I have never been a good test-taker, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I wouldn’t do well with medical tests either. I had my one-hour glucose screen on Thursday. I got to drink the orange nastiness. I also had the choice of fruit punch–why all the kids’ soft drink flavors? Why couldn’t I have chosen between margarita and mojito? The waiting for an hour wasn’t so bad (my wife accompanied me and entertained me), but getting stuck was not so fun. This lab my doctor uses has the meanest phlebotomists I’ve ever met, and they’re terrible at finding my veins. I’m still bruised from this thing.
Well, Friday came along, and the phone rang, and the advice nurse from my doctor’s office informed me that my levels were “a little higher than they like to see.” Their cut-off is 130, and mine was at 153. I failed. Now I have the distinct privilege of returning for the three-hour test on Monday morning. I have relieved my lovely wife of accompanying me, and I’m trying to find a really good book to read to keep me from dying of boredom and annoyance. I’m not looking forward to these people sticking me with needles three more times in one day. I’m not looking forward to any of it.
I hope it’s all clear. I hope that it’s another needless worry, just another hurdle to clear. Please let that be it.