A Really Bad Dr. Visit

“So, I noticed you’re getting fat…”

Really? You couldn’t have said it nicer? You’re a medical physician. A specialist. Yes, I’ve gained weight, but seriously, 150 lbs is not that bad a weight for someone 5’4″ much less a diabetic who has only been skinny because of bad blood sugars for so long. I finally get healthy. I finally get on track. I finally have lower blood sugars and am eating right. Exercising for 30 min to an hour every day, and for what? You to sit in your white coat and crudely call me fat.

This is like, my worst nightmare and it happened only last week when I went to the doctor. I had gotten my blood sugars down for the first time in ages, and finally was food logging, exercising, and doing all kinds of stuff that I ought to be doing…only to have it once again not be enough. When we got home from my appointment I cried to my husband. I made false promises and threats never to eat again (I love food so we all knew it was a lie), and I walked, oh did I walk that night. An angry four mile walk where with every step I cussed out my doctor in my own head. Furiously. Violently.

I had worked so hard to get better, only to get the mixed message that I had gotten worse.

Insulin is not a cure to diabetes. Insulin, at least the more you take it, makes you fat. The fatter you get….the more insulin resistance you build, which means over time your body may not react to insulin anymore if you take too much. The fatter you get the more diabetic complications you can have too…all caused by taking insulin, the very hormone that is supposed to save your life.

Then they tell you, if the high blood sugars don’t kill your organs, being overweight will. So either way you lose.

Oh yeah, eat healthy and exercise right? That’s the cure! So many people talk about diet and exercise like it’s such an easy fix, but really the food industry makes even healthy living hard.

Insulin is like slapping a bandaid on the real problems. Like how healthy and low carb food costs so much money. How medical companies are afraid of us getting better because a healthy nation means they don’t make money. How most foods in the grocery store at all ever, are practically indigestible for the human body, have little to no nutritional value, and causes people to gain weight with high sugar, carb, and cholesterol content. The lack of fiber and protein content. Oh and don’t get me started on artificial sweaters (which also cause weight gain, cancer, and plenty of other issues). All things that cause so many health issues and weight problems in the US, and no one does anything about them.

I eat as low carb as I can in this kind of environment, increasing my proteins and vegetable intake considerably, and even use meal replacement protein shakes with less than a gram of carbohydrates in them (they taste like slightly sweetened chalk water with a touch of sadness, but I still drink them). Last week I managed to get to the store and get myself organic lettuce, organic peanut butter, organic frozen fruit (3 kinds), vanilla yoghurt, strawberry yoghurt, organic chicken breasts, and 5 varieties of organic and nonorganic fruit. It cost me just shy of $100. For so few items. Most of which were on sale. Then I made my husband Jumbalya, and couldn’t eat any of it….the struggle was so real.

Exercise then. Am I right? Surely that’s the cure!

I’ve exercised for 30 min to an hour every night for the last several months. No less than 30 min daily. Either a walk, a bike ride on my recumbent in the basement or outdoors, and playing Racquet Ball once a week for an hour every week with my coworker. Like, really high impact.

So what is a girl to do? How do I get healthy and lose weight as a type one diabetic? I’m considering eating some kind of parasitic worm at this point because I just freaking give up!

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Age Spot

At first I had thought it was a smudge of something on my hand, but upon several attempts to wash it off and a moment of staring stupidly at its resilience, I realized what it really was.

It was an age spot. My very first age spot.

It’s a very faint light brown color, just like my mothers had started, and of course on the very same hand, just like her mother before her. I recalled when I first noticed my mothers hands changing and I recalled how my grandmothers hands changed too from my mothers account. Now it’s my turn and I’ve got it where they all seemed to have theirs start. Dead center on my left hand…only a faint shade of discoloration and half the size of a dime. Kinda shaped like the silhouette of that famous image of the Lochness monster.

It’s strange to think about getting age spots, since I’m only 27. Still, it isn’t a surprise either. I’ve been fortunate enough to have clear skin, few breakouts, and decent coloration most of my life and I’m sure it has run its course by now. My health isn’t all it could be. Diabetes is no laughing matter and has a habit of taking its toll on skin. It was only a matter of time before they would form. My grandmother’s started around the time she turned 35. My mother in her 30s. Both of them started out this way, on this hand, in a very faint shade of brown. My grandmothers had turned very dark blackish brown when she turned 60 which sent her to consult a physician only to find out it was nothing more than an ugly colored age spot. My mothers darkened, but not unattractively, when she turned 55 and has not changed much since. I only hope to be so lucky.

The reality of growing old strikes unexpectedly, and as I look in the mirror I find I haven’t really noticed my aging ever, and other than this age spot, I still don’t. I still have a very childlike round face and big eyes. My skin is still fair. My hair is still curly as ever and still it’s same color. Not much feels like it has changed, and yet emotionally I’m reminded that I am so much older than I once was. I know so much more. I’ve experienced so much more. I have witnessed so much more.

And there is still so much more to do.

Ideal Accident II

I know not a lot of people seem to believe in God given moments of strength anymore. Yet, even while I didn’t expect it, it was certainly made clear to me.

It’s amazing how in all His power He shows Himself in whispers. How clearly we see them after He has been so soft and subtle. How foolish I often feel that He was holding me in His hands and I never knew.

Yet, how many does He hold and they refuse to see.

Since the car accident, I have taken to heart a great deal of thankfulness and humility in a very short amount of time. Mainly because, it has come to my attention, that I did not once have a panic attack during our trip about driving. Even during and after the accident.

This is only a complete miracle. Considering that prior to the accident I had so many concerns about driving such long distances. Yet, in the moment of crisis, I was not panicked to dysfunction, but rather I was able to act in clarity and with sober (albeit shaken) emotions.

Upon this realization I thanked God feverishly over that. Because there is nothing within me that indicates that I should have been able to do so. Even my husband, whom I love and is usually the level headed one, was brought to an unreal place of panic that I had to coach him through after he got off the phone with the police. Even then I was so proud of him for holding it together while he called the cops.

Still, Im certain so little of that was in our own strength. It was clearly a God moment for me, and I continue to be shameless about telling myself and others that it was.

Not only that though. The fact that engineers were created to give us safe cars is a miracle. The fact that police officers put themselves in such a place of danger to help people like us on dangerous interstates is a miracle. The same for tow trucks who maneuver heavy machinery to keep the highways safe for others is a miracle too.

In light of darker times, seeing people help other people can also seem like a miracle.

Ideal Accident

People always say “It happened so fast,” and you nod in agreement usually because you can, to a degree, understand how an accident can only take a few seconds to happen, but unless you have been in an accident, you really don’t know how quickly “so fast” happens.

Today I learned the hard way.

We hydroplaned on the interstate and ran into the median. I knew the moment I tapped my break to decelerate from my cruise control as I felt my car fishtail that it had been a mistake to even tap the break at all. Neither of us was hurt. Both of us were shook up and knew we were not emotionally fit to drive.

The cop was really friendly. He issued no ticket since he had also been caught in the downpour prior and nearly lost control himself. Low visibility then too. Traffic didn’t slow. It didn’t even slow when we hit the wall, but then again we hit no one and thus no one felt obligated to stop. He kept saying how it was good that we were both buckled and that I did all I did to stay out of the rest of traffic, however ungraceful it felt.

My aunt drove us half way home, my dad met us at a park-n-ride and took us the rest of the way. We loaded, unloaded, and reloaded vehicles. I spent at least an hour on the phone with the insurance agent as we sat in a BK parking lot. In all honesty I told the insurance gal that if I had to have my first accident this was an ideal accident to have happen. It was near family. It was just us. I did all I could to stay in my lane and hit no one else. It could not have gone better as far as accidents were concerned. Still the sinking feeling of watching our own bumper get ripped off and the sparks flying as we scrapped helplessly to a halt against the concrete didn’t make the accident seem so ideal.

I wondered what would have happened if we had left a little later in the morning? If we had went to the in-laws first before we got on the road? Would conditions have been improved? Would it have mattered? Then, to top it all off, I totaled my husbands car and induced quite a panic attack in him. I kept finding myself asking if he was mad at me for breaking his car. He said he was mad that he didn’t have a car, but not mad that I had an accident. It wasn’t my fault. He was just glad we were alive despite his attachment to his little car, which was old and probably was nearing the end of its long life anyway.

A little whiplash had settled into my neck, so I took an epsom salt bath and some Tylenol after I had finished all my phone calls to the family. My husband joined me in the tub a little while later and held me close as I thanked God silently for the safety we were granted in our accident. We stayed there until the water cooled before snuggling our aching bodies in bed together and breathing in unison as the cats cuddled near our feet. We still had my car. We were alive and home. It was enough.

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