Down The Proverbial Rabbit Hole To Rock Bottom Status

Monday, April 4, 2018.  The day after Easter.  I binged particularly well that Easter Sunday, I recall.  In fact, looking back, I do not believe I have ever binged that much and with so much fervor in one sitting before.  I couldn't stop, and the bingeing went on through the night.  It was almost like my "Last Supper".

I got dressed and went to work, as usual.  But on this day, I felt particularly sick.  I was dizzy, I had a headache. The past few days before this I had noticed blood in my urine.  It alarmed me, but, I chose to dismiss it, ignore it.  I kept saying to myself that it would pass eventually.  Possibly a UTI.  No big deal, I've had those before.   I didn't mention it to anyone.  Deep down, though, I knew there was something wrong.  Something I didn't want to finally face.  My conscious wasn't clear.  Like the old saying, "The sword of Damocles was hanging over my head".

Fifth period was about to start.  This was when I monitored the lunch room and worked with my one-on-one student.  I began to get really dizzy all of a sudden, and I sat down.  I started feeling some pain in my stomach and asked another Paraprofessional to watch my student while I used the ladies' room.  I sat on the toilet, and to my horror, blood was streaming out of the rectum area.  I gasped, quickly cleaned myself up, ran to my supervisor and told her I needed to go to the doctor, and quickly drove to Convenient MD.

I got there, I don't really know how, because the whole drive was a complete blur.  "Dammit, I'm in trouble", I kept thinking to myself.  I told the nurse my symptoms.  Immediately she said that I probably had a bladder infection that had spread to the anal region.  She promptly took some blood, and I had a urine test.  Within 5 minutes, a doctor and a nurse walked in looking quite grim.  "Well, we know what the issue is.  You're dumping sugar.  Your blood sugar is 510. You are very close to diabetic coma stage.  You need to call someone for a ride and go to the emergency room."  I asked if that was absolutely necessary and she said, yes.  I called my husband, and I started to cry and shake.  I wasn't crying and shaking out of shock and fear, though.   I was crying and shaking because of my immense guilt and shame.  I knew very well I had experienced all the warning signs in the not too distant past, and I did absolutely nothing to take care of myself.  Why?  Because I was afraid of what I would hear.  I was ashamed of the constant denial of my symptoms.  I was ashamed that my eating disorder would be exposed to the public.  People would be disgusted, and would judge me.  "I told you so!"  The statement I dreaded to hear.  All the times in the past when I was bullied for being overweight by asshole kids and others came flooding back in one fell swoop.  One particular image kept coming back to me.  The time I was taking a walk while on vacation and a car drove by me with two guys in it.  One guy stuck his head out the window and yelled "MOO!"  I never told anyone that anecdote, not during that vacation, or since.  The shame and sadness flooded every cell of my being and overtook me.

"I'll be bullied again," I thought.  "And this time, I really don't know if I'll be able to take it."

"This time, I might be done."

While I was waiting for my husband to come, another nurse came in to talk to me.  The doctor had asked her to come in because I was so overwrought.  She began to explain to me how she, too, had Type-2 diabetes.  "I only need to take one pill, she said, no more sticking myself with insulin.  I just have to avoid certain foods, like corn and peas, and I only eat half a cupcake instead of a whole one."  And on, and on, and on.  She wouldn't stop talking!  Her words just swirled around in my head and made my headache worse.  My temples throbbed.  On the one hand, I was listening to her, but on the other hand, I just wished she would shut the hell up, walk away, and leave me alone, for crying out loud!  I couldn't deal with what felt like lecturing right at that moment.  I knew she meant well, but, I wasn't in the right frame of mind to digest what she was saying.

My husband arrived, we collected my things, and he drove me to the emergency room.  Again, I don't remember the drive.  I don't remember any conversation.  I just remember overwhelming guilt, shame and disgust.  I was promptly brought into one of the rooms, where I was weighed and my blood sugar was taken again. 425 this time.  I changed into a gown, climbed onto a bed, and was then hooked up to a bunch of monitors.  They did an EKG, and started pumping me with IV fluid to hydrate me so that my blood sugar would come down.  I remember my husband and I staring at each other in horror and complete disbelief while all these nurses and doctors were buzzing around me, working on me.  WTF is happening???? It was a surreal moment.

Metformin...My Ally, My Foe

Within 30 minutes my blood sugar was brought down to the 200's with the IV fluids.  This was a good sign.  This meant my body was still making its own insulin.  If it had stayed in the 500's, that was a sign of permanent damage to my pancreas.  My EKG came back normal...no heart damage or disease. Thank God.  I also was administered an A1c test.  This is a test which checks the amount of glucose that is embedded in your cells over a three-month span of time.  My A1c came back as 12.3. A non-diabetic person would have an A1c of 5.7 or under.  An A1c of 5.8 is considered pre-diabetic.  Oops.  That ain't good.  The doctor officially diagnosed me as having Acute Diabetes Mellitis, gave me a prescription for Metformin, a drug that brings down the A1c, made an appointment for me to see my PCP within the next couple of days, wished me luck, and I was sent home.

That night, I quietly sobbed in my recliner chair while my children sat at the dining room table.  My husband told them the whole crazy story, while I just sat there, numb.  I could tell they were trying to understand, but couldn't fully grasp all the details.  Which was fine, because that was exactly how I felt.   They went to their rooms, and I continued to sit quietly and mull over in my head what exactly had occurred that day.   Did everything really happen like it did, or was this just a horrible nightmare?  Am I going to wake up and breathe a sigh of relief because this was only a dream?   Could I be so lucky?  Ehhh...probably not.  "This is my new reality", I thought to myself.  "I have literally hit rock bottom.  I have to come to terms with it, face it head on, and deal.  I have no choice."

Then, in a flash of clarity, that came out of literally nowhere, I realized maybe I did, in fact, have a choice.  I started to ponder and reexamine my plight. "This disease is an unwelcome visitor in my life.  I do not want it!  I do not want to lose my eyesight!  I do not want to lose my toes!  I do not want to lose my limbs!  I still have a family to take care of!  I'm only 51 years old, I'm not too old!  I'm still healthy!  The doctor told me, you heard him, right?  I don't need to take this medication forever, I can do this all on my own, right? Right?"

"I'm going to fight this!"

And I did.

That's it for today!  This was an emotional blog for me...cried the whole way though it!
Hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please be sure to click on the blue "Follow" button at the bottom of the blog page.

I'll see you next week!  Stay well!

Be a butterfly...🦋