Gestational Diabetes and the Food Addict

         I'm a total southern girl, not born but raised in South Louisiana, where I lived pretty much my whole life until I was 25. I'm half Cajun, and I can make a decent stick-to-your-ribs gumbo and some pretty decadent pecan pralines to follow. I was raised on the notion that you don't let any food go to waste, whether it's a home-cooked meal or free sandwiches at a work lunch. While my favorite food has always been and will always be whatever's strewn across a table at a crawfish boil, I'll gladly put away whatever else is on offer at any given time (within reason - I can't bring myself to get into foreign cuisine quite so much). And one should certainly never trust a block of chocolate or a tub of ice cream left within my reach to remain intact.

         Yes, I love my food. As I've never been too shy to admit, I can put it back with the Big Dogs. I've never made it any secret how completely serious I am about what I eat. And my husband will freely suggest that you "don't mess with Rebekah's food." (Sadly for him, it took a while for that lesson to really sink in - I'm a real grouch when it comes to this stuff.)

         Fortunately for me, I've always had a metabolism that will take a good hit or two before I ever had to really suffer through any kind of diet. Sure, I've got my side of the slightly overweight club covered. But my size has never been something I really worried too much about. (For the most part, anyway.)

         So when the realization of my gestational diabetes diagnosis really set in, I was completely terrified. Most people around me initially thought I was scared for the baby, but that wasn't the case at all. See, I knew I would keep my sugar levels in check, so he would be fine.

         No, I was terrified about the diet. For one thing, I'd never been organized enough to follow a strict regimen on anything. And then, most traumatizing for me, there was the loss of my greatest comfort - could I really be expected to live without my sweets (and my fast food and my pancakes and ... )?

         Anyone who knows me well seemed just as worried as I was, all of us sharing the sentiment that the diagnosis couldn't have been given to a worse person. Even one of my co-workers looked at me warily and said in a concerned voice, "And you're such a sugar monster."

         And obviously, I was scared of the finger pricks. The idea of checking my blood sugar three or four times a day made me twice as apprehensive. And realizing that frightened me even more. One morning just after I got the diagnosis, I was on the train next to my husband when I said through tear-filled eyes, "I can't do this." It was a completely new experience for me, feeling like I'd already lost a battle that had only just begun simply because I knew myself well enough to know that I could lose.

         And of course, I had the visuals to deal with - I was definitely not in control of my emotions enough to keep those from seeping into my mind. I pictured myself in labor, only more overweight than I'd been with my first three pregnancies. I saw the doctor saying that the baby was just too big and that, despite the twelve hours of hard labor I'd already endured, an emergency cesarean was necessary. And then I pictured my baby, chunky and tipping the scales even as a newborn.

         The people at the diabetes clinic were clear in their warnings on how vital it was for me to keep this in check. Aside from the immediate risks to myself and the baby, there were long-term outcomes that could possibly be avoided altogether simply by controlling my eating habits for the next few months: diabetes for me (the risk of which is exacerbated by my family history of the disease) and weight problems and diabetes later in life for the baby. Great.

         So, once again, I knew that I would control myself (mostly). And also that I'd be completely miserable in the process, especially considering that I couldn't deny my family the occasional treat just because I couldn't have one as well. Lovely.

         I geared myself up for the onslaught, focusing instead on all the foods I would practically inhale at the first indication that the diabetes was gone. So when I discovered a few days into my new routine that it really wasn't as bad as I'd imagined, I was so thoroughly relieved. Of course, this new life wasn't as fun as just indulging in whatever delicious tastes I could get my hands on. But it was manageable, mostly with the help of fresh fruits and sometimes a sprinkle of Equal (and ... the ... occasional low-fat ice cream).

         I discovered foods that I enjoyed that were also highly beneficial in keeping my levels down. But every now and then, I did have to deal with seeing my sugar level hover just over the recommended threshold in response to some new food combination I'd tried. So I decided to keep it simple, relying heavily on the meals and snacks that'd had a chance to prove themselves. (I also realized quickly that just changing the times I ate didn't bode well on my glucose monitor. So again, I decided to stick with what works.)

         I haven't completely adjusted to this new life of mine. I still watch the minutes on the clock, counting down until I can check my blood sugar so that I can eat a snack (this is where I'm thankful I love food so much, since it's totally helped me overlook my fear of taking a needle so frequently). I still feel like I could hoover my way through a full five-course meal in seconds if given the chance. But, I'm also more aware of how food affects me now. I no longer feel sluggish after eating, the way I used to. My energy level has gone up a bit, and probably would go up even more if it weren't for this belly I'm carrying around. I'm certain that I'd be losing the extra weight in my thighs if I weren't pregnant. And I've come to realize that every time I make a healthier food choice, I'm not gambling quite so much with my health later (or my baby's). I've realized that this lifestyle is the kind that I should stick to, even after the gestational diabetes has run its course. And I can see that as I learn more about how to eat properly for myself (and enjoy doing so), I'll end up teaching that to my children as well.

         So what have I learned? Gestational diabetes is certainly no picnic. But I can live a longer, happier life because I've had it, and I don't need to be a prisoner to my ... addiction, if you will. And that is worth far more than any pleasure that food can give me.