I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary on Tuesday after I did the 1-hour glucose test. I downed the bottle of (basically) super-powered Hawaiian Punch about 45 minutes before my appointment. I had a brief moment of panic when I arrived at the doctors office to find that they’d lost my appointment. I drew on the power of the Hawaiian Punch for a little gumption, though, and told them I wasn’t going to drink that stuff again, so they’d need to find someone to draw the blood, at least.

And they did, and I’m so glad.

Everything was fine until shortly before I went to bed Tuesday night, when I started to feel a little … off. It wasn’t any sort of pain or nausea. I just didn’t feel quite right. I chalked it up to being tired and pregnant and hopped up on sugar (because I am very, very smart, I had a chocolate-covered, cream-filled donut before bed). Thirty minutes later, I was in the bathroom, shaking and crying.

It wasn’t the very worst pain I’ve ever felt (that would be labor, and I didn’t even get all the way through that), but it was pretty darn close. And it was without the promise of any pain medication.

I couldn’t take a deep breathe without the pain intensifying to a ridiculous height, so I was panting and starting to panic. And, you know, that’s not a good thing. I called for Rockford (and scared him silly in the process, I think), and he rubbed my back and my head for a few minutes.

And then it was gone. Like there’d never been a problem at all. I went back to bed and slept soundly. In the morning, I vowed that I would never eat a donut again.

Now, you’ll notice that my Wednesday morning vow didn’t include anything along the lines of, “I also won’t be an idiot.” As such, I had a great big banana split last night after dinner. And that pain from Tuesday night? It came back around 2am. Only this time, it didn’t go away. I managed not to panic this time, because I knew it would go away. I probably would have, though, had I known that it would be noon today before it stopped.

I spent last night trying to keep myself propped up on pillows, in the recliner, pacing the floor, desperately clutching a heating pad and repeating over and over again, “Enough.” I think it’s pretty obvious that I’ve been poisoning myself with sugar.

I want to stop. I want to cut out the desserts and sweets entirely, because I don’t want to make myself sick like that again. I know it will be easy today, because the pain is fresh on my mind. A few weeks from now, though, it will be a distant memory. I wish there were some sort of button I could push when I get a sugar craving that would give me a quick, painful blast of that feeling. That would stop me cold, I think.

Not having that option, though, I’m just going to have to keep reminding myself that I need to not be an idiot. I need to be better to myself.