I made a note on my calendar to call Dr. S today about the bloodwork I had done last week. His nurse told me it may be a week or two before I got results and that I could call any time to see if they were in.

I got impatient (go figure!) and called yesterday. After going through automated phone Hell, I got to the voice mail of the nurse. Her mailbox said feel free to leave a message, but be aware that it may take me 72 hours to get back to you. *sigh*

So I left a message fully expecting NOT to hear from her any time soon. I considered calling again today, but even though I'm impatient I'm not a pest. Well, maybe sometimes.

We walked in tonight after dinner at Mom and Dad's around 7:30 p.m., shuffled the kids upstairs for showers and then I started opening the mail. I sifted through the junk first and then noticed a fairly thick envelope from Dr. S's office. I was actually a little confused, and then while I was opening it realized that they had put my test results in the mail.

His handwriting is atrocious, but I managed to see what I had been waiting for since May -- my A1C is 7%. A number that I'm actually pretty thrilled with. I deciphered his note next to the 7%: High. I looked again to make sure it didn't say 70%.

High, I thought. Sure. But did he consider where I've been in the last five months: a move across the country, a new job that I kept for less than three months and that made me cry on nearly a daily basis, having my family separated for six weeks, making two mortgage payments, learning to live in a new climate, dealing with a one-hour commute after having a roughly four-block commute in my previous life, learning a new work schedule and working around having two kids in a new elementary school and their busy schedule, helping No. 1 adjust to a new life that he didn't want.

Sure, 7% is on the high side of normal, but it's only 0.2% higher than I was about six months ago. Six months of being disconnected. I think I did pretty good all things considered.