IT HAPPENED TO ME!

YPB READER NICCI ATTFIELD FROM JOHANNESBURG TELLS HER STORY Gestational diabetes brought the gift of healthy eating.

The nurse had a small glucose monitor, which she used to prick my index finger.

“3.9,” she said. “Interesting.”

I had no idea what that meant. I was here for an OGTT (oral glucose tolerance test), which was organised and executed with precision. Firstly, my blood was drawn and tested to establish a fasting glucose level. Next,

I was given a glucose drink. My blood was tested an hour later and again after two hours. I was tired after the glucose drink but not very concerned. It was a routine test after all. Except that the two-hour blood test revealed a blood glucose level higher than it should be. I had gestational diabetes.

At first, I wasn’t entirely sure what this meant for Baby and me. I was given a diet and a glucose monitor. The biggest change was diet and easy to follow. I had a list and a guideline for big meals. Half a plate of vegetables, a quarter protein, a quarter carbohydrates such as rice. I learnt to monitor my blood sugars and what they meant. Takeaways and foods high in sugar were too risky to consider. They might be enticing, but they could spike sugar levels. High sugar levels could mean Baby might face breathing problems at birth. It could also mean my baby could be born with low blood sugar. My baby was just too vulnerable to indulge.

I made friends with the glucose monitor. It took me a while to realise how to use it. In one dramatic instance, when the glucose meter had given me two different readings, I told my partner, Jacques, that I didn’t have gestational diabetes. The monitor was just wrong.

“It might be broken,” Jacques said, “But you were tested in a lab.” “Jacques, please, you don’t know anything. It is giving different results all of the time. It is broken!” And I stormed into the bathroom to wash my hands and eliminate pinprick residue.

Jacques took the monitor to a chemist and tested his blood on my monitor and the nurse’s monitor. The result was the same. “Well, it isn’t for me!” I said. “Something is wrong with it! It’s broken.” It turned out that I had to wash my hands before measuring my sugar levels, otherwise the reading could be contaminated. I also had to create a drop of blood large enough to fill the small space on the plastic strip. All drama ceased, and readings became relatively consistent. I moved into a more rational space, where I could monitor the impacts of what I ate and see what made a difference within my diet. Jacques, the true cook in the family, made some delicious food, showing me that my diet didn’t have to be restrictive. There was no awful blandness or bitter flavours. Just the trial and error of what might work.

In the end, the diet was not the answer. My fasting sugar levels were just too high. I went on metformin. One tablet and then two. I started NSTs (non-stress tests) twice weekly to ensure my baby’s heartbeat was fine.

At 37 weeks, when my fasting sugars were still relatively high, I was booked into hospital for monitoring. Ava was born three days later, by emergency caesarean. I worried about her breathing with nerve-jangling intensity both before and during the operation, but the doctors worked with a slow rhythm, explaining each moment and preparing me for the next. At her first cry, I realised the awe of birth is no less intense with a second child. As Ava was checked out by the paediatrician, my eyes were at the end of their stalks. My baby was fine. I couldn’t explain my relief. The cumulative effect of an anxious third trimester drained away.

The awesomeness of being able to hold my baby in my arms flooded me with joy. This birth was so much less traumatic than my first. Danny hadn’t been able to breathe at birth, and there was a dreadful minutes-long pause before we heard her cry and her paediatrician said: “Baby’s fine, Mom!” In hindsight, I believe I had gestational diabetes in my first pregnancy too. Lack of diagnosis put my baby at risk.

I thought after I’d had my baby, I would give my healthy diet a miss. I thought I’d embrace takeaways and leave the vegetables behind. My first takeaway was as bland as anything you’d rather not repeat. Gestational diabetes brought the gift of healthy eating. There’s no going back. ●