#HappyThanksgiving

So, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

And it was a happy one, even though it was my first Thanksgiving as a diabetic. Do you remember yours? Amazing how this disease is quite relentless - there are no breaks, even on holidays or vacations. It's. Still. There.

But I really tried to manage things a bit more this year - space out my eating - and definitely limiting my portions, although if I'm honest, I didn't limit today as much as I usually do. Eating a second helping of anything - let alone stuffing (OMG my favorite) (HELLO CARBS) - is something I've trained myself NOT to do. Except today, I did it. It felt weird.

I guess it's good that it felt weird, right? It's good that I'm now self-monitoring to a point where any excess feels weird. I might be over-indulging, but at least I'm aware of it. And in some weird way, I actually feel LESS guilty about it now than I used to pre-diabetes - what's THAT about?

I guess part of it is that now, a lot of the voices I've carried around with me are silenced, and so is that condemnatory guilt they used to shout at me. The guilt I feel now is more related to my actual health and well-being, rather than some sense of disappointing someone else. And so the guilt I feel now is less controlling in some way - less pushy - less noisy, for sure - less bitchy.

For many years of our marriage, Hubby and I have hosted Thanksgiving at our house. This year, we traveled to see family, so there was hardly any work for me to do today. I did a lot of sitting around and relaxing. I took two different mini-naps on the couch. We had a good, solid (not-too-carby) breakfast, a very light lunch, and ate our Thanksgiving meal mid-afternoon. 

After our meal, we had the obligatory round of "Who's ready for dessert?" and when I said I would need to wait (like, literally, NEED), the suggestion was made to take a walk. HOORAY! I found my spirits lifting at the thought of the fresh air, the exercise, and the scenery of this neat walking path near their house - I've heard all about it and have never tried it out.

A creek runs next to it and it was rushing today - water pouring over and around the rocks, adding a delightful and constant sound to our movement. One of my favorite sounds, making a beautiful Fall day even more gorgeous. 

Max came with us. And I was so happy that our little 14 year-old schnauzer walked 1.65 miles and barely missed a beat (or a tree to pee on). Often, he led the way, trotting along, greeting others who were also out in the beautiful weather.

And as we walked, I felt the few guilty qualms getting further and further away, left behind at the dinner table while we got a bit of exercise. When we returned home, I enjoyed our dessert all the more because it truly felt like a treat.

Confession: I had a leftover turkey sandwich this evening and I had a bit more dessert. But it's all OK because I'm still feeling good about the choices I made today. I've reached one of my favorite food holidays for the first time as a diabetic, and I've made it through.

Gobble, gobble!

What Happens When You Just Don't Pay Attention

Hey, guess what, everyone?

I STILL HAVE DIABETES!

And also - you have to pay attention.

Because when you don't pay attention, you go to take your medication one evening and realize the bottle is empty.

So then you go to get the new bottle from the cabinet and realize - wait.a.minute! - this bottle isn't my diabetes medication, it's another medication, one that the mail-order pharmacy has helpfully sent you automatically.

So then you begin to freak out a bit because you realize it's 11pm on a FRIDAY NIGHT and your doctor doesn't have Saturday office hours.

So then you begin to wonder - Should I just not medicate all weekend? Should I take one of my older meds that I'm no longer on, just for the weekend? Should I visit an urgent care clinic in the morning and get a temporary script?

So then you call the answering service of your doctor and feel like That Patient as you explain to the dude what is going on, and he gets a condescending tone with you as he explains that he'll actually CALL YOUR DOCTOR at EIGHT O'CLOCK ON A SATURDAY MORNING just so that you can get a damn refill.

All because I wasn't paying attention.

To my doctor and to doctors everywhere, I am sorry to be That Patient this weekend. I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention. This is not a good excuse, but I realized tonight that I'm still new at this. Maybe being without my medication is no big deal for two-and-a-half days, but it feels like a big deal, so maybe that makes it a big deal. Or at least a not-very-small deal.

And so, just when I've settled into a rhythm with this damn disease, and feel like I'm actually perking along just fine, I realize that - nope! Not that easy! If I'm going to manage this right, I'm going to have to pay attention.

Damn.

The Firsts...

The extent of our Halloween candy this year.

I realized something in late October, and here it is:

I'm having a Year of Firsts.

What I mean is that I'm having my first year as a diabetic, which means it's a year of my first vacation with diabetes, my first church potluck with diabetes, and…my first Halloween with diabetes. 

OH CRAP.

I love Halloween, and I always have. My mom and I used to do some basic decorations, and we'd make these haunted houses out of construction paper and glue. I'd dress up, we'd go out trick-or-treating, and later, we'd dutifully hand out candy to neighborhood kids who came our way. 

Later, as an adult, I wonderfully fell into a group of friends that got REALLY INTO HALLOWEEN - but always in a fun way, not weirdly creepy at all. We'd have a big meal on an overly-decorated table, with cheese balls made to look like cute pumpkins and ice frozen in surgical gloves to make creepy hands. When Hubby and I had our first house, we got to a point of sitting out front, waiting for the trick-or-treaters, getting to know the neighbors in our cul-de-sac, snacking on our own candy.

Halloween and food, it seems, have always gone together for me.

So this year was a first. 

I can have a little candy, and I know that. But that's part of the problem - I can have a LITTLE candy. Quite frankly, I don't want a LITTLE candy - I want to sit down and eat half the bag of M&M's, please, and just not suffer any consequences like pesky blood sugar spikes. And so, Halloween this year became a battle of self control for me.

I made it through a whole Trunk-or-Treat and only ate one tiny package of Skittles. I stayed at my in-laws and ate two tiny boxes of Milk Duds and one tiny Kit Kat over three days. I came home, and Hubby had purchased peanut butter cups, which I can't have anyway because of a peanut allergy. I've been dutifully been ignoring the unopened package of Mint M&M's in our pantry since the day before I went into the hospital last March - went into the hospital dehydrated, with extremely high blood sugar, after binge-eating Mint M&M's. And thus began my journey with diabetes.

Halloween this year was a little different, but it was more than OK, it was wonderful. We went to visit family and had a lovely dinner out with dear friends, one of whom we surprised for his birthday. And so there was still this beautiful sense of celebrating and fun, but without bowls and bowls of candy sitting around my house.

The next set of firsts will be tricky ones - Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday…but it's all OK. I've made it through firsts before, and I'll make it through these, too.

What Fills the Void

My weakness...

It has been one of Those Days. It wasn't a terrible day, but it was one of Those Days because of the sheer number of details swirling around in my brain right now. We have a big weekend coming up at church, and it is all joy - really, it is. However, joy doesn't always come easily or without planning - and there are so many things to think about, carry out, remember, etc. that last week was one of Those Weeks, and I started off this work week with one of Those Days.

I came home late from the office, not expecting to have to make dinner. I ended up making dinner. The thought of it almost made me cry. "I wish I had a butler," I lamented to some friends online while waiting for water to boil. 

"I wish I didn't have diabetes so I could eat a bunch of ice cream," I added.

A-HA!

I thought about that as I worked on dinner. I thought about how I wanted to do what I have always done on Those Days - eat a big, fat bowl of ice cream, while ignoring the consequences completely. I then asked myself, "What is the void I'm trying to fill tonight?" And I realized I was tired and cranky and that I was tired and cranky because I was hungry. 

Well, then, Kathi, eat some damn dinner!

We ate dinner. A simple dinner, fairly balanced, pretty light, definitely easy. My mood improved. I felt a bit re-charged as I sat and relaxed a bit. Hubby and I bantered a bit. I cleaned up the kitchen a bit. I called a friend and chatted a while. I put away a bit of laundry (but not all of it!). And somehow, in all these bits of this and that, I realized I felt re-charged a lot more.

And that was when I went to the kitchen to get my small bowl of ice cream. I loved every bite. And most importantly, the void had already been filled.

Grace...

Hubby -n- Me

This past week was all about choices.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Every week is about choices, right? 

Anyway, over the last week, I've made some choices that have meant I haven't walked as much as I probably should have...

I got in a good, though short, walk at the beginning of the week. The middle of the week is where the wheels came off. I really, really wanted to walk on Thursday, but on Thursday, my Hubby came home after being out of town all week for work. 

So, I made the choice that evening to eat a nice, quiet meal with him and then hang out on the couch with him, watching ridiculous TV. I mean, really, really ridiculous programming - but programming that made us laugh and, most importantly, made him happy after a long few days away from home and his wife and his dog. The three of us sat together, collected in the same room, and all was well.

Except...I really, really wanted to walk. I felt kinda twitchy about not walking. As my normal walking hour came and went, it felt strange to be sitting on the couch - just as in the olden days - the days (and weeks, and months, and years) before diabetes and watching every bite and finding more motivation than ever to get off my ass and move around more. It felt strange.

I got out there and walked tonight. I pretty much insisted on it, telling both Hubby and the waiter at dinner that I was going for a walk when we got home. Hubby lovingly got his dessert to go. The waiter wished me well. And we made it home just in time for me to change, get all geared up, and head out for a lovely two-mile walk.

While I walked, I thought about this past week. I thought about the choices I made and that I'd only walked twice this week. I reflected on how strange that felt and then - AHA! Epiphany time! - I realized how wonderful it is that I walked over three and a half miles this week, and - really - that isn't too shabby. Not bad at all for someone who three months ago was still getting her blood sugar sorted out and was really good at sitting on her ass.

And so, I'm not going to get bogged down by my choices this past week. I am, however, going to celebrate every time I walk as some kind of progress - some kind of forward movement - and allow myself the grace to sit on the couch with Hubby from time to time. 

Joy, Joy, Joy to the Heart

I have scarcely had time today to process some news that I received this morning from my doctor's office.

I went in for a follow-up last week - to meet the doctor who will be my next PCP and have her renew a prescription for me. She ordered blood work, and so I knew an A1C would be a part of that. I told her that I really believed this A1C would be better - but then, of course, my overly-confident statement was followed by self-doubt and fear:

What if it wasn't better? What if all my efforts weren't doing a damn thing? What if...what if...what if...?

But, what are you gonna do? The nice lady is there, she takes your blood, you've done what you can, and so you leave it all up to the phlebotomist gods to sort out.

The A1C test is interesting. Before I was diagnosed with diabetes, I had never heard of it. Had no idea. If you have no idea, there's a link above to a helpful article. Basically, though, the lower the number, the better. For me, my last doctor had said our goal was to get my A1C below 6.5%. I was at 8.3% at that point, so I had a good ways to go.

So, the nurse called today and she sounded elated. Before she even gave me the results, she sounded elated. The magic number?

6.1%

I can hardly believe it. I mean, I've been working really hard at it. I've denied myself ice cream and chocolate and crackers and bread and mashed potatoes and a gizillion other forms of carbs. I've become so much more active. I've taken my meds faithfully and my blood sugar levels regularly. I've been doing it - even when it's been a pain in the ass.

And for the first time in my life, in terms of the physical care I take for myself, I feel as though all my hard work - all the self control - all the discipline has finally made a measurable difference.

For so much of my life, the numbers have been about my weight. This time, though, it was a whole other level of self care - a whole other dimension of watching and disciplining and prudence that got me to this place of 6.1%.

I would be remiss if I didn't say that it would be impossible for me to have this success without so many loving and supportive people in my life. The number of friends and family members who have let me lean on them and who have encouraged me at every turn is an even more amazing number to me.

And so, the trick now will be to keep going. The trick now will be not to rest on my laurels, but to recognize the changes I've made as truly lifestyle changes - changes made for the betterment of my life.

In which I finally order a bracelet...

I really thought I wasn't going to order one of these medical alert bracelets. They have really nice ones now - in a huge variety of styles and price points - so my fashion sense wasn't really the issue. I think it was more wanting to avoid such a clear-cut identifier - "HELLO, I HAVE DIABETES!"

And then something happened the other day that changed my mind.

I've already written about the heat we're now facing here in North Texas. So, the other day, we had plans with friends in the evening, so I knew I wouldn't be able to get in my evening walk. I opted for a late morning walk, thinking I'd get it in before the real heat of the day set in. Concerned about hydration, I drank extra water beforehand, and took water along with me. And, off I went, going on a new route to see a new park they're building nearby, knowing it would offer at least some shade.

The new park's entrance is almost exactly a mile away. I made it over there in a good pace, paused to snap a photo, and then turned right around to head home. I made it home in a good pace, too, and I really felt fine the entire time I was walking. Given that it was already so blessed hot and humid, I actually was surprised how good I was feeling.

I came home, stretched, drank more water, took my shower, and then...it happened. What I've been fearing, happened. I could feel my blood sugar level dropping, slipping away, like sand running through my fingers. It was dramatic. Pretty quickly, I was shaking like crazy - to the point where checking my glucose was difficult (huh...THAT'S a problem!). Sure enough, it had fallen into the "danger zone" - so out I went to the fridge to find some juice to chug. 

I sat on the couch, drinking my juice, feeling pretty crappy. I could feel a slight disorientation setting in - I knew where I was, and I knew my name, etc., but it was sort of like everything else I know was out of reach, somehow. 

Hubby came out to the living room, and here's the thing - to him, I was sitting on the couch, drinking juice. He had NO IDEA that I was struggling until I told him. We pretty quickly determined that it was lunch time, and he pretty quickly went to get us some sandwiches from the corner deli. And I sat and drank my juice.

I began to feel better, and even a bit more after I had a meal in me, but it still took a good couple of hours to feel as though my thoughts were back within reach. And even then, I still felt weak - like the wind had been knocked completely out of my sails. I stayed quiet that afternoon and did some reading I needed to do, and by the evening I felt much better.

But I have to say, this frightened me pretty well. Until then, my diabetes hasn't seemed particularly threatening. It's been a hassle and sometimes, a downright pain in the ass. It's completely affected how I view food and beverages, and what I choose to eat and drink. It's expensive, too - the supplies and meds really add up. But I haven't ever felt threatened, until the other day.

I began thinking, "Suppose this had happened on my walk and I wasn't able to use my phone?" I harkened back to the diabetes education nurse telling me I should order a medical alert bracelet. And so I found one I liked (similar to the one above), and ordered it that very day. (Side note: I started that process while I was still struggling to right myself, and could hardly even make the internet GO, let alone pick out a damn bracelet, if that is any indication to my state of mind!) 

I guess it comes down to claiming this new part of myself in yet another way - a way that can maybe save me in the future. I really hope it doesn't come to that, ever. But here is another way that I can take control of things and do something good for myself so that in an emergency, someone can easily tell that "HELLO, I HAVE DIABETES!"

In Which a Potato Flips Us Off

Dinner tonight had a message. Apparently.

In the never-ending quest to Eat at Home More, Hubby called me today wondering what he should pick up for dinner. He perused the meat department with me on the phone and we settled on steaks on the grill. Knowing we had various frozen potato options in the freezer that needed to get used, plus plenty of frozen veggies, steak seemed like a good fit overall. Nothing tastes like a good grilled steak, and Hubby can grill a steak, baby.

I pulled out the variety of frozen potatoes and spread them out on the baking sheet and this one caught my eye. Doesn't it look like it's flipping you off? If you disagree, flip the bird with your right hand, palm up, and hold your hand next to the photo.

OK. 

I called Hubby over to check it out, as if instead of a flipping-the-bird waffle fry, I had instead found an image of Jesus or Mary or St. Bartholomew. "Look!" I said, excitedly. "Do you see what I see?"

Hubby immediately picked up the fry and turned it around. Because apparently no one really likes being flipped off, even if it's by a waffle fry.

I started thinking about the waffle fry flipping me the bird and I thought, "You know, that's sort of what  it feels like carbs do to me now that I'm diabetic - they flip me off." 

WORK WITH ME, PEOPLE. 

My whole eating life now revolves around these damn carbs. How many? Too many? Not enough? What kind are they? Etc. etc. etc. Sometimes, it seems like the carbs are winning, running around me in circles like an impetuous child who's just learned how to flip someone off. 

But - haha, carbs! Not tonight. Tonight, I gave you and your middle finger to Hubby, and I enjoyed a few of a non-middle-fingered variety of potato. Plus some veggies. And a damn good steak.

Just in case you think I'm perfect...

HA!

So, you know how yesterday, I walked by the table of cookies and cake and brownies, and didn't eat one? (I mean, truly, in days past, I might've eaten a piece of cake, a brownie, and some cookies. Like. Seriously.) And then I came home and blogged about it?

Well...I skirted the boundary of the Middle Ground this evening. I ate half a brownie and one little scoop of ice cream. I love brownies. And I love ice cream. And therein lies the problem...well, that, and the diabetes, of course.

These things - these goodies - are such comforting foods for me. They tasted so. damn. good. tonight. I savored them, which is actually a good thing, because how many times have I scarfed down four times the amount without even tasting it?

I realized tonight that my discomfort in eating this treat tonight was two-fold:

First, I have to give myself some grace - some room - some ability to skirt the edge of the Middle Ground from time to time. And giving myself that grace really frightens me, because what if I can't stop? What if all the self control I've developed comes crumbling down around me, and I slip into my old ways of eating? Fear. It's a real bitch.

Second, I realized tonight that I've been using some of these foods for comfort. Without them, these last couple of months, it's been like I've been naked - except I haven't really realized I felt naked without them, until now.

If you don't understand what I mean by this second point, then think about something that gives you great comfort - something you do or eat or drink or experience almost every day - some part of your routine. Then, imagine that Thing not being there anymore. Imagine moving through your work day, your home life, your time with friends, etc. etc. without whatever It may be...and then you'll get the naked feeling. It's hard to have these blankets ripped away.

I said in an earlier post that I used to settle down in the evening by eating a big bowl of ice cream. While half a brownie and a small scoop of ice cream is not the same thing, it still felt indulgent. It felt comforting. It felt like a return to the Old Me...which, ironically enough, felt discomforting.

The other piece of this is a piece of good news: I checked my sugar before diving in to the brownie and ice cream. I made a deal with myself that whether or not I ate any dessert would depend totally on what the number was. If it was low enough, I'd have a little. It was, so I did.

But, just in case you think I'm perfect - OHMYGOSH I AM NOT. I'm still struggling through all this - and part of the struggle for me lies where it has for so long been - in my head, in my heart, getting myself sorted out inwardly so I'm not beating myself up or letting myself slide.

Like I said yesterday, it's claiming the Middle Ground.

Claiming the Middle Ground

The Middle Ground

So, a while back, I posted after I had started another medication and my blood sugar went plummeting. It's been weird - again with the damn numbers game! - for the first bit after I started that med, my evening numbers were great and my morning numbers were running high...not crazy high, but a bit high.

I persevered.

I guess my body has gotten used to things (again) because for about the past week, my numbers - both morning and night - have been great. Spot on. Right in range.

Part of me is like, "What the hell?"

Part of me is like, "Huh. OK. How great...I guess...?"

Part of me is like, "WOO HOO!"

I don't feel like I've changed that much and yet the numbers are very different. I feel much better, too - actually, the best I've felt since my diagnosis. So, that part, I'll take.

However, upon further reflection, I guess I have changed...

I've been on vacation for a few days. I was really, really, really afraid I would lose all self control and go on some kind of binge. But the cool thing is that the habits I have now are becoming more and more a part of me, and so I have more self control than I ever have before. The Great Blood Sugar Question is - for me, anyway - great motivation for NOT going on a binge. I just don't want to put myself through it, sugar-wise.

I went to a retirement party today, and there was the usual spread of sugar, sugar, more sugar on the tables (and some veggies and cheese). I would've loved a cookie, and oh, look, cake! And another cookie, and a brownie, and some lemonade. I avoided it all - just walked right past. Didn't taste one damn thing at that party, and really, it was fine.

It was fine because I've reached the Middle Ground - I've claimed the Middle Ground - the place between no control and too much control. I've come to the conclusion that, overall, the Middle Ground is better than cookies and cake and brownies. And I've claimed the Middle Ground of wanting to care for myself in this New Normal, of my numbers being in a good place, and of feeling the best I've felt in a while.

Holy low blood sugar, Batman!

So, I started another anti-diabetes pill today...

By the way - tangent here - it's "anti-diabetes" pill, not "anti-diabetic" pill. Let's just say the pill is working against the diabetes and not the diabetic! :-)

Anywho...

I say "another" pill because, like many diabetics, finding the right combination of medication is quite a challenge. You want lower blood sugar, but not plummeting-to-the-center-of-the-earth low. So, I've been taking one medication consistently for several weeks now and it's been doing an OK job. My new doctor added another one and because of general life craziness lately, I opted to wait to begin taking it.

SO GLAD I WAITED.

If I had started right away, my first morning to take this pill would've been a Sunday morning. I would've been up in the front of church, leading worship, or preaching, or handling a chalice of wine over the pretty white linen when my blood sugar decided to plummet.

SO GLAD I WAITED.

I started the new pill this morning. And - oh my fricking word - sure enough, even after eating breakfast and lunch, I started feeling strange. Then I started getting shaky. I checked my blood sugar, and - holy cow - below 100 for the first time in quite a while. (My verbal exclamation startled the dog.)

The trippy thing about diabetes for me has been this damn numbers game. For years, my doctors have told me that below 100 is where my sugar needs to be. For years, that number was creeping up, until it finally stopped creeping and started shooting, higher and higher. So now that the number is creeping lower (or plummeting, like today), it affects almost everything - my energy and focus most of all. My body has gotten so accustomed to operating at the higher numbers, that this lower number throws everything out of whack. And so begins the balancing act...once again.

So, what I've realized again today is that this isn't going to be easy. But I also realize again that it is manageable. It may not always feel great, but it is manageable, and I am, in fact, managing.

Here's Some Advice...

I look for advice when I feel myself sinking - I seek it out. When my mom was dying, and then after she died, I read a LOT online in cancer support forums and in books about prayer during grief (ironically enough, books I inherited from Mom's bookshelves). I read hymns. I read Luther and the Bible and the Creeds.

Mostly, though, I just leaned. I leaned heavily on those around me. I leaned into writing about the pain and how my faith was struggling to survive. I leaned into food - LOTS of food. I eventually leaned back into prayer as I somehow figured out how to trust God again.

Many who knew me then didn't try to offer advice on how to grieve. They know I've had lots of loss in my life and so grief is something that feels almost like that old friend that I don't want to see ever again - and yet - there it is, showing its face again. Many who knew me then were simply present - they simply walked with me: holding me when I cried, listening when I screamed, offering prayers beyond number and comfort beyond measure.

It was powerful.

So, now I have diabetes, and suddenly, it feels like many in my life are Experts. Advice comes from every direction: well-meaning ones - all sharing what they either know to be true from their own experience (including those with diabetes themselves), or what they've read about diabetes in some hack magazine, or what their cousin Joe's experience with diabetes was in 1947, and everything. in. between.

People. I love you. Notice the words "well-meaning" above. Please notice those words. I know you mean well. 

But really, I've been overweight since I was ten years old. I've been on and off diets, eating plans, and exercise plans for many years of my life. There's an old saying: "I've lost hundreds of pounds in my life!" I have. Some have come back. Others have stayed away. But really, I know what it takes.

And this struggle - just like someone's grief - is not one you will be able to fix for me. It isn't one you'll be able to advise away, like some kind of problem at work or an issue with a boyfriend. It's one I must simply accept, and then care for in the best ways I know how.

I do not walk alone. I absolutely do not. And what has been most helpful in the almost-two-months since my diagnosis is the presence of those who simply have listened and prayed. Those who have laughed with me, or have cried with me. Those who have asked questions, in order to learn how to be helpful. Those who have offered loving words and support.

So, here's some advice for you...

Just listen.

Just be there.

Laugh or cry with me.

Ask questions, if you have them.

Offer answers or advice when I ask.

Pray for me.

Love me.

And loving me may mean watching me make some mistakes. Loving me may mean that I'm going to do some things that don't seem right in your eyes. Loving me may take more energy than simply giving me advice.

But love me anyway.

Because - here's the thing:

I. love. you.

The Road to Finding a Doctor

I was diagnosed last month with Type 2 Diabetes. I'm relatively new to the area in which we now live, and so one of the tasks they gave me when I was released from the hospital was to find a new PCP. Wanting to stay nearby, I requested from the hospital referrals nearby. Problem is, in asking for a referral from someone who didn't really know me, I was ignoring my gut instinct to throw out convenience and listen to those who know me really well, and were suggesting their own doctors.

Dutifully, I began the meds they prescribed me out the door of the hospital. Dutifully, I took a full week off of work to recuperate. Dutifully, I began monitoring every bite, and checking my blood sugar several times a day.

Hubby journeyed with me as I fought my roller coastering blood sugar to get all the supplies I needed to take care of myself. Alcohol swabs? Check. Glucose monitor? Check. Test strips (HOLY CRAP THEY ARE EXPENSIVE)? Check. It all was new, and yet I attacked it like I attack lots of new things: methodically, step-by-step, with lots of reading and consulting with others.

The next thing I dutifully accomplished was to call the doctor's office referred by the hospital to establish a relationship with a PCP. I wanted to - I'd been ignoring symptoms too long and wanted to control this newly-diagnosed disease. I needed to - the scripts from the hospital were short-term. And so, to my new doctor I went, tra-la, tra-la.

I was still weary. I was still absorbing this diagnosis and all it means. Hell, I was still trying to put together that the 35-pound weight loss I'd experienced over a year's time was largely because of the diabetes, which is ironic since one of the first things they tell you is...to. lose. weight.

I'll note here that my weight has been a struggle for almost my whole life. I am so aware of watching what I eat that I do it without even thinking anymore because so much of my life, I've been on this diet or that plan. If you think overweight people don't think about what they eat - you are mistaken. We spend lots of time thinking about it, guilting over it, wanting to "do the right thing" and "failing."

I just turned 40, and I had finally reached a point in my life where I had silenced almost all those voices in my head. The funny thing is, I actually had started eating better quality food than ever before, and monitoring my portions more - actually stopping before I felt full, for instance. I was happier with my body image, especially when I started losing weight last year (which we attributed to certain lifestyle changes).

So, into the doctor I went, and she pretty firmly pooped all over all my mental progress. She was pretty condescending, assuming that I didn't know anything about diabetes or dieting or watching carbs. She assumed that because I'm in a helping career, I don't know how to take care of myself. She rolled her eyes when I told her what meds the hospital had prescribed, calling into question everything they had even told me about diabetes.

It was so discouraging.

I determined pretty quickly that I didn't think this relationship was going to work, but I made a follow-up appointment for six weeks later. I was trying to be generous - maybe she was having a particularly pissy day. Maybe I was. Maybe the next time would be better.

Except the next time was this morning, and instead of being better, it was much, much worse.

I had pretty dutifully followed her instructions and had logged 98% of every bite I had consumed over six weeks. Every good choice, every slip-up. I logged every blood glucose reading, even the scary high ones. How can she help if I'm not honest?

She spent time reading, and her first comment was to question a breakfast sandwich I order at Starbucks. The thing is, I've looked up the nutritional info. I've compared the fat vs. carbs of their menu, and have come down on this one sandwich as a good compromise when I need more protein. The other thing is that I used to eat one of their sandwiches that was much worse, both in terms of fat AND carbs. So, I've made some progress.

She continued reading. We discussed that sushi throws my numbers up like crazy. I told her I was going to work that out - I am working it out, actually. I've totally changed what I order, and will keep trying until I figure out what works. I used to eat something tempura fried (WHOA CARBS) and now I don't. So, I've made some progress.

I told her that I don't sit down and eat huge bowls of ice cream anymore. In fact, I've quit ice cream almost cold turkey (haha). When I want something cold and sweet, I eat a frozen yogurt bar or similar, and feel satisfied. The fact that I haven't eaten a huge bowl of ice cream in six weeks is HUGE for me. So, I've made some progress.

Unfortunately for me, she was unable to see my progress. She was unable to comment on my progress at all. She pretty firmed pooped all over my progress once again today, so much so that I left the office in tears and cried all the way to Starbucks. I had been fasting, after all, and coffee and food were needed, and yes, I ordered that damn breakfast sandwich, so THERE. I then cried all the way home.

I cried until Hubby, standing in our kitchen, about to leave for work, insisted that I tell him about the appointment. He listened, appalled, and then left the room. When he came back, he put down his PCP's business card in front of me. And then he gave me a hug and a sympathetic noise before heading out the door to work.

It was exactly what I needed.

I called his doctor's office today, but not before I had called my insurance company to make sure I could change PCPs and visit the new one without a bunch of hassle. (To be honest, even if they had said, "Yes, there will be colossal hassle," I still would be changing...because of all. the. drama.) I called his doctor's office, suffered through horrid hold music and a canned voice telling me how important my call was to them, and made an appointment for next week.

Because - here's the deal: diabetes is not to be screwed around with. It just isn't. I'm not scared of it, but I want to manage it as best I can. And I cannot manage it if I feel as though my doctor is fighting me.

So, the road to finding a doctor is a long one, it seems, but it'll lead somewhere good. I know it.