Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“How long does it take to get your results from this test they have to do today?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but she said very rarely is it longer than the next day before they get the results. Depending on how busy the lab is.”
A knock sounds at the door before Dr. Taylor is pushing it open. “Good morning.” She smiles warmly. “How are you?” she asks Winnie.
“Good,” she says brightly. Way too brightly. “Aside from that nasty tasting drink.”
“It’s definitely not a fan favorite. How are you feeling otherwise?”
“She’s been tired a lot,” I chime in. Winnie turns to look at me, but I can’t read her expression. “She’s also thirsty all the time, and she seems to have to pee more frequently, but she tells me that the baby is lying on her bladder.” I spill everything that I’ve observed since our last visit.
“Harrison, I’m fine,” Winnie protests.
“Babe, it’s better to ask just to make sure. We’re both new at this, and we need to make sure everything is okay.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Taylor says, lifting her eyes from the computer screen. “You’ve gained eight pounds since the last visit. We talked about gestational diabetes, and from what Harrison is telling me, your symptoms go hand in hand. Have you been watching your diet, and getting plenty of water and exercise?”
“Wait.” I stand and walk to the exam table where Winnie is sitting, wringing her hands together. “You talked about diabetes? Where was I?” I’m running the details of our last visit through my mind, and nothing stands out to me.
“At Gwen’s last visit.”
“I don’t remember that,” I admit. Surely, I didn’t forget something as important and critical as this?
“It was before you got here,” Winnie confesses.
Fucking Gina. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I question. “I could have been helping you. I thought we were in this together?” I’m stunned that she’s kept this from me. I thought we were past that. I thought we were no longer hiding our feelings. “Winnie?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking. “You were upset that you were late, and I know how much stress you’re under with the gym, and the new locations. I did everything that Dr. Taylor suggested I do.” Her eyes are glassy with tears, and those tears tug at my heart.
“Baby.” I cradle her face in my hands. “I’m never too busy for you and our baby. Never. I know I used to let work come between us, but I promise you that’s not going to happen this time. You have to tell me these things. How am I going to take care of you if I don’t know what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” she says again, this time a single tear rolling down her cheek. I capture it with my thumb.
“We should have the blood results back tomorrow. I see here there is still a trace of sugar in your urine, not more than your last visit, but something to watch.”
“What does that mean?” I ask her. I place my arm around Winnie’s waist, where she sits on the exam table.
“The blood test will tell us more. Lots of women acquire gestational diabetes, which means the issue resolves with delivery.”
“So she’s okay? What about the baby?”
“Mom and baby are both safe. We typically see higher birth weight in babies of moms who have been diagnosed with gestational diabetes. It’s important to eat a healthy balanced diet, drink plenty of water, and get some exercise.”
“What kind of exercise? What’s safe?” I’m already thinking of a workout I can design for her that’s safe for both her and the baby.
“Walking is the best exercise.”
“Treadmill? Elliptical?” I ask.
“Yes to both. A recumbent bike, swimming, and yoga are a few others that are completely safe. Nothing vigorous, and everything within moderation. You don’t need to exercise all hours of the day. Thirty minutes a day, with your heart rate up five times a week, is what we recommend.”
I nod. “We can do that.” I’m already working through a low-impact routine for her in my mind.
“What happens if the test comes back high? Then what?” Winnie asks. I reach out and take her hand, and her grip tightens. She’s worried. I hate she’s been handling this alone. Sure, it’s only been four weeks, but that’s four weeks that I could have helped carry some of the burden. It makes sense to me now why she’s stopped drinking her beloved chocolate milk.
“If you fail the one-hour glucose, the test you took today, we then have you come back in for an extended glucose test. It’s a three-hour test, where we draw your blood once every hour for three hours. You will have to be fasting for this one, and the drink is the same orange delicacy.” She chuckles.
“Okay,” Winnie says, straightening her shoulders.