Mother Nature

1-25-12

What they don’t tell you when you get diabetes is that even something as simple as nature can work against you.

I checked my blood sugar this morning. The glaring 119 in front of me freaked me out. My morning numbers have been running between 98 and 102. 119 isn’t horrific, but it is high for what I have been working towards.

As if dealing with elevated glucose levels isn’t bad enough, this all happens due to the other blood issues women deal with. Menstrual cycles and hormones don’t just affect my mood and the unpleasant bloating. They also can jack up my blood sugar for a day or two.

Luckily, I do have everything in check, so a slight spike here and there, and still significantly lower than any number I need to worry about, is simply a minor inconvenience. But could you imagine if I was not as good as I have been? Or if in my hormonal rage I opted to polish off a pint of ice cream? As a diabetic, I now have to be responsible even after being told by everything from girlfriends, chick flicks and various commercials that my time of the month is my time to be bad because I have earned it.

My periods are nowhere near as bad as they used to be back in high school. A week of heavy bleeding, cramps that could take down a horse and vicious food cravings would have put me in a diabetic coma now.

We take nature for granted more often than we should. My meds are helpful. My exercise and better diet are probably even more so, but even with all of that, Mama Nature doesn’t fuck around.

  

Piercings

1-23-12

I have been dealing with my diabetes now for 6 months. My last checkup said I have it in check. So why is it that I froze when the consent forms for my piercing this weekend said I had to inform the piercer that I had diabetes?

In fact, I didn’t tell him. I was so freaked out about the possibility of not being able to get it done; I just skimmed over this part.

This has a couple of really bad things associated with it. First and foremost, it says that I am not really being as serious about my disease as I should be. That warning isn’t on the form because the piercer thinks he will catch it. It is there because when people have a condition like diabetes, there is an increased risk of healing poorly. A consent form wants to make sure the person getting something either pierced or inked knows all of the information before they have a needle jammed into their body.

I kept the line to myself, and then this morning I did my Google search on why it was that they would include it. I have gone to several classes on Diabetes, read my share of web sites and brochures, but really, they don’t tend to cover the possible scenarios of body modification. I didn’t see the pamphlet in the endocrinologist’s office saying “So, you want to put a ring in your nipple!” Perhaps they should have this, but being that they don’t, I as the patient need to be more diligent about my checks and balances when it comes to things I used to take for granted.

Thankfully, I don’t think I have anything to worry about on this adventure. Not only are my numbers good as far as A1C’s and glucose levels, but  the piercing looks amazing with barely even any blood. I am also one of those crazies when it comes to following the aftercare.

What is really sad, though, is I still don’t think I will tell the piercer when I go back for more in a few weeks. The fear of him telling me he won’t pierce me is too great. The fear of me not being able to be ‘normal’ keeps me silent.

Sugar Coating

I had suspected it for a while.

Let’s face it, I wasn’t healthy. I weighed 325 pounds. I gladly ate multiple donuts in a sitting right after having polished off a huge, greasy breakfast at a fast food joint that I frequented in the mornings before work. This of course was only a couple of hours before I would consume the huge helping of leftovers that came from the previous night’s dinner as my lunch. Thinking about it, my lunch probably could feed a small family. Instead, it fed my enormous body.

July 2011

It wasn’t always like this.

If you looked at any number of my high school photos, you would not recognize me. I played soccer, I was fit and even though I wasn’t rail thin, you could tell that I wasn’t struggling with my waistline. Yet if you spent a day with me, it should have been obvious where my health would take me.



High School me



Sure, I always worked out, but the pints of ice cream every weekend when the girls would get together and the constant Taco Bell runs topped off with multiple Big Gulps each day were bound to wreak havoc on my pancreas. Sadly, when your doctors don’t know this and only see that overall you are “healthy”, how is it that they are going to advise you otherwise.

A teenager’s metabolism also can’t last forever. Nor can the energy output when you are spending days and nights working retail and your main source of nourishment is from the candy rack.

Food was a luxury. I was making very little money. Thankfully I had a roof over my head in the form of mom and dad, but even so, when you are doing the close shift at Blockbuster as a manager, your food options and time to eat are diminished. I can’t count how many times I would order pizza since they would deliver to the store. I would then polish off a large pizza in the back office at 11 o’clock at night. It never occurred to me to just bring a lunch from home. I could have easily made a sandwich , using the resources of my parents’ kitchen, and then I would have saved myself not only money, but I would have been eating better. But let’s face it, when you are 18, you don’t always think these things through.



Me during my Blockbuster years. Don't worry, swords were not part of the job



I ended up getting an amazing job that would have me commuting from Redondo Beach to Pasadena each day. It was one of those 9 to 5 deals in an actual office. I would even have weekends off! It was thrilling. Within a month of the new position, I also moved out of my parents’ house and in with a friend. I was now on my own when it came to things like rent, food, gas, etc.

Although I had now put on a fair amount of weight, I didn’t change things. Sadly, my self-esteem was already shot, and the pity party dinner had quite the spread. The menu had lots of fatty foods and I justified this simply because I didn’t get to eat like this every day. Some days, I didn’t eat. When you are poor, you are ok with not consuming anything aside from a couple crackers. I also praised myself when I could make it through the day with less than 300 calories.



Earthlink Christmas Party



Now add to the mix the idea of settling down. My then boyfriend, now husband, and I both sucked at how to deal with food. Not only did I determine I was a comfort food genius when it came to cooking, my man was more than happy to take home cooked meals over the fast food diet he and his first wife enjoyed. It didn’t seem to matter that in reality, my cheese rich foods were probably worse than a Big Mac.



April 1, 2000



I dabbled in healthy. During both pregnancies, I ate really well and even lost weight with them. After the birth of my second son, I had some gall bladder issues, which resulted in an extended hospital stay. When you take away food for a week, the stomach seems to shrink, and I used this along with some hard work to drop 75 pounds. It was amazing. I was down to 225 at my lowest, and I felt great.



Me in late 2007



But, as often is the case, within a couple years not only had I gained it back again, I added more.

I had just turned 36. My new doctor opted to run a full work up just so we had a nice baseline on me going forward. I sat on the table, and she told me my numbers were high and that it would be good for me to go see the endocrinologist. She said a bunch of other things, but I was so delusional that I only keyed in on the term pre. She said I was pre-diabetic. This seemed ok to me. It just meant I had to do a few new things and it would go away. I wasn’t in trouble yet, right?

In reality, my new doctor was actually sugar coating my diagnosis. I wasn’t pre-diabetic. I had type 2 diabetes. I would be put on Metformin along with another med in order to stabilize my blood sugars, which were reaching 350. My Type 1 diabetic nephew happened to be in town the day the pharmacy called me to let me know my monitor was in. Monitor? What monitor? No one told me about any monitor. Turned out, I was to start checking my blood. Thank goodness for my nephew’s help. He was able to tell me what I should aim for.

This all was in July 2011.

As I sit here, typing this, it is January 2012. A new year and as cliché as it sounds, a new beginning. At present time, I have lost 70 pounds since my diagnosis. I walk on average a mile and a half a day. As of 2 days ago, I started a gym routine. I weigh 255. I still have a long way to go.

My friend, Brandy suggested that I journal my journey. I often spend my days being upbeat and positive about my success, but often keep the failures to myself except for grand statement of self-loathing. I need to be real, and not do what so many doctors have essentially done, which is to sugar coat the diabetic. I have enough struggles in day to day life that the best way to go about this is through the one outlet that has never let me down.

Maybe this will keep me motivated enough to succeed, and be ok with being human when I have setbacks.