Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3 . . . 4 Hours

The big fat glucose test took place yesterday. All in all, the test went fine—it was just LONG. Also, I want to publicly say that Quest Diagnostics, the incompetently run lab where I had the joy of spending 4 hours yesterday, deserves to go out of business. The staff is remarkably rude, impatient, and has utterly no sense of urgency. Every single person who had the misfortune to need lab work done there got chewed out for something—signing in on the wrong sign-in form, not having their insurance card out and ready, or—my personal favorite—the lab losing the doctor’s orders that had been faxed. (I was rudely told that I should have called beforehand to make sure they still had my paperwork for the test. First, I’m not sure why I should call to ensure they’ve done their job. Second, there is no number for Quest Diagnostics that I am aware of in which I can talk to a live person. Believe me, I’ve tried.) An older man sitting next to me was snapped at by the charming personnel for something else related to faxed doctor’s orders, and he returned to his seat muttering “friendly as a rattlesnake.” I looked at him and nodded. “I know, right?” I said. “We’re totally inconveniencing them by keeping them in business.” He agreed with me of course, and we had a nice little chat about the current state of health care until the Mean Lady interrupted us, barking at me to drink the glucose syrup. I knew I was supposed to have blood taken before drinking the syrup, so taking my life into my hands, I dared to argue with her. It turned out the wrong test had been ordered. Still, she wanted me to proceed. “You’re doing the 1-hour gestational glucose screening. Just drink this,” she insisted. Rudely. By now I had been in the waiting room for almost an hour—despite having had an appointment—and I had not eaten in a very long time (I had been instructed beforehand to fast since the night before—and let me just tell you, pregnant women value their breakfast). I snapped, and barked right back at her. “I. Am. Not. Taking. This. Test. I already took it. And failed.” I’m not sure how wise it is to snap at the woman who will be poking my veins four separate times, but I was so fed up. Why does everything in health care have to be such a FIGHT? Several phone calls to my doctor’s office later in which I blatantly ignored the 400 “NO CELL PHONE USE ALLOWED!” signs politely posted throughout the waiting room, the correct test had been ordered and the first vial of blood was being drawn. The glucose syrup, which had been dumped into an empty stomach, made me fairly nauseous for about an hour and a half or so, but it stayed down—and this had been my main goal and biggest concern (aside from the actual results, of course). So that was good. Baby Charlotte, who had suddenly been given a massive sugar high, was flipping around like bonkers. Anyone could see my belly jerking from one side to the other. Usually I love feeling her move around, but in this case it just added to the nausea! Anyway, 3 more hours went by, and they took blood each hour. I got some work done when I wasn’t feeling too green, and finally, I LEFT. Results could be in as early as tomorrow; if not, we’ll have to wait until after Thanksgiving. At any rate, the test was uneventful and, most importantly, it’s DONE.