Nurse Villain the Vile has left a strong impression on me. I should get a gold star for my urine samples. First thing on those mornings when a check-up is due, I pee into the sterile vial. Then I put the liquid gold into a plastic bag and pop it into my handbag. It has become second nature to me …keys, coins for car park; credit card for emergency shopping moments [ahem!] lippie and a sample of pee.
I breeze past the receptionist and smile at nurse Villain the Vile confident that I cannot be in trouble. I have my sample of wee and my check-up card. Nurse V examines the vial and winces. Then she regards my bump critically. ‘Hmmm I don’t like the look of that. You’re quite big aren’t you?’ she queries rhetorically.
‘Any history of diabetes?’ she enquires dipping a strip of blotting paper into the vial. ‘You’re going to have to do a glucose test for us. Right, drink this, hang about for 2 hours and we’ll test again.’ I down the sickly, sugary concoction down in one go.
I phone Mildred and leave a message, apologizing that I’ve been delayed at the clinic. I am of course delighted to have some extra time away from the office, with nothing to do but drink tea, read 'Hello' magazines and chat to other women in the waiting room. I would pay good money to join this club! Ooh that’s my phone.’Hello Mildred, yes I’m delayed. …Complications…. well, er could be diabetic…. er, no I didn’t know I was either. I really don’t think that’s fair. My generation does not just slump around, eating biscuits and complaining. It’s not my fault I might have gestational diabetes! ’The old bat hung up.
‘Some people!’, I complain, biting into another digestive, to my new best pal in the waiting room.’ My boss thinks I’ve got diabetes just to get out of doing more work, honestly’. My new best pal looks concerned. ‘Is it serious?’ she asks. ‘Ehm I don’t think so’ I respond, less than confidently. ‘Does it affect the baby? She asks again. ‘Ehm, I don’t know’. ‘Will you have to take drugs and will you have it for life? Do you mind giving yourself injections?’
‘Daisy’ hollers Nurse V. I have never been so glad to see the woman. She hands me a new vial and sends me on my way to the ladies. I am red faced, very worried and my heart is palpitating. My poor baby could be in danger .I somehow manage to completely miss aim and most of the midstream jet of urine ricochets off in every direction. A measly couple of drops have collected in the vial. I want to cry. I want to lie down on my back and kick and scream like a hyperactive sugar addled toddler. ‘Its ok baby’ I whisper ‘Your mother is just having a mini crisis. It’s not your fault, little one. Hang in there and keep smiling.’ I splash water on my tear stained face and return to Nurse V’s lair with trepidation.
Is that all you could manage?’ Nurse V sniffs huffily. ‘Well it’ll have to do.’ She dips in the testing indicator. ‘That’s ok.’ she murmurs. ‘So ehm, I don’t have diabetes then? And my baby is ok? And I don’t need to inject myself?’ ‘No, you just need to drink lots of water and give those biscuits a rest.’ she dismisses me.
I breeze past the receptionist and smile at nurse Villain the Vile confident that I cannot be in trouble. I have my sample of wee and my check-up card. Nurse V examines the vial and winces. Then she regards my bump critically. ‘Hmmm I don’t like the look of that. You’re quite big aren’t you?’ she queries rhetorically.
‘Any history of diabetes?’ she enquires dipping a strip of blotting paper into the vial. ‘You’re going to have to do a glucose test for us. Right, drink this, hang about for 2 hours and we’ll test again.’ I down the sickly, sugary concoction down in one go.
I phone Mildred and leave a message, apologizing that I’ve been delayed at the clinic. I am of course delighted to have some extra time away from the office, with nothing to do but drink tea, read 'Hello' magazines and chat to other women in the waiting room. I would pay good money to join this club! Ooh that’s my phone.’Hello Mildred, yes I’m delayed. …Complications…. well, er could be diabetic…. er, no I didn’t know I was either. I really don’t think that’s fair. My generation does not just slump around, eating biscuits and complaining. It’s not my fault I might have gestational diabetes! ’The old bat hung up.
‘Some people!’, I complain, biting into another digestive, to my new best pal in the waiting room.’ My boss thinks I’ve got diabetes just to get out of doing more work, honestly’. My new best pal looks concerned. ‘Is it serious?’ she asks. ‘Ehm I don’t think so’ I respond, less than confidently. ‘Does it affect the baby? She asks again. ‘Ehm, I don’t know’. ‘Will you have to take drugs and will you have it for life? Do you mind giving yourself injections?’
‘Daisy’ hollers Nurse V. I have never been so glad to see the woman. She hands me a new vial and sends me on my way to the ladies. I am red faced, very worried and my heart is palpitating. My poor baby could be in danger .I somehow manage to completely miss aim and most of the midstream jet of urine ricochets off in every direction. A measly couple of drops have collected in the vial. I want to cry. I want to lie down on my back and kick and scream like a hyperactive sugar addled toddler. ‘Its ok baby’ I whisper ‘Your mother is just having a mini crisis. It’s not your fault, little one. Hang in there and keep smiling.’ I splash water on my tear stained face and return to Nurse V’s lair with trepidation.
Is that all you could manage?’ Nurse V sniffs huffily. ‘Well it’ll have to do.’ She dips in the testing indicator. ‘That’s ok.’ she murmurs. ‘So ehm, I don’t have diabetes then? And my baby is ok? And I don’t need to inject myself?’ ‘No, you just need to drink lots of water and give those biscuits a rest.’ she dismisses me.
No comments:
Post a Comment