It’s glucose tolerance test morning for me. I had a horrible night of thirst and pain and general discomfort. Before the test you need to fast from both food and water for 10 hours. Not really a big deal – not particularly more fasting than one does before having breakfast in the usual run of things anyway, but the water. Oh my goodness the water. See I’m drinking a stupid amount of water at the moment anyway. Definitely close to 4 litres a day. Maybe more.
I’m not really looking forward to going back to the old diabetes diet, especially across Christmas again, but it’s not the worst thing in the world, and it’s always easier to do things like that “for the greater good” than it is to do it just for yourself.
So now I’ve had my fasting blood taken and I’ve drunk the tasty glucose drink – which I guzzled down at three times the speed of the other people in the room because I was so hideously thirsty – and it’s just a case of waiting for 2 hours to recheck my blood sugar.
What else? I can’t really think of much beyond “thirsty thirsty thirsty”. I wish I’d brought my headphones. Now that I realise I’ve got internet access, I could be spending the time watching Netflix.
Oh, I know – more complaints I have: pain. My hip pain has escalated over the past few days. Ironically it’s since that bloody physio session on Tuesday! I think that’s just coincidence really though. It’s more that I’ve probably been doing a bit more walking what with the children being off school and all of that.
Okay, enough complaining. Things aren’t too bad. There’s been a weirdness about the house-planning and appeal though and I’m obsessing over that a little bit. As I mentioned recently, we learned on Tuesday that someone has indeed lodged an appeal against our planning decision. And I was waiting to hear more information. So while I waited I checked on the Bord Pleanala website and saw that an appeal came in the previous Friday but was decided there and then as being invalid. But by Tuesday they would have known that, so it seems likely there was a second appeal lodged that only came through on the Tuesday itself and that’s why we know nothing more as yet.
I was hopeful for about an hour last night, but I’ve since resigned myself to the idea that it’s most likely looking like this because someone lodged an appeal and the very very very last minute and so while this original Friday-appeal is invalid, there’s a second not-invalid one. <Insert sounds of frustration and aggravation here.>
It feels like they deliberately made these waiting room seats the least comfortable things possible for pregnant women. My buttocks have already gone to sleep and I’m only 20 minutes sitting here.
The jiggling foot-movement of the person across from me makes me want to stab her through the eye. This is probably not a rational instinct. I’m tired and crabbid and hate all of humanity. When I’m in particularly not okay form, I get these strong feelings of objecting to other humans sharing the same space I’m in. It presents as really intense feelings of hatred and has absolutely nothing to do with other people and everything to do with what’s going on with me internally.
All the same, I’m not sure I’m a person who’s been best designed for society.
I feel bored with myself these mornings writing these words here. By and large, I think it’s doing some good for me – gives me a place to vent and write out whatever obsessions are cycling ’round through my brain. But it also exposes to myself how narrow my world is at the moment. I feel sick of myself. I want more. I want to be more.
And while that fleeting thought passes through my brain and burns up like touchpaper in the air of this screen, all that remains is “I want water. I’m so thirsty. I’m so uncomfortable.” What a tiny mind I’m going to be living with for the next four months if I allow it.
Well then, I can’t allow it, right?
Recognising the need to change doesn’t instigate it, but I suppose it’s the first step. If I want to be unkind, it’s the 0th step. I want to change things. I want to be more of myself and less of an anxious “getting through” pregnant vessel.
But I know I’ll write that another 15 times before I decide something to do about it. And maybe another 15 times yet before I actually take action.