sadistic’ husband keeps saying he’s looking forward to sticking me.  I know he’s only kidding and come tomorrow morning when I’m standing there in tears he’s definitely going to hesitant.   But he thinks he’s funny.

So now it’s late, my heading is pounding from being so upset and emotional and here I am waiting until it’s time for my ‘bedtime’ snack instead of passing out, which is what I really want to do.

How many more weeks?????  Oh yeah, too many!!!

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