The End Chapter to My New Beginning...

So...11 months after my diagnosis with Type-2 Diabetes, 3/4/19, I find myself at the office of my PCP for my hbA1c checkup.  My old doctor moved to another practice, so, I had been dealing with a wonderful new set of doctors, physician assistants and nurse practitioners.  Very kind, knowledgeable, reassuring and positive.  In fact, my new senior doctor had told me during one of my visits with him that in 15 years of being in his practice he had never seen anyone turn their health situation around so fast, like I had.  That gave me a sense of pride in myself I hadn't felt in, well, forever!  Anyways, The PA knocked on the door, walked in, sat down in front of me with a slight smile on her face, and told me the news I had only dreamed of hearing for 11 months...

Weight...172 pounds!  Total loss-167 pounds!

AMEN!!!

HbA1c...5.4!

Final diagnosis...TOTAL REMISSION OF TYPE-2 DIABETES!  

I am hereby off of Metformin, Abilify, Prozac.  

I only need to check my sugar once a day.

I only need to visit my nutritionist if I feel I need extra support in the future.  At this point, it was not necessary to go to any more visits.

I am free.

I sat there and cried.  Cried in relief, joy, exhaustion.  I did it.  She told me how proud of she was of me.   I just kept crying...

THE END...

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

It is incredible to me that it took me nine blog entries to get to this moment.  I certainly had a huge amount of baggage to unload, stories to tell, memories to cry over, and people from my past to forgive in the process.  I am well aware that this work will continue on, even after this blog entry.  I still have a lot of untold stories, but there will be more positive stories that will surely come my way.  There will be more memories that will inevitably bubble up only to be processed, and moved on from.  More positive memories, I am sure, will take their place.  There will still be people from my past, and people appearing in my future, that I will need to remember to practice empathy, kindness, gratitude and forgiveness.  But, with practice, comes progress.  I am a work in progress.  I am not perfect.  I know this.   But, in knowing this, I set myself free.   Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.  A caterpillar no more.  Remembering, however, the inherent beauty of a caterpillar.  All God's creations are beautiful, are worthy, have their own purposes, their own paths to move on.   But, man, is it cool to soar like a butterfly!  I ain't gonna lie!  Feeling the lightness, the freedom from burdens of sickness and obesity.   There is nothing like it.  

I realize I will have to keep fighting the fight.  I will always have to be diligent.  This is my new reality, and I now fully embrace and accept it.  I am done with repeating the mistakes of the past.  I cannot become lax, or all my inner demons will surely knock on my "past" door once again..."KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK! I'm baaack!  Remember me?"  Ohhhh...yeah, I remember you.  But, you can't have me back.  Alice doesn't live here anymore.

Until next week...stay safe and well!

Be a butterfly...🦋

"Survey Says......"

8/4/2018-exactly 4 months post-diagnosis...here were the results...

A1c...6.0!  This is considered Pre-Diabetic range, but decreased over 50% in 4 months!

Metabolic Profile...NORMAL!

Hypertension/Cholesterol Profile...NORMAL!

"Well...I'm getting there", I thought.  "The plan is working.  Now, I just have to stay the course."  Which I did.  

Was it tough?  Absolutely.  Even though my cravings for sugary, carb-laden foods slowly diminished, every once in a while the cravings would bubble back up into my psyche.  Especially during very stressful times.

  

Like the time I had a breast cancer scare.

I had my routine mammogram, like I normally had every other year or so.  I've never had any issues, no breast cancer in my family history (that I knew of, anyways).  So, when I received the call that afternoon to have me come in and get rechecked, I was floored.

"Are you frigging kidding me?  Diabetes, mouth surgery, and now this????  This is the last straw.  I can't be dealing with all of this.  Where's the ice cream?"

But, I mustered up what little strength I had left, resisted the temptation to buy a year's worth of Ben and Jerry's (how, I still have no idea), went back to the radiologist, and had a second mammogram.  Surer than shit, they saw something in the mammogram.  A biopsy needed to be done as soon as possible.

Crap.

A couple of days before the biopsy, I met with the surgeon.  A rather young, attractive woman with an interesting accent, who seemed pretty knowledgeable about all things boobs.  She started to perform the breast exam on me, and commented, "You've lost a lot of breast tissue.  You would be eligible for a breast lift.  You might want to consider that."

Ummmm....what?

I was disgusted, disallusioned.  I thought to myself, "A breast lift?  Are you serious?  What are you, from LA or something?  Do you have $50,000 to spare?  Do you really think I care about the fact that my breasts are sagging down to my knees right now?" But, I didn't say anything to her out loud.  I just chuckled, and let her get on with the remainder of the exam.  Although, I really didn't hear what she had to say after that, I was too pissed off.  Her voice was like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoons...whah whah whahhhhhh.  In hindsight, I should've told her that a breast lift was the least of my worries, and to just be quiet and get on with the exam, please.  I regret not speaking up at that moment.  Metaphor for my life, though.  How many times in my life should I have spoken up about how I felt when people hurt or disappointed me, instead of internalizing my pain and turning to food for answers, or a sense of comfort.  Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  You live and learn, and try not to repeat the behavior.   It's hard, I have to make a conscious effort to try to speak up these days.  But, I do try. 

Happy to report, the breast biopsy turned out to be negative.  Because I had lost weight so rapidly, there were little granules of fat deposits in my breasts.  Nothing to worry about, just keep on with the annual exams, and move on.  

Phew!

But, this experience was a good learning indicator for me.  I was very proud of myself, that I did not give in to my strong craving of ice cream during this crisis.  Which got me to thinking about how this experience was just another example of the true dynamics of this eating disorder.  It really was all psychological.   I came to really see that carbohydrates and sugar acted like highly-addictive drugs in my body.   When it came down to brass tacks, this addiction was not unlike alcohol, opioids, heroin, etc.  The problem with food addiction, however, is that you do need food to live!  You don't need alcohol, marijuana or heroin to live.  So, the trick, that I finally discovered, is to change your relationship with food.  Decide once and for all that food is fuel, and nothing else.  Simple.  Find the foods that fuel your body, make you feel good inside, give you energy.  Resist the foods that make you feel lethargic, cloudy, bloated, gross.   The perfect analogy is that your body is like a car, and food is the gas.  The better quality the gas, the better the car runs.   High-octane gas with no additives=high quality food with no carbs or sugar. 

BINGO.

Until next week...stay safe and well!

If you enjoy this blog, please click on the blue "FOLLOW" button at the bottom of the blog page.  

Be a butterfly...🦋

  

This is what I shoulda said to the doctor!!!

Side Effects May Include...(Parental Guidance Suggested)

So, as I left off from my last blog post, by the end of April, beginning of May, I had started to see some really promising results in the combination of a low-carbohydrate meal plan and Metformin.  I had noticed my weight began to drop significantly, and blood sugar numbers were beginning to come down and normalize a bit.  I felt hopeful that my life was actually NOT going to end as a result of a diabetic coma or a stroke.  Maybe, I'd be able to live to see my grandchildren get married!  I was beginning to get some strength and vitality back, as well, walking every day and sleeping pretty well.

AND THEN...

"DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNN...

The side effects hit.  And they hit HARD.

(I apologize in advance for the TMI part of the blog.)

The first side effect that began to ravage my life was explosive, painful, bowel movements.  I call them "Bouts".  This is a common side effect of Metformin that no one told me about.  The consistency was that of chocolate pudding.  (Sorry, again).  It was like hot lava.  The bouts came out of nowhere, at all hours, without warning.  I literally would sit on the toilet for, sometimes up to, 30 minutes before the convulsions would subside.  The bouts would leave me drained and exhausted.  They had gotten so bad, that I had to always be conscious of my surroundings, making sure that there would be a toilet nearby, just in case the urge would overcome me.  This was particularly difficult at the middle school in which I worked.  I had to always make sure I knew where the closest bathroom was, or to make sure the nurse's office was within running distance to the classroom I was in.  Luckily, the teachers I worked with knew about my recent diagnosis and were very easy-going and kind to me if I had to leave suddenly, or if I had to go check my blood sugar.   There were those times, however, that these bouts reared their ugly-ass heads at extremely inconvenient circumstances. 

Case in point, my daughter's high school graduation. 

I had felt pretty good that day.  No bouts had showed up.  I went to work, came home, worked out, showered and got all dressed up pretty.  We got to the high school and sat down at the bleachers.  It was a gorgeous night, about 75 degrees, slight breeze, the whole stadium was abuzz with excitement.

AND THEN...

"DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNN..."

Like a bolt of lightning from the sky, my stomach started to scream at me.  The pain and cramping hit me like a freight train.  I had to go, and FAST!  What made matters even worse, was I had on three-inch wedges!  Imagine having to run down bleacher stairs in those things!  I thought I was going to break a foot, and have my gastrointestinal explosion right there in front of hundreds of people.  I started thinking to myself, as I finally made it to the bathroom injury-free, "Maybe I should start wearing Depends! Or buy stock in the company.  I'd be the best spokesperson!"  The good news is, though, my bout lasted only about 10 minutes, and I didn't miss any of the crucial parts of the graduation.  I was still able to see my daughter get her diploma on the podium, and all turned out well for the rest of the night.  Although, it still left me exhausted.

There were other times that the bouts showed up inconveniently.  Like road trips.  One particular road trip to my daughter's college we had to stop suddenly for me.  We stopped first at a Burger King.  CLOSED.  Then we arrived at a rest area.  But, it was too late.  By the time I got to the bathroom, well, let's just say I had to throw out my underwear.  The shit literally hit the fan, as it were.  After I cleaned myself up, I walked out of the bathroom with a balled-up pair of underwear wrapped in toilet paper in my purse, and asked the rest area attendant if he had a paper bag.  Looking at me sideways, he handed me one, I went back to the stall, put my underwear in the bag and threw it out in the feminine hygiene receptacle.   I was so embarrassed, but there was absolutely nothing I could do.   From that moment on, I always carried an extra pair of underwear wherever I went.   

Because of the violent nature of these bouts, and the exhaustion and pain I experienced from them, I began to notice they were taking a toll on me mentally, as well.  I started getting a little depressed, and started wanting to treat myself, comfort myself, with food.  Cake, pizza, ice cream.  Anything that would lift my spirits, give me a jolt of energy, give me peace, make me happy, anything.  I started to daydream about cheesecake.  My every waking thought was about cheesecake.  Could I buy it without anyone knowing?  Could I eat it in the car and throw away the container?  Sure, I could!  I just wouldn't check my blood sugar that day, no one would know!  I would fool them all!

But, I would know.  

And I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I gave in.  

So, I didn't.  I persevered, and moved on. 

Another side-effect of Diabetes that I also had no idea about was Diabetic Neuropathy in unexpected parts of the body.  Now, I was aware that high blood sugars, over time, could cause nerve damage.  Numbness and tingling in the extremities, especially the hands and feet.  What I didn't know, however, was that, in some cases, the nerve damage can mask symptoms of infections in other parts of the body.  Because there is nerve damage, you might not be able to feel pain.  Well, this was going to impact my life in a huge way, come to find out.

It was dinner time on a Thursday night in June, the graduation had come and gone, and I also was out of school for the summer.  My husband had bought one of those prepared rotisserie chickens that I so enjoyed.  I bit into a chicken wing.  SNAP!  What the hell?????  I ran into the bathroom, opened my mouth, and saw my front tooth was dangling from the root!  I screamed...actually almost fainted.  I called the dentist and left an after-hours emergency voice-mail.  Within an hour my dentist called me back, and got me an appointment for the next morning. 

Friday morning I went to the dentist, and he took some x-rays.  Years ago, back in 1989, I had a root canal in my front tooth due to an accident I had had when I was 5 years old.  Well, come to find out, the root canal had finally failed.  The infection had took hold, like, months before, and I had no idea.  My tooth had formed a crack that went all the way to the gum line.  Bacteria made its way in, and systematically ate away at my jaw bone.  Hence, the gum surrounding the tooth died, and my tooth became loose.  I FELT NONE OF THIS!!!  No pain, no discoloration, nothing.  THANK YOU, DIABETES!!!!   Later that week, I met with an oral surgeon.  Ultimately, I had four painful surgeries to rebuild my mouth.  Starting in August of 2018, and finally ending the day before Thanksgiving in 2019 with a new dental implant tooth.  He had to rebuild my jaw bone with bone graphs, repair my gum line and insert the dental implant post.   These surgeries were not only painful, but really tested my fortitude to stay on my meal plan, because I had to be put on a soft diet each time.  It was very difficult to find low-carb soft diet options.  I had to resort to eating bananas and soups, both of which were higher in carbs, but there was nothing I could do about it.  It wasn't like I could drink milkshakes and eat ice cream all day long!  I also couldn't exercise, because I was so beat up.  With the added stress of these surgeries, the pain and suffering, and the guilt I felt because of the unexpected economic impact it was having on my family, especially with one child in college, I could really feel the eating disorder once again trying to creep back in to my life.   "KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!  Here I am, again!  Let me in!"  I started to daydream about ice cream and cheesecake, again.  Screw it all, I thought to myself, especially at night while I was trying to sleep.  I could eat it!  I deserved it!  I just wouldn't test my blood sugar that day and there would be no record of any wrongdoing!  No one would know!  I would fool them all!

But, I would know.

And I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I gave in.

So, I didn't.  I persevered and moved on.

I am proud to say, looking back, I never gave in to my eating disorder.  I believe experiencing and ultimately journeying through these painful, horrible, debilitating side effects, elevated me to even higher levels of strength and courage, reserves deep within me that I never knew I had.  Knowing I am strong, knowing I am capable, knowing I am worthy of health, has sustained me throughout this journey and will, I am sure, sustain me for a lifetime.

Thank you for reading this post! Please find me on Instagram, as well!  I will be finishing up my "New Leslie Sansone daily DVD challenge" this week on IGTV.  Stay tuned!

Have a great week, and stay safe!

Be a butterfly...🦋

Me, 25 pounds lighter, in June, 2018

Me, sans front tooth!

"Hey, Carbohydrates...Kiss My Ass!"

A few days after my initial appointment with my PCP, I finally met with my diabetic food counselor.  She was very nice, non-judgmental and knowledgeable.  She weighed me ( I had already dropped 10 pounds since my diagnosis, so that was a welcome surprise), did vitals on me and took my blood sugar reading.  High 100's.  Again, much better than 510, so there was definite progress being made.  I had been vigilant taking walks as much as possible, taking Metformin as prescribed and trying to lessen my sugar intake as much as I knew how.

She went on to explain that the most important thing to remember when it came to food intake was to read labels.  READ, READ, READ.  Make it a conscious habit.  Boy, this made a lot of sense to me.  I never read food labels, I just shoved food down my throat.  Reading labels would force me to see the reality in what I was putting into my body.  Would force me into realizing how much fat and sugar, how many calories, I was actually subjecting my body into digesting.  It would be a complete eye-opener, and would probably make me feel even more guilt and remorse over the self-inflicted damage I had caused over the years.  But, I believed these feelings would only be temporary and eventually the feelings of health and vitality would take their place.  One would only hope, that is.

The next point she drove home was that the main factor to look at on the labels was CARBOHYDRATES.  NOT SUGAR.  Sugar grams were actually factored in to the carbohydrate grams on food labels.  I didn't know this.  This concept was totally alien to me.  I always thought the cause of Diabetes was eating too much sugar.  In fact, it is actually your body's resistance to the insulin response of being able to break down carbohydrates.  Carbohydrates cannot be broken down as energy, so they are dumped and stored as extra sugar in the blood.  In a nutshell.  There's much more to it than that, of course, but I'm not that technical.  Anyways, after hearing this, I kind of breathed a sigh of relief.  If carbohydrates are the only thing I really needed to focus on food-wise, not having to be a math whiz and do all types of calculations and measuring, I felt it was pretty doable.  She gave me a huge 3-ring binder that gave me all types of information on food choices, mental and physical health resources, and a blood-sugar log, that I continue to use to this day.  She told me to check my blood sugar three times a day, gave me a meal plan to try, with a daily carbohydrate maximum of between 60-140 g, wished me well, and sent me on my way.

I went home, opened the refrigerator and the cabinets and read every label I could find.  Holy crap.  No wonder I'm diabetic.  This was crazy!  According to my calculations, I ate, at the very least, 60 g of carbohydrates in ONE SITTING!  EVERY DAY!  Ugh.  This might be harder than I thought.  But, "I gotta do this," I thought to myself.  "I have no choice".

The next morning, I started to prepare my usual breakfast.  A banana and a bowl of shredded wheat with skim milk.   Then it occurred to me...wait a minute, I better check the carb content of these foods before I chow down.  First, the banana.  Since a banana does not have a food label I figured I better look it up in my resource book, and maybe recheck on Google.  One medium banana=27 g of carbs.  Really?  Then, I checked the skim milk.  Surely that can't be bad.  1 cup=15 g carbs.  Wow.   Finally, I checked the shredded wheat.   Uh oh.  38.4 g of carbs per serving.  Per serving???  I think I ate three servings in one big bowl!  I stood there looking at the food in front of me and decided to throw caution to the wind, try eating one serving of the shredded wheat with one cup of milk and forgo the banana.  Check my blood sugar in two hours, and see what happens.

Two miserable, slow hours went by.  Then, I went upstairs to confront my inevitable fate.  Two hours after a meal when you are first diagnosed with Type-2 Diabetes per ADA standards is under 180 mg/dl.  This is with an A1c of under 7%.  Any reading over 180 mg/dl, you have to "take action", whatever that means.  The ultimate goal is under 140 mg/dl two hours after a meal per AACE guidelines.  This is once you get your disease under better control with an A1c of under 6.5%.   I was nowhere near any of these numbers.  In fact, these numbers seemed like a complete fantasy and pipe dream to me.  The counselor, however, told me to start using the ADA standard for readings, then work my way to the AACE standard.

The last Wheat-Based Carb I Have Ever Eaten

189 mg/dl.

WHHHHAAAATTTT????!!!!!

That's it, I'm gonna die.  Literally have a coronary right here in my bedroom.  So, I have to take action? What action do I have to take for crying out loud?  Jesus, take the wheel.

In a panic, I called the diabetic counselor and tearfully told her my situation.  She calmly told me to drink some water, take a short walk, and take another reading in an hour.  If it's still high, call my doctor.  She then asked me what I had to eat for breakfast, and I reluctantly told her.  I remember her response as clear as day, "Yeah, shredded wheat is highly concentrated in carbohydrates.  In fact, most wheat products are."  I thanked her, hung up the phone, drank some water, took a walk around my condo complex, and after an hour, rechecked my blood sugar.  176 mg/dl.  PHEW!  I breathed a sigh of relief.

Her words, however, haunted me as I went through the rest of the day.  I did a lot of research and reading the rest of that day, in my resource book and online, especially TED Talks on YouTube.  Finally, I came to some glaring conclusions.  Do I REALLY need to eat wheat?  No, I don't.  I could live without it.  There are a lot of carbohydrates in processed foods too, like my favorite, granola bars.  Do I REALLY need to eat processed, sugary, carbohydrate-laden foods?  No, I don't.  I could live without it.  Could I live on fruit, vegetables, fish, lean meat and protein sources like eggs and peanut butter?  Yes, I could do that.  Could I try to use lower-fat versions of cheese and condiments?  Sure, I could do that.  On top of all that, could I also incorporate daily walking exercise?  Maybe do a little weight-lifting?  Could I commit to 7 days a week?  No excuses?   I definitely could do that.

So, I did.

And the weight started to fall off...

And my energy increased...

And I started to get the feeling back in my toes...

And I wasn't thirsty anymore or had constant dry-mouth...

And my vision came back clearer than ever...

And my blood sugar numbers started to gradually and steadily go down...

My body was beginning to heal.  I could see it happening right before my eyes.  I had analytical proof, in black and white.  It wasn't too late, after all!  Eventually, my mind and my heart began to come along for the ride on the healing train, as well.  CHOO-CHOO!  All aboard the healing train!  My depression began to lift, a little.  My anxiety began to soften, just a little.  But, enough to help me sleep better at night.  Enough to keep me from crying in the bathroom.  Just enough.

I might be on to something here...

Until next week...stay safe and well! 😀

Be a butterfly...🦋




 

"I didn't ask for this! I don't want anything I didn't ask for!"

Years ago, before I had children, I had a brutal time with menstrual cramping and PMS, as many women experience.  I would double over in pain and cry the first two or three days of my cycle, until the symptoms would eventually let up.  One particularly horrible time, I was sitting at the kitchen table crying my eyes out in agony.  Out of the blue, in complete frustration, I uttered that statement out loud.  My husband had his back to me, and started to silently chuckle.  He didn't want to make me feel bad, but, it had struck him as pretty funny.  Which made me laugh.  I only want things in my life that I ask for!  What was I, a toddler?  Now, these days, anytime I feel bad for myself, I think of that statement and it makes me smile.

During my first appointment with my PCP after my diabetes diagnosis, I was thinking about this exact statement.  Except, this time, it didn't make me smile.  As I got out of my clothes and changed into a medical gown for my checkup, I pondered.  I didn't ask for this.  Or did I?  Did I invite this disease into my life?  Like, "Here you go, diabetes, here's the key to my body.  Do with it what you will, while I eat another piece of cheesecake. Thank you, carry on, now!"  The remorse and regret was too much for me to handle.  The fear of being looked at in pity by a doctor was overwhelming.  The words "I told you so!" was most assuredly going to come out of his mouth, I just knew it.  I heard the knock on the door, and he walked in.

"Well, Donna, you have diabetes."

Me, in a nutshell.

No shit, Sherlock, I thought to myself.

He proceeded to weigh me, check my vitals, my eyes, my feet.  He pricked my toes to check for Diabetic Neuropathy.  There definitely was some loss of feeling in my toes, but not severe.  Blood pressure was good, but my cholesterol was slightly elevated due to the diabetes. Should be under 100 and it was 116.  Again, not severe.  "Ok", I thought, "so maybe there's a small chance I'm not going to drop dead any minute".  My mood began to lighten a little bit.  He left the room so I could change back into my clothes.

About 5 minutes later, he came back in and sat down.  He was going to prescribe Alpha Lipoic Acid supplements to help the neuropathy in my toes.  He gave me the information to see a Diabetic nutritionist as soon as possible.  He adjusted the dosage on the Metformin.  He wanted me to have my A1c and my cholesterol checked in 3 months and then come back in for a follow-up.  Then, he said the words I never in a million years thought I would ever hear come out of a doctor's mouth...

"Long term goal, Donna, we're going to get you off the Metformin. We're going to get you off of the Alpha Lipoic Acid.  I know you can do it."

WOW.

Like a bolt of lightning from the sky.  Like the Red Sea parting.  The angels from Heaven blew their trumpets and sang in harmony.  Did I hear him correctly?  He wants me OFF the medications?  He wants me to handle this disease eventually ON MY OWN with just diet and exercise?   My faith in humanity began to come back.  My faith in MYSELF began to come back.

Or, did I ask for it?

I walked out of the doctor's office with a slight spring in my step.  I actually was looking forward to meeting with a nutritionist to help me eat correctly.  I actually began to become excited about my future.  Did I ask for this?  Maybe, subconsciously, I did.  Did I actually want something, anything, I didn't ask for?  Maybe, in this case, I did want this.  Maybe I NEEDED this.  Could this disease actually be a gift?  A gift to finally free myself from my unhealthy relationship with food I dealt with all these years?   A gift to finally see myself as a strong, resilient person with great willpower?  A gift to be a role model for my children?  A gift for a long, healthy life?

Maybe.

Until next week, stay safe and well!

Be a butterfly...🦋

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...🦋

Aimlessly Adrift Upon the River "Denial"

So...there I was, at my first pre-natal appointment with my first child.  September, 1999.  I hadn't weighed myself in, maybe, years?  I don't even know.  Anytime I ever had a doctor's appointment, I had always requested not to be weighed, and they always complied, reluctantly.  In this case, however, it is imperative to get weighed for the health of your unborn child.  Grudgingly, I stepped on the scale, but asked the nurse to please not tell me the number.  She didn't, I breathed a sigh of relief, and the appointment went on.  But, at the end of the appointment, another nurse came in to draw some blood for a test.  "Let's see,"she said, "your weight today is 339..." I didn't hear anything after that.  I was in utter shock.  339?  Are you kidding me?  I went home, and never said a word to anyone.  I was embarrassed, ashamed, disgusted.

As the pregnancy went on, my weight fluctuated up and down.  I was really, really trying to eat healthier and really, really trying to walk during lunch breaks, but, I inevitably fell back to my eating-disorder.  Granola bars were my drug of choice, for some reason.  Boxes of them.  Every single day.  The drawers at my desk at work were filled with pop-tarts.  I was completely out of control, and told no one about my secret hoarding.  In spite of that, though, the pregnancy was going relatively smoothly.  No morning-sickness, I had lots of energy. Some bleeding, but that quickly stopped.  All was good, all was fine.

Until Week 16.

This is when every pregnant woman starts to get tested for Gestational Diabetes.  Actually, anywhere between week 16 through week 28.  GD is common, and cannot be completely avoided.  The placenta is one of the culprits.  It affects how your sugars are metabolized.  Of course, being overweight, having Type-2 in the family, being over 25 years old, those are risk factors, as well.  I had every single one of those risk factors.  I knew deep down GD could show up.  My doctor kept warning me that it was a strong possibility, but, I didn't listen.  DENIAL.  Sure enough, my blood sugar was through the roof, and I was immediately put on insulin.  I had to shoot insulin in my thigh 6 times a day, checked my blood sugar 4 times a day, and put on a special diet, kind of along the lines of the Atkins Diet.  It was brutal, painful, and I was always hungry.   I kept my eye on the prize, however, making sure my baby did not weigh over 8 pounds, and trying to avoid a C-Section and hypertension.  I delivered my daughter at 7 pounds 13 ounces, and when I delivered the placenta, the diabetes magically went away.  Yay!  No more diabetes!  I can go eat cake again! DENIAL.

Second pregnancy, July, 2001.  I had a different doctor, but she still gave me the same warning.  "You are more than likely going to get GD again, because you had it the first time.  Try to get your diet under control, try to walk every day."   I did try to eat less carbohydrates.  I really did.  I was more active naturally because I was chasing a toddler around and taking her for walks in the stroller, etc.  I really was.  I was nursing, which burned calories.  My weight was down some...around the high 200's.

And then, the dreaded 16-week checkup came.

The test came back negative for GD.  WOOHOO!!!!! I don't have it!  DENIAL.  The eating disorder came back in full-force, and I started eating everything in sight.  I mean, EVERYTHING.  No food was safe from my grasp.  I was not working anymore, so I wasn't hoarding food, but, I still would go to stores and buy sweets and baked goods.  I would quickly eat the food and throw the wrappers away, for fear of getting caught buying crap I didn't need, and wasting money along the way.  This behavior kept going.  I didn't realize, however, that I'd have to get retested for GD at 28 weeks. 

OOPS.

My blood sugar, again, was through the roof, even worse than before.  So, I began the whole regimen again of shooting Insulin in my thigh 6 times a day, checking my blood sugar 6 times a day now instead of 4, and adhering to an even stricter diet.  More like a Keto Diet this time.  It was more brutal, more painful, and I was always hungry.  "This time," the doctor warned, "it's going to be a lot more difficult to keep the baby under 8 pounds, and there is more of a chance that even when the placenta is delivered, I could still have diabetes."  Again, I kept my eye on the prize, delivered my baby at the exact same weight as my firstborn, 7 pounds 13 ounces, the placenta was delivered, and the diabetes magically went away.  Yay!  No more diabetes!  I can go eat cake again!  This time, I specifically requested chocolate cake.  DENIAL.

Except, this time, there was a cost.  At my 6-week post-partum check up, the doctor said something that was haunting and scary.   She recommended that I not have a third child.  If I were to have a third pregnancy the chances were very high that my diabetes would remain post-delivery, and the baby could have a greater chance of being too large, diabetic, or have any number of diseases.  So, realizing this was the end of my child-bearing years, I drove home and cried the whole way.  I had really wanted a third child, but my hopes were dashed.  And it was all my fault. 

"I told you so."

Yet, the years went on, and my children were healthy, thank God.  Here and there I would start to eat right, exercise to Leslie Sansone's at home walking programs, lose some weight.  270's, 280's, 250's.  Eventually, though, the eating disorder would creep back in, and I would gain it all back.  A vicious circle.  Therapy, and Depression and Anxiety medications were added to the mix, which helped my eating disorder somewhat, but not completely.  Along the way, doctors would frequently and gently remind me about the chances about getting Type-2.  I always knew, deep down inside that the possibility was there, but, drifting on the River Denial was the only way I knew how to live.

Until 2017...

7/13/17-my new "Denial glasses" 

I started to have blurred vision in my left eye.  "Oh, I'm just getting older, I just need a new prescription for glasses, that's all!"

DENIAL.

I started having horrible, unrelenting thirst and dry mouth. "Oh, it's just because I'm in the process of moving to our new condo, and it's hot out, and I'm really busy!"

DENIAL.

I lost feeling in my toes.  "Oh, I think I need to get new sneakers.  Must be pinching my toes."

DENIAL.

I started to experience constant incontinence. “Oh, well, I’m getting old! I guess I need Depends now! Haha!”

DENIAL.

Which leads to 4/4/18.  Where I could not deny my unwell feelings any longer.  Where I alighted from the boat I was drifting on for so long, and fell to my knees on solid ground.  My journey of denial ended here, and my journey of recovery began here.

Which is where I will end this post for today.  Boy, this post took even longer than the last one!  I'm exhausted!  Now, I gotta go workout!

Until next week, stay well and safe.

Be a butterfly...🦋