Don't Stab the Baby in the Head!

“Don’t stab the baby in the head!” This is my sweet but over-cautious husband as I insert my insulin pump set into the usual abdominal area. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I reassure, as he continues to study my stomach. Is he looking for some sort of feedback from the baby who is all of the size of a largish kiwifruit? I do the right thing at my next obstetrician appointment and ask if the abdominal area is still safe for insulin pump insertion. The doctor looks at me nonplus as I explain that my husband is worried about puncturing the baby. I feel the prelude to embarrassment coming on…and I’m right. She laughs. No, not a discreet, professional one syllable laugh (ha!), but a lengthy five to six syllable chortle. She clarifies that there are many layers of fatty tissue between the subcutaneous pump canula and my uterus – baby is well and truly cushioned from danger. I console myself with the knowledge that supposedly silly questions and motherhood will soon blend seamlessly, and at some point my sheepishness will be replaced with protective steadfastness and a poker face.

Moving into my second trimester of pregnancy, I still feel surprisingly graceful and unaffected by the momentous changes occurring to my body. Or perhaps the fact diabetes has been with me for 20 out of my 31 years makes me a tad blase about aches, pains, cramps, BSL’s, pokes, prods and bodily functions/dysfunctions. All being told, the scariness and anxious anticipation I felt so strongly when trying to conceive have all but gone now that life is actually growing inside me. Perhaps it’s similar to bungy jumping – the lead up to the event is the most harrowing part and really all you do after ‘jumping’ is go with it. I’m over the worst of worrying obsessively about ‘too high’ BSL’s or the effect the caffeinated variety of Diet Coke will have on the baby. (What’s the deal with Caffeine Free Diet Coke only being available HOT and in the supermarket anyway? Supposedly health conscious people don’t go to the servo or corner deli?)

So what’s it really like carrying a baby and having the additional challenge of diabetes? I guess it’s similar to asking a movie star’s child ‘what’s it like having a famous parent?’ For me there is no comparative experience. It’s not exactly ‘like’ anything else. I suppose there are similarities between a ‘normal’ pregnancy and pregnancy with D – the cravings, morning sickness, rollercoaster of emotions, the cellulite that grips your thighs like a bulldog and the standard pre-natal tests. Then one delves below the tip of the proverbial iceberg to be immersed into the reality of pregnancy with our condition. Life becomes layered with extensive questions from a plethora of doctors. Fingers are simultaneously tenderized and toughened by tri-hourly BSL’s and your body becomes increasingly resistant to insulin. The importance of eating correctly and timely become more vital than you could ever imagine and for reasons you’d never considered. Your hormones, bless their pulsings, fulfill their dreams of auditioning for Titanic, with your body as the stage: you laugh, cry, worry, then laugh and cry at the same time, while stuffing your face with over-salted popcorn!

And then there’s fluid retention. Our hindered circulatory system can result in an increased possibility of pre-eclampsia: a fancy name for dangerously high blood pressure. Swollen ankles are the first indication, hence the highlight of my day is my nightly ‘draining session’ - lying on the floor, legs up on the couch/exercise ball/jumbo nappy box to redistribute my fluids. My dogs think it’s a perfect opportunity to take advantage of mummy while she can’t get up – my maltese/terrier unfortunately has a penchant for sitting on faces.

My obstetrician is quite impressed with my proactive approach to pregnancy. Apparently most of her patients need a good kick up the proverbial. She needs to remember that my proverbial has been in medical hands for the better part of my life, so being ‘body conscious’ has become ‘unconscious’. It’s all in a days work to prick, sterilise, monitor, exercise, cleanse, scrub, hydrate, nourish, moisturise, and journal about the ‘ol bod. The fact the bod is now pregnant just gives the whole routine an inspiring new slant.

Regarding my birth plan: Pre-pregnancy I had an idea that most women with diabetes delivered by caesarian section because of the tendency for larger babies. My obstetrician informed me that with this in mind, a diabetic pregnancy is considered ‘full term’ at no longer than 38 weeks gestation. I felt more than happy to accept her advice of elective caesarian - it’s certainly not the worst way to deliver a baby and I’m quite smug about the fact my nether regions will remain, um, in tact and that bubby will not have a squishy, birth canal shaped head. I’m sure she will thank me graciously on her 21st too. Grimacing looks, pitiful sighs, ‘you-poor-thing’ type comments from older, traditionalists now roll off my back like lycra off L’il Kim’s thighs - anybody would think my baby was going to hatch from an egg in a yonder ramshackle barn!

Pregnancy for me, someone who just happens to have diabetes, is ‘working out’. Would I change anything if given the chance? Of course! Cadbury’s super-size chocolate blocks need to be available all year round, not just at Christmas and fruit jellies should be available in a split watermelon/cherry combination. A girl’s got to have priorities…