Pour Some Sugar on Me

A week or so ago, I had that one OB/GYN appointment that everyone dreads…

The one where they open your vagina up like a can of sardines? Nope. Kind of used to that by now.

The one where they swab your butt with a giant Q-tip testing for God knows what (oh, and also ask if they can bring some medical interns in to watch, too? Well, sure. The whole fucking hospital has seen my butt-gina at this point, so the more, the merrier, right?)? Nope. It kinda tickles.

It’s the appointment where your nerves, intestinal fortitude and ability to time your drinking all come together in a cacophony of disgustingness.

That’s right, ladies and gentleman, it’s the Glucose/Gestational Diabetes test.

For the delightfully ignorant, when you are finally feeling like eating shit during your pregnancy, your doctor will try to mindfuck you by forcing you to drink a bottle of what looks like harmless fruit juice. The only catch is that you have to imbibe this drink within a 5 minute time period. AND drink it a half-hour prior to your doctor’s appointment.

The purpose of this modern torture method is to test your blood later and determine if your body is metabolizing sugar appropriately (aka: do you have Gestational Diabetes?). Of course by the time they draw your blood, you are so cracked out on The Drink so much that the mere thought of eating anything with sugar in it again kind of makes you want to toss your cookies in to the test tube.

The first time I had to drink The Drink was with Bee (duh). Since my doctor’s office was a few light years away from my house, I timed my trip so that I could just hang out in the parking garage prior to my appointment and casually drink The Drink while listening to some tunes.

Oh, I remember how cocky I was. “This little drink? In five minutes? No problem!!” I cackled confidently to myself. “What’s the big deal?!” as I made note of the time on my watch and popped the lid on The Drink.

One gulp.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. This. Shit?! This is gonna suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” I thought as The Drink attempted it’s way back UP my gullet.

See, The Drink is kind of like Kool-Aid on crack. I think the best description (of maybe the least foul flavor available) would be a water bottle full of Kool-Aid plus roughly 87 hundred thousand cups of sugar. If it sounds at all good, please don’t be fooled. It’s fucking foul.

After about two or three gulps, I realized that:
(1) I apparently don’t like sugar as much as I thought.
(2) Five minutes, which seemed like five years prior to my first gulp, now seemed like five seconds.
(3) The bigger challenge was going to be not vomiting in my mouth and/or all over my car interior.

After finally choking down the rest of Satan’s Phlegm (trademark!), I went on to successfully passed the test with flying colors.

So when this pregnancy’s test came around, you probably wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the date was marked “EVIL DRINK DAY” in my calendar.

But when I finally grew the cajones to take my first gulp, I realized something…

Satan’s Phlegm (trademark!) could never be as horrible as the Devil’s Semen (double trademark!) that I had to drink for my uber-fun colonoscopy prep.

Who said blowing out your colon for no discernible reason doesn’t have it’s benefits?

Song title: Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard