On my way home from work yesterday I felt poisoned. As though something has sapped my life force away so that I can’t even bring to mind my hopes and dreams. I even thought that I don’t want another baby. I know what my hopes and dreams are, but it’s as though I don’t care about them anymore, or don’t want them anymore. The sky was a bright and beautiful blue, filled with happy puffy clouds, but I had my own personal cloud that’s dark and heavy with rain. I know it’s the same old repetetive tale, and I’ll be all bright and happy again when the pendulum swings. At least I came home to a husband actually working on the honey-do list, with no nagging prompting. A rarity indeed. This made me happy.
I was thinking recently, be careful what you wish for. I did finally get my metformin prescription, but only because I failed my A1c test. So I’ve now been officially diagnosed with type II diabetes. I went to a diabetes information class yesterday. Survival skills. All these years and I’ve never understood why they say that once you have it, there’s no cure. It didn’t make sense to me, that if your morning blood sugar is over 126 for 2-3 days during any given week, then you are deemed to have this incurable disease. But if your blood sugar is below 126, you don’t. It seemed to me that if one would change their lifestyle such that their blood sugar, although once above 126, is now below 126, that they would fall back into the pre-diabetic category. But no, it doesn’t work that way. I wish that it would have been made clear to me. I’ve been told by my family members who have it that there’s no cure, and that once you have it you have it. My older brother said that it’s not a matter of if, but when, as we’ve got the genetic makeup lined up against us. I was always offended by that. Speak for yourself, I’d say. Me in denial. I won’t get it. I’m healthy. I still wish that someone had explained why once you get it, you have it for good. What is so magical and mystical about 126
I learned in class that there is a phase of insulin resistance called pre-diabetes, and that people are pre-diabetic for 15 years prior to diagnosis as diabetic. From what I gathered, it seems that the reason that there’s no cure is that by the time one reaches the point where the body can’t regulate the glucose, that magical morning 126 number, the pancreas is just plain worn out past the point where it can recover. Like an over-worked motor or something. Why doesn’t anybody say we should eat right and exercise and manage our stress or else we’ll wear out our pancreas. That’s not so nebulous to me. I can visualize an internal organ failing. I can’t visualize diabetes. So I’m a dunderhead. So it’s a stretch for me to put two and two together and grasp that, oh, yes, it’s the pancreas that produces insulin. I’m a bit miffed that it took an actual diagnosis for me to finally get informed as to the real nature of the beast. I think that children should be taught this in school. Taught so that it sinks in. People. You have one and only one pancreas. If it gives out, you will need to take medication for the rest of your life. All the “I told you so’s” are worthless if the message is never understood.
I’ve been marching steadily for the past fifteen years towards the precipice over which I’ve just fallen. Had I known I’d be hurling myself from a cliff, I like to think that I would have taken steps to change my path.
Miscellania Says:
