I was grabbing coffee with a friend Tuesday morning. While sitting there my phone rang. I picked up the Tacoma, WA number thinking it’s probably a random call. It was the doctor’s office. The woman on the line asked if this was Rebekah Burton, nonchalantly I confirmed. The next sentence stunned me. ‘We reviewed your glucose test results and you have gestational diabetes.’ I choked on my coffee…. “I have what??”

What next unfolded was a conversation that I had been dreading, but had been relieved of on Monday. I told the woman that not even 24 hours ago another nurse from their office had called me and told my that they had received my test results and everything looked good except for low iron. Monday’s nurse had also definitively told me that I “DID NOT have gestational diabetes” – her exact words. The next 5 minutes were filled with her sharing with me my test result numbers, telling me I needed to come get the diabetes equipment that she ordered from the pharmacy, and I needed to schedule a doctors appointment right away to discuss the next steps. Shell-shocked, I made an appointment for 4:00 Wednesday afternoon and told her I would be in to pick up the equipment (noooo clue what all that entailed but I would get it). I must have asked her 6+ times if she was sure she was calling the right person. I confirmed my birthday, Member ID#, everything. She was sure she was talking to the right woman.

I hung up the phone and cried. Cried hard. I was crying because a burden was taken away from me and then given right back. I had celebrated that morning with a big ol’ chocolate iced donut with sprinkles. I was crying because I’m healthy and didn’t possess any of the ‘at risk’ features for gestational diabetes. I cried because I hate needles and now I’m going to become their best friend. I shouldn’t have bragged about not crying when getting poked on Saturday… dang it. I cried because I don’t have an in-depth food knowledge of complex carbs, proteins, simple sugars, etc. I’ve always ate and drank whatever I wanted with no care in the world (I know, I know, #FirstWorldProblems #HighMetabolismWoman #EveryWomanHatesTheSkinnyChick). Not any more.

My friend, Taylor, took me to the pharmacy to pick up what I am going to need. It just so happened to be located in the same building as the doctors’ office so while I waited for my number to be called, I ran upstairs with the intent to rip someone a new one for giving me false test results yesterday – not that that would change my results today. I wanted a re-test or additional test to make sure they had the right person. I was able to speak to a nurse and she apologized profusely for the error. We’ve all heard the phrase, “to err is human, to forgive divine”. It sounds nice and we all say “yea, people should forgive” until the error affects you and gives you a false sense of hope. Deep down I was hoping that it just wasn’t true. That they had the wrong woman.

The midwife reviewed my chart and test results and told me that my fasting sugar (the first round of blood they drew before I drank the Red Drink) was extremely low and definitely where it needed to be within the tolerance. She said this was really good! When your fasting sugar is on the higher end of the tolerance or above the tolerance, they get really worried and you have to monitor things a lot more than normal. My 1st hour test was 9 points above the tolerance – she called it ‘Barely above tolerance’ which apparently is good as well. It means that my blood sugar levels aren’t way out of whack. The 2nd hour test was within the tolerance as well on the lower end which is good. So in non-medical terms, I barely had gestational diabetes not that that’s possible but still. My test results weren’t bad at all.

I asked about a re-test or additional blood test, but the midwife was 100% sure the results were mine and there was a human miscommunication error on yesterday’s call because the glucose results didn’t come in until today so the nurse only saw 1/2 of the test results i.e. just the iron testing results. I headed back to the pharmacy realizing that yelling and shouting wouldn’t change anything. It would definitely make me feel better, but that’s pretty self-serving.

My work day was packed the rest of the day but I was able to think through some things. I realized that I had mentioned previously that I was selfish and didn’t feel all the great, motherly feelings people had described. What better way for God to teach me about unselfishness than to force me to do something I didn’t want to do. If I don’t manage the baby betes (my new name for gestational diabetes), then our baby could be potentially harmed or even face death depending on the severity. Talk about being forced to care for someone else by caring for yourself. Each time I’ll be pricking my finger or eating something, I’ll be forced to think about the little girl growing inside of me and let go of a piece of selfishness every time I test.

Brice and I talked Tuesday night about my fears, the results, and a ton of things. He had done some research on the dos and don’ts of baby betes. I’ve always said that Brice is a jack of all trades. He knows random facts and knows how to do random things. One of those being how to setup a glucose test meter and lancets (the needles that prick your finger). After many tears and fear he said we should try a prick that night so I’d be prepared for the doctors appointment on Wednesday. That sentence made me start crying and got my nerves worked up to the point of almost shaking.

It’s crazy how something so small as a finger prick can shake your nerves to the core. He volunteered to prick his own finger first. He put it on the deepest setting – you can adjust the needle to prick at certain depths. The scale is 1-7. Brice set it to 7 and pricked his finger. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t wince in pain. No blood even showed up until he squeezed his finger. I thought to myself, ‘Well that’s definitely not what I was expecting.” Next it was my turn. I kept shaking so he removed the needle so I could just feel the vibration against my finger first. Even with no needle in the device, my heart beat faster as he pressed it to my finger and pushed the button.

Phew – it was a slight vibration over in a blink. He repeated it many times until I said, “Ok, let’s do it.” He loaded up the lancet and handed it to me. I couldn’t do it. I started crying. I asked him to hold my hand and do it for me. I’ve always known he would be a great father, but to see his response towards me in a moment with such fear, vulnerability, and tears was amazing. He had to have been sick of my crying and whining like a baby over something that wasn’t super painful. The moment he took my hand in his own I knew everything was going to be alright. It sounds a bit odd to use the words tender and gentle while talking about jabbing a tiny needle into your finger, but that was all Brice was. His display of patience and love in my broken down, crazy state gave me even more confidence in him as a husband and father.

Maybe it’s crazy but I pictured our daughter sitting there crying about something that will seem small to us but big to her, (Like the example of puppy love: It might just be puppy love, but it’s love to the puppy) and Brice having the perfect words to say to comfort her and ease the pain that she’s feeling. Because that’s what it did for me. After the prick, I ate a dose of humble pie through my tears as Brice asked if it was as bad as I thought. I can’t remember exactly what I’m said but I’m pretty sure I cracked a joke and then mumbled no, it wasn’t that bad.

Let’s just say I’m super glad we shared that intimate, cry-fest moment at home instead of at the doctors office! All in all:

• The Baby Betes sucks
• Hopefully if my blood sugar numbers are within normal range for the next 2 weeks, I’ll be able to cut back from pricking 5 times a day to once a day or less.
• Brice is my new dietitian/food guru
• This is totally manageable and not as scary as I initially thought because I’m not in it alone.

This is totally manageable and not as scary as I initially thought. I’m not in it alone – Brice is an amazing partner, we have amazing, supportive, encouraging friends, and once I learn to time things right I’ll be able to eat a cupcake or donut every little bit!!