This morning, early this morning, I had to head to the hospital to have some lab work done. The had to run a glucose test to check if I have gestational diabetes. I had to drink a super sweet drink within a 5 minute period of time. I had the choice of either orange or fruit. Ummm, fruit? I chose the one that looks and tastes like what you would put in a humming bird feeder. They might as well had offered water with sugar and food coloring. Who are they trying to kid? I was honestly anticipating it to taste like a SuperSip. Do you remember those? Those used to burn the inside of your mouth and throat and leave a nice phlemy coating. Who didn't love it when their mom packed that in their lunch? Well it didn't taste like a SuperSip. In fact, it wasn't very good at all, but it sure beats having to drink that white stuff for a colonoscopy. Can't wait for that day! After drinking my sugar water, I had to wait in the lobby for an hour in an extremely uncomfortable chair with nothing but crappy magazines all over the place. I had been sitting there for about 10 minutes when another pregnant woman walked in, then another, and another, and another. What the hell? Is there another baby boom going on? They're everywhere!!! I feel kinda guilty. I know I'm only having one, but am I contributing to some out of this world over populated epidemic? It was just a little too weird for me. Also, you can't help but look at everyone else's progress with their body. Or maybe that's just me. Not like I was checking them out, but I was paying close attention to the size of everyone's asses, boobs, what type of clothes they were wearing, how much weight they may or may not have gained from their original size, were they wearing sensible shoes like me, did they have makeup on or were they going au natural, you know all the basic things that go through our heads that make us all a little shallow. For the most part, everyone seemed to be in pretty good shape. The other thing I paid close attention to was guessing everyone's age. There was only one person who looked like she was older than me. The rest were in and around my age. Not too bad.
After resting with my head in my lap (it was difficult, but I managed), it was finally my turn to go in and get poked. I explained to the lab technician that I'm a complete pussy when it comes to needles. She was great and it was all over with within seconds. It's not really the stinging of the needle that I hate, it's the fact that something is piercing through my skin and going into a vein. Yuck.
After drinking all that gross sweet stuff, I had to use the bathroom. The admitting department directed me to a unisex bathroom. Right off the bat, I knew it would be bad. I walked into that room and was appalled. The seat had been left up, there was hair everywhere (not from one's scalp), and dribble all over the floor. That was enough for me. I grabbed my sweater and got the hell out of there. What's wrong with men? Yes, men. Heaven forbid that you try to treat a public restroom like a public restroom and not like your own little private peeing and pooping sanctuary. Clean up after yourself. Turn around and look when you're done. Are you taking care of business with the lights off? It sure looks that way. Needless to say, I would've preferred getting a bladder infection from holding it than to go anywhere near that bathroom. As disgusting as it was at nine in the morning, it left me little confidence about the condition of any of the rest of the restrooms.