#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!

I did it! I did it!

What a roller coaster the last almost-week has been! Last Wednesday, I woke up with so much back pain, I could hardly move when I tried to get out of bed. Whether I tried to twist or roll or shimmy out of bed, it felt like someone had my lower back in a death grip and they were ripping my muscles to shreds.

Or something.

It was no coincidence to me that this developed a few days before last weekend. Last weekend was full of all sorts of happy events - such as the 5K for which I'd been training and our church's 25th Anniversary Celebration - but these were also events that were stressing. me. out. big. time.

Like I said, no coincidence at all.

I persevered through my long work day on Wednesday, in pain but managing. I have a good chair at work and found that if I limited my movements, my back "grabbed" less. I figured the pain would lessen, eventually. When it got even worse by Thursday morning, I began to get more concerned.

I called a local chiropractor and they made time to see me that day. While waiting to go to that appointment, I got the news that we'd had some vandalism at the church - just in time for our big celebration, some jerk had broken one of our windows. More stress. More back pain. By the time I got in to the chiropractor that afternoon, I could hardly move.

He examined me, putting me through some painful tasks to see what was going on. In conversation with him, I said, "So...I've been training for this 5K that's coming up on Saturday. What do you think I should do?"

He looked at me with great sympathy because he could tell I had high hopes. He also looked at me with a look of: "Really? You can't even walk around my office today, and you want to walk 3.1 miles in two days?"

He advised against the 5K. And, later, as I lay face down on one of their tables with ice packs on my back, I began to cry as the reality of it set in. I was so. very. disappointed. As disappointed as I was, I kept telling myself that it wasn't worth risking further injury. At least I could still go to support my team, I reasoned.

The pain lessened on Friday. I iced my back some more and tried to rest it as much as I could. (This is not easy for someone who's using to picking up whatever she wants or moving things around at will.) I went and picked up our shirts and numbers and was introduced to a whole new cultural experience with that. And I began to have some hope for the 5K...

Sure enough, I woke up on Saturday morning, ready to go. My adrenaline was pumping, and I was doubly pumped by the cool weather that had moved in overnight. By 7:30 on Saturday morning, we were heading out into 60-degree weather - HALLELUJAH! - and I was excited.

Team Go Rev Go!

We drove to Ranger Stadium and I began to collect the team. What a collection we were: hubby, some parishioners, a seminary friend, and a friend from middle school that I hadn't seen in over 20 years (and her hubby). She and I share the loss of our mothers to ovarian cancer.

The crowd was amazing. Teal - the color of ovarian cancer awareness - was everywhere. I went to put up my mom's and my friend's names on the memory wall, and ended up putting them near my friend's picture of her mom. As I turned around after clipping my own names to the wall, I saw her eyes had tears in them, and we held each other and cried.

My loved ones.

And then came the walk. I was aware of my back, aware of needing to be careful, aware of a bit of pain, but mainly, I felt energized. I cranked up my playlist and went for it. And 57 minutes and change later, I crossed the finish line, finishing my longest duration walk with my best pace per mile yet. More importantly, I did it. 

After I finished, I marveled at the line of people coming in behind me. I told one of my team members that I was so certain I was close to the end. She looked at me, incredulous, pointing to the stream of folks still coming across the finish. "Yes, I know," I said, "But in gym class, I got used to coming in last."

"You're not coming in last anymore," was her response. And she was right. Not that the event was about winning, because it really wasn't. But there was something important to realizing that I wasn't going to let the kid who always - ALWAYS - finished last in gym class follow me around anymore. Sorry, kid - you've slowed me down for too long.

So, now what?

I'm eyeing other 5Ks, I'm happy to say, and so are other members of my team. This might actually turn into a way that our church engages the community, and a way for us to encourage one another in some really healthy habits of exercising regularly. Who knows? 

What I do know is this: I DID IT!

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.

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.

Letting go...

Our church is having its annual yard sale this weekend. Having some time at home today (to allow the A.C. guys to do their work in repairing our A.C.) has allowed me time to dig through boxes of buried treasures, in hopes of putting some of them in the sale.

It worked! I dug around in one area, then in another closet, then - oh, look in this box! (When the heck did I pack that, anyway?!) Oh, I forgot I had that! Oh, wow, that is u-g-l-y. Some of the stuff evoked strong memories from childhood, and even a few tears over long-lost friends and family members.

Piles began to form as I separated yard sale stuff from stuff to keep (after all, some stuff, though ugly, is precious). Amazingly, I now have a trunk full of stuff now going up to church to get sold - this in addition to the stuff I've already delivered to church!

It got me thinking about the habits that I hold onto, in addition to the stuff. Today, I was coming home to meet the A.C. guys. It was lunchtime; I was hungry. What I would've done B.D. (before diabetes) is to stop at any number of places on the way home to pick up some less-than-healthy combination of food. I would've come home and gobbled it all down. I thought hard about this habit as I drove home today. I determined that instead of doing the easy thing, I would do the just-a-bit-harder thing and come home to make myself some lunch.

Because, really, I've decided that at least part of living with diabetes is going to be about me letting go of some things. It has to be. It has to be, because not everything fits. Not everything fits into a healthier lifestyle - it just doesn't. And so, whether we're talking about improving our physical health, our mental health, or our spiritual health - at least part of it is about letting go of some things.

It ain't easy, friends. Some of these things have been with me for a long time. Some of these things have  been buried, packed away, hidden - and to pull them out takes time and energy and even some tears. But it's good - it IS good - because it's sometimes it's important - or, I would even say it's vital - to let go.