On having high blood pressure: It's giving me high blood pressure and other musings

Look, I'm gonna bitch and moan here for a bit. So if you don't feel like calling the wahhhhhmbulance or giving me a shot for my cryabetes skip ahead, mmmkay?

I went to my OB appointment on Monday like a good patient. I really didn't want to, it's one of those crappy, dreary rainy days that makes you just want to curl up under a blanket with a mug of cocoa and read. Preferably by a fireplace, if that's an option. In your pajamas. Or a sweatsuit. You know the kind of day I mean.

I was so unsuspecting. I thought everything was OK. As of last Friday, everything was OK. Why wouldn't everything be OK now? Au contraire, mon frere. My health has been great for my entire pregnancy. I've experienced a relatively unremarkable uncomplicated turn at this. And all in a matter of seconds, my unremarkable, uncomplicated pregnancy turned on me like a banana that had been left out on the counter for too long on a 100 degree day with no air conditioning on. And I can't even make banana bread.

I have developed a condition called Pregnancy Induced Hypertension, PIH, or it's also known as pre-eclampsia. Yippee yi yo ki yay. After 8 months of working my tushus off at being "perfect" for this baby...8 long months ... I am rewarded with high blood pressure and my kidneys not filtering things correctly. For 8 months I have had a machine attached to my body delivering minute doses of insulin around the clock to keep my blood sugar levels stable. For 8 months, I have pricked my finger to check myself 12+ times a day. For 8 months I have woken up at 2 am to check myself and make sure my blood sugar was OK during the middle of the night. I have experienced hypoglycemic episodes so low, I was unable to move or speak or even help myself. I just laid there convinced I would die. I've spent too many hours of too many days mentally beating myself up for an errant high blood sugar. After all of this, I get a "complication".

Baby, why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?

I feel like all my hard work over the past 8 months has been an exercise in futility.

Here's the catch: I am a hands on patient. I manage my disease. This has been my stance since I was diagnosed with diabetes as a kid. I watched my grandfather die blind, of a heart attack, with no legs...all complications of his uncontrolled diabetes. When I got my diagnosis, I chose right then and there that I was going to make diabetes my bitch. Because while my vision has been jacked up since the 1st grade (thanks Dad) and I've had a heart murmur since birth (the one time MVP doesn't make you the Most Valuable Player) I have (ok, really had but we're talking about 20 years ago, not now that they're all swollen and stuff) fantastic legs and I was NOT going to go legless into that dark, cold night. Oh no not me. I learned all about my condition, how I could best help myself. I scour medical journals for news of new therapies, new drugs, new ideas on how to help diabetic patients. I just might possibly know more about my disease than my own doctor does (no offense to you, Dr. Doogie). Doctors have, in the past, been frustrated with me because I question everything regarding my treatment. If I have read an article that would contradict their recommended treatment, I would ask them about it. What they ask me to do in order to manage my disease is something I closely scrutinize. It has to make sense to me. Minute by minute, I am the one in the driver's seat when it comes to my condition. I monitor my blood sugar. I know what the numbers mean. I know what to do to make them go higher or lower as necessary. I manage every minute detail of my control. All I need a doctor for is to write me scripts so I can keep getting my medication and testing supplies.

So here I am now, with this new "condition" that I've never dealt with before. Dr. Y tells me my levels before were 0, which is good. And my level now is 261, which is bad. But how bad? I don't know how to put this in relation to anything. Give me a color key like the terror alert system. What am I, in the yellow now? Orange? I have no clue. This is all foreign to me. I don't know how to take this information. My level is 261. What does that mean? I assume I have not reached Code Red level of the Terror Alert Pre-Eclampsia Warning System, because I'm sitting on my couch right now. If I were Code Red, I'd be in the hospital. And while I trust Dr. Y, not being able to fix the problem I have is something that is incredibly frustrating and foreign to me. When my blood sugars are high, I can take more insulin to lower them. When they're low I can eat to raise them. I can always make myself "just right". I can't do a damn thing about this. I feel like I'm bound and gagged in a dark basement, duct taped to a very uncomfortable and rickety wooden chair and all I can do is make muffled cries for help...but nobody can help me, not even myself.

I feel helpless. It's frustrating and painful. It makes me angry.

The treatment for this condition? I am supposed to go home and REST. I am supposed to relax. Nevermind the fact that I am supposed to have another month yet to prepare for my baby's arrival and I am not anywhere near ready. Nevermind the fact that I've been slack around the house lately because I've just been short on both time and energy. Oh, NO. I am supposed to relax. Because we don't want to raise my blood pressure more, now do we? So Dr. Y freaks me the hell out and then prescribes "relaxing" as my medicine. OH YEAH RIGHT!

Dr. Y told me that I should watch out for a few symptoms (which of course freaks me out even more, any strange twitch or blip makes me wonder...is this the complication?) and to go home and pack a bag. To be ready to go at any time. She said that if things rapidly worsen by the time she sees me again on Thursday, I should be prepared to go directly to the hospital to be induced to deliver. I will not pass go, I will not collect $200, I will not be able to run home to walk the dogs one last time before I'm admitted.

I sat there with my jaw on the floor. I was not prepared for this. I'm only 35 weeks. I'm supposed to have another month! We're taking childbirth class, and we're only on week 7 of 10. I'M NOT READY!!! Dr. Y looked at my shocked expression and said "You're having a baby!" And I said "I know, but not today! I'm not ready yet!"

And then I called Tim to tell him. And then I texted the news to my friends & relatives. And then, I went home and cried.

But I'm supposed to be relaxing.

I am anything but relaxed.

I am upset, on edge, completely fried, and utterly overwhelmed at all I have to do to feel "ready" for Jackson's arrival. And at the same time, in my heart of hearts, I know that no matter how much laundry and chores and cleaning and meal preparation I do to get "ready", I'll never truly be ready for all the challenges that come with raising a person.

I will never be ready.

Oh dear God save me!