I went to have my second Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT) this morning at the hospital. The one where you get blood taken, drink a horrible drink, wait an hour, have more blood taken, wait another hour, then have more blood taken. It was the most boring two and a half hours of my life; I finished my book halfway through, and what do you do after that?
Well, what you do is get chatting with all the other pregnant ladies sitting there for the same amount of time for the same reason. (The reason, by the way, is to check for gestational diabetes.)
It is something I notice again and again about being pregnant or having a child: suddenly it’s perfectly alright to talk to strangers about intimate personal matters. Motherhood, even impending motherhood, grants one entry into The Club, where it’s fine to tell someone you’ve never met before and never will again that your baby-to-be keeps kicking you in the rib.
On the whole, I think The Club is a good thing to belong to. It provides support and advice on a confusing and complicated subject, and no matter what you’re going through you’ll find somebody somewhere who’s been through the same. It can be very bolstering.
But on the other hand, it can also be a haven for stress-pots, worry-warts, and those prone to panic attacks. You’ve got a pain in your side? My sister-in-law had that, they’ll tell you helpfully, and it turned out she’d miscarried! Never make the mistake of accepting advice from The Club instead of seeking proper medical assistance if you’re worried!
And so, thanks to The Club, I know that one young girl is 28 weeks pregnant with her first, and she wants a boy. I know that a woman is having her third boy in October. And I’m pretty sure I’ll never see either of them again!