Shaking my fist at diabetes


The point was driven home today that diabetes is a bigger threat to me right now than nineteen years of HIV/AIDS.

I’ve heard it before and frankly, despite taking blood glucose-lowering medications, I just haven’t managed to get the crucial numbers under control. 

Things went off the rails this time last year, with Craig’s accident and death, as evidenced no more clearly than by my doctor’s review of my chart – last year’s – today.  I had been expecting results from last week’s blood tests and, without realizing he was reading April 2007 results, my doctor today rhymed off numbers I have not had since…well…last April. 

The expression on his face changed when he had last week’s results faxed over and all I heard, after confirming the news was bad, was Charlie Brown’s teacher giving me the latest readings. 

“Wah-wah-wah…”

I’ll write them down when I see my HIV specialist the week after I get back from Montréal.  He’ll be quite upset, methinks, (although non-judgmental and ever-cordial) and it would not surprise me if he started me on insulin, a threat that has hung over me for a few months.  Ugh!  My doc today suggested I at least try to improve my daily results between now and then.

I have been cooking for myself much more in recent months, thanks to my slow cooker, but I do go overboard with sugar cravings in the evening too close to bedtime.

I hate having to be so mindful of eating.  Eating, especially eating well, has always been a necessary evil at best – and, while I do get some pleasure out of others’ cooking, meal prep for me has mostly been drudgery.  If Ensure or Glucerna could keep me alive I’d be fine with those little cans.

It used to be, with AIDS hanging over my head, I was encouraged to eat whatever I wanted.  That changed a few years ago.  Then since last year, after having to go off my meds during the crisis with Craig (because I hadn’t packed all of them – and to take some without others risked cross-resistance), I’ve only been taking my diabetes meds.  Goodness knows how bad my numbers would have been without those!

Anyway, I am ranting and full of enough self-blame to be able to minimize the impact of any ‘I-told-you-so’ anyone could offer, kindly or otherwise.

I don’t know where I’m going to pinch an inch to take insulin (at 6’3″, 140 lbs. soaking wet)…but, if I don’t cement myself in self-pity first, I will do what I have to do.

The early stability of the HIV, in the first few months of being off those meds, has not lasted.  As much as I feel so much better off them, it’s time to get back on those babies and so if that means taking insulin I guess I’ll have to roll with that.

I see my HIV doc and my shrink on the same day one week after I get back from Montréal. Just the way it worked out :)

P.S. Suspicious as I am of potential spam, I’m pleased to say that I found a very useful article on the rationale for glucose monitoring by following the first comment here to
Amy’s site
.


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