Six Week Follow Up.
For the last year of my life, it's been a monthly visit to the endocrinologist, and then once I was pregnant, the dam broke loose and I basically had a cot set up at the Beth Israel/Joslin pregnancy clinic. Oh yeah, and then I spent a month at the hospital while waiting for BSparl.
I have doctor burnout, big time.
So I'm done with doctor's appointments for at least a few weeks. Mentally, at least. (Because there is another one scheduled for August - WTF?) But last week, I had my last appointment, for a while. I was up at BIDMC for my "six week follow up" appointment (which took place seven weeks after the birth), and I met first with my endocrinologist.
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired. That's normal for a new mom, right?"
"Exhausted is more normal," she said, as she opened up my file on the computer. We ran through my vitals, going over the medications I'm taking, the ones I'm not bothering with anymore, and how my blood sugars have been reacting to new mommyhood.
"I've had some really good days, but the bad days are like epically bad. Like 300's and 400's kind of bad," I said, looking at the floor.
"We want to prevent those highs, and the lows that either cause them or follow them, but you aren't the first postpartum patient I've seen who is hitting these kinds of numbers. It's normal. You'll even out," she said.
My basal rates seemed to be okay, but we did some tweaking to my afternoon/evening insulin:carb ratios (going from 1:12 to 1:15, which is math beyond my capacity). Overall, I've had some nasty numbers, but my endocrinologist reassured me that my A1C wouldn't be too awful, because I wasn't letting any of those numbers ride. (And when she called me on Monday to let me know what my lab work results were, my A1C was sitting comfortably at 7.0%. Some people might call that too high, but I'm calling it a wicked victory for me.)
After I met with my endo, I was off for my exam with the OB/GYN. Not to be terribly TMI, but I can't stand the pelvic exams. They are unholy and cruel and a very strange way to spend an afternoon. (Not only that, but I can't figure out why I'm not allowed to greet the doctor while I'm dressed. No, they send her in only after I'm clad in the awkward paper johnny, with my regular clothes balled up on the chair near the examining table. And it was the first time I had met with that specific OB. "Nice to meet you, too! This is my floppy body.")
Thankfully, I appear to be healing well, both inside and out. My c-section incision doesn't hurt anymore, and even though my lower abdominal muscles are currently useless and squishy, I am recovering like a "normal person." (Read: Not a diabetic who has seen 400's three times in the last eight weeks. Nasty.) There is still a little bit of light bleeding (not from the scar, silly), but my doctors told me the bleeding can last as long as nine weeks. (Yay.) The scar is shorter, and a light pink color as it attempts to heal. I can't see the staple holes anymore, and when I spy the scar in the mirror, I don't want to jump out the window due to grossed-out'ed-ness. That's progress!
So I'm cleared for "normal life," which includes being able to pick up the carseat while the baby is in it, which means I am no longer tied to my house. THANK GOD, because I swear I was hearing the cats talk about me - in ENGLISH - which means my mind was starting to leak out. Onward! To normal life!
(Normal life - ha! That's redefined with each messy diaper and baby smile.)