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Bloodnumbers.
Nov. 26th, 2002 02:38 amIt could, perhaps, be argued that I have too much time on my hands:
Adjusting.
Nov. 21st, 2002 09:14 pm.... And life goes on.
I can't swallow pills. I never have been able to; don't know why not, but I'm always convinced I'm going to choke on the goddamn things and I freeze up when I try. Since the doctor prescribed for my diabetes and Lisinopril for my high blood pressure, this would present a problem, if it weren't for my sister's ingenious solution -- when I needed a painkiller while I was down in Olympia, she tossed one into a coffee bean grinder and reduced it to powder in seconds. I've been doing that with my new pills and it's been simple.
Getting used to taking my blood samples has been a little less simple. I'm not going to have to inject insulin or anything, thank God, but pricking my finger with a spring-loaded lancet was a little much for my needle-phobic self to contemplate, but, well, needs must as the Devil drives -- I got over it. It's pretty easy and actually kind of fun, now, to test my blood with the cool little gadget I have. I'm keeping a log of what my levels are -- they're edging down into normal already, which seems miraculous to me -- and I'll probably put the log on-line somewhere for the curious at some point.
Speaking of cool gadgets, I have a new bicycle. My dad bought it for me when I mentioned to him that I thought riding one around Greenlake would be good exercise. I've never had a new bike before -- the one I had when I was a kid was one that my parents actually found, abandoned by someone on our property, and the one I rode occasionally (very occasionally) in my twenties belonged to my ex-wife and left when she did. (Well, disappeared from the bike room, here, when she'd left it unclaimed for long enough, which she threatened to sue me over, which is why I don't talk to her anymore, but that's another story entirely.) So anyway. Yeah. New bike. It's a thing of beauty and it gives me a hell of a workout and I look genuinely ridiculous in my mushroom-like helmet.
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treebyleaf has introduced me to the wonders of no-sugar-added ice cream. I'm
insanely grateful. A life without ice cream scarcely bears thinking about.
When I was little, I never really quite grasped what diabetes was.
My grandmother had it -- my dad's mother, the only grandparent I ever
knew -- and all I really understood about it was that:
- she couldn't have candy, which seemed to me like a horribly deprived way to live;
- she had to give herself injections, which seemed absolutely nightmarish; and
- she was never going to get better. This last I really couldn't get my mind around. She was sick and she was going to stay sick forever.
When I was about fifteen, sixteen, I was tested for diabetes. I was showing some of the signs, so it seemed like a good idea, but the tests came back negative. It was a bogeyman I could shove back in the closet for a while.
About four years ago, my mom told me that she had developed adult-onset diabetes. My immediate, selfish thought was: I'm fucked. I was now staring down both barrels; I had it on both sides of my genetic background.
I saw a doctor a couple of days ago. I was diagnosed last night. I have Type 2 diabetes.
I'm not taking it real well, I'm afraid. On the other hand, it's kind of a relief. I don't have to worry that it might happen, any more; all that anxiety is gone. No more running scared. Time to turn and fight.
