Woke up late, and hit grotesque traffic on the way to the hospital for my 3rd tri bloodwork and 1 hr GTT. Fun.
Got to the hospital around 8am. Had to wait to "register" for my labwork until about 8:45. The room has 24 chairs. There are six of us waiting to register. Somehow, sickly looking people feel the need to sit RIGHTNEXTTOME. Waiting room etiquette, anyone? Finally registered, and off to the lab.
Waited around the uber full lab until 9:15 just to GET my 10 ounces of syrupy deliciousness. Drink it down, and sit around. It's not as bad as people say it is. I just didn't expect to have to refill my styrofoam cup three times to drink it all. Ten ounces is quite a bit, as it turns out.
I feel bad for myself, but worse for the HUGELY pregnant lady clearly there doing a 3hr test. This room is also full of sickies, and we're packed in like sardines. A fairly healthy older lady sits next to me. Score, right? Totally - until she whips out nail clippers to painstakingly clip each of her nails (that sound skeeves me out BIGTIME), then starts flossing her teeth and picking away at her face. Foul.
10:15. Oh god, finally, it's my turn. I don't wait to be called - I know I need my blood drawn, so I get up and stand in the middle of the lab doorway until they take me back. Good thing I did. Random pregnant lady sitting nearby gets called around the same time, and it is realized that they have forgotten about her for too long. She drank her glucola 90 minutes ago. Sorry, pregnant lady. Better luck next time. (I'd be murderous, but it's kinda her fault for letting them forget her there. They're pretty clear that you should make yourself obvious in exactly one hour)
My blood is drawn - 6 vials? WTF? It takes another 25 minutes to have them properly label my vials. Apparently someone in registration didn't print out labels. So my 45 minutes there ultimately proved pointless.
I'm not feeling so great. I should probably eat. I stop at the hospital giftshop for sustenance. The pickings are slim. Chips or candy. I choose cheesy popcorn, because I love that stuff.
Construction on the hospital's parking garage means I don't even get to the street until 11. I am preposterously late for work. I somehow thought I could be there by 9.
I drive by my alma mater and think to myself "I could totally have GD. I should have a last hurrah while it's still not terribly irresponsible." So I stop at Hope's cookies for my favorite oatmeal raisin treat. I make a mental note that I will beg anyone who comes to visit me to stop at Hope's for more of these.
I'm in a good mood now. I'm off to work, I'm eating popcorn and cookies. Life is good. Life is so good, I think I'll hop on the highway instead of backroads. How trafficky could the highway be at 11am?
Famous last words: I spoke them.
As soon as I get on 476, I see a sign. It just says "Expect Major Delays." Le Crap.
The delays, they are major. A normally 15 min stretch of highway takes me 90 minutes. Shoot me, please. All I have for entertainment is a book on tape with a terrible, terrible reader. And Ryan Seacrest on the radio. I ponder driving into oncoming traffic, but the median prevents this.
12:30 - I'm home! And holy crap, I'm late for work like it's my job. I grab my laptop and head in.
1pm - I'm at work. Glucola, popcorn, and cookies was not the brunch I had in mind. I think I may throw up. I have no idea what to eat to counteract this sugar high. And my poor son has been spazzing out since I drank the orange ridiculousness. I'm sorry, Aidan. I didn't like it either.