I don't feel diabetic.

Last week before we left for the wedding in Omaha, a nurse from my doctor's clinic called to tell me I had failed my glucose tolerance test. This is the routine test that screens for gestational diabetes. The test subject drinks a highly sugared solution and, after an hour, her blood is drawn to see how much sugar remains. The normal range caps at 139, and I scored a 140. The nurse insisted I come in the next day for the more intensive three-hour glucose test. This beauty of a test entails fasting from midnight, having my blood drawn upon arrival at the lab, drinking even more of the sugary mess, and having three more blood draws at hour intervals. Jesus H. Considering I failed the test by one point, am very low-risk for gestational diabetes, and just plain don't want to take the miserable test, I refused. So I had to go see my doctor yesterday to argue about it.

In this age of opting-out, you'd think I could opt out of a lab test, but you would be wrong. I find that extremely messed up because, you know what it is optional? Testing for Down syndrome and neural tube defects. If I don't want to find out if my fetus might possibly NOT HAVE THE RIGHT NUMBER OF CHROMOSOMES, I don't have to. Like I would ever waive something like that. Hells no, test me twice!

I did score a minor victory at the visit. My doctor agreed that it makes no sense for me to have gestational diabetes, but she still wants to rule it out. I got her to agree to let me take the one-hour test again tomorrow. If I pass, I'm off the hook. If I fail again, I have to suck it up and spend three hours in the lab starving while they drain my life's blood away. It's either that or, at every visit from now on (and I've got about seven to go), I would have to undergo a two-hour postprandial blood sugar test. It seems a round lady can't catch a break. Wish me luck.