So earlier in the week I finally got around to getting my A1C. Unfortunately, it’s been more than 3 months since my last one, but that’s an even longer story…
I was going to go get the labwork done last week, but I couldn’t because I had too much going on at school. That really frustrated me, that the one open day I had available, Kaiser wasn’t available!
I hate, hate, hate, hate getting any blood work done, and yet I still felt like crying when I was unable to go last week. I know how important it is. I need to find out my A1C before I can go to the Endo and I need to go to the Endo so that I can get my prescriptions and, theoretically, to fix any BG problems that I’m probably having.
So this week, I finally did go. I drank lots and lots and lots of water and I fasted from midnight on (don’t understand why I have to do that; I never did before Kaiser…), which meant that I kept my BG slightly higher so that I wouldn’t go low. Which meant that I felt a little out of it.
It didn’t take too long, thank God. But it took long enough. We warned the nurse that I have the world’s smallest blood veins, thanks to the genetics passed down from my mom (Thanks, Mom…). She still had to stick me twice. Twice. Once in the crook of my left elbow and once on my right forearm.
Have you ever been stabbed in your forearm before? It really, really hurts. And I knew it would, but I wasn’t expecting to cry. Although, honestly, I think it was all of the frustrations that I’ve felt recently, all come together in this one painful moment while I tried to distract myself singing “Twinkle, twinkle little star.” She stuck me a second time, and she still couldn’t find the darn little (teeny tiny) vein.
But here comes the happy part of the story. She found it and it was no less than a miracle, I fully believe. “Twinkle, Twinkle” couldn’t distract me, so I tried praying “OurFatherWhoArtInHeavenHallowedBeThyName…” Yeah, all run together like that in my head as I prayed desperately to get all of this over with. But the nurse got the blood she needed and I got two bandaids and a trip to Chick-Fil-A for breakfast.
And I get to do this all over again in three months. I hate this so very very much, but if I don’t go I hate that too. I guess, when it comes to my A1C, I can’t ever be happy.
OK, my rant’s over. We can all move on now