A Trip to the Doctor

The first thing I did when panic set in was go to my doctor. Very important. Practically useless in my case, but important. They haven't checked my glucose levels in the doctor's office for three years. A nurse used to check it every time I had an appointment. When I asked why they don't do it anymore, the doctor just shrugged. I think if they had continued to check it, I wouldn't have been able to hide my head in the sand for so long. I would have been forced to know what my blood sugar was and would have panicked way before now.

Anyway...

After blood tests (I wasn't told the results), my doctor changed my prescription. My original medication was Glipizide, one tablet 30 minutes before breakfast and dinner. Now it's two tablets before breakfast and dinner. He also added one Glucophage with breakfast and dinner. He didn't seem concerned about my prickly feet and the excruciating skin pain on my front thigh. He squeezed my feet and told me to come back in June (two months)!

Am I just crazy-insane? Isn't this serious? I feel like my legs are withering, dying.

I know, it's a little late for me to panic now. I've ignored symptoms for years, so who am I to be afraid now? But I am. I'm terrified.

At least my first step, medication, is under way.

According to my favorite little book, Control Diabetes in 6 Easy Steps, Glipizide can lower my blood sugar too far. My doctor told me that Glucophage won't. After doing some research on my own, I found that blood sugar can still drop too far if Glucophage is taken in conjuction with Glipizide. Shouldn't my doctor have known that?

Right now, I'm not worried about it being too low. Not when my waking reading is 309. So I've got a pill box to take with me during my 12-hour workdays. I also bought a single, screw-top vial that attaches to my keychain and filled it with both Glucophage and Glipizide. I decided to do this when I went out on a Saturday to just run to the store and got caught up in an unexpected brunch without having taken my meds.

Timing. That's another big problem for me. Remembering to take the Glipizide 30 minutes before meals is difficult when my meals are spur-of-the-moment. I can work for hours without realizing I've missed a meal. The books say I should eat at the same times every day. So maybe a timer/alarm is warranted, too.

What a pain in the ass.

But, I remind myself, at least I still have an ass to be pained. And I'm grateful. So, I'll do whatever I must.

Now for Step Two: Supplements.

Step One: A Trip to the Doctor

The first thing I did when panic set in was go to my doctor. Very important. Practically useless in my case, but important. They haven't checked my glucose levels in the doctor's office for three years. A nurse used to check it every time I had an appointment. When I asked why they don't do it anymore, the doctor just shrugged. I think if they had continued to check it, I wouldn't have been able to hide my head in the sand for so long. I would have been forced to know what my blood sugar was and would have panicked way before now.

Anyway...

After blood tests (I wasn't told the results), my doctor changed my prescription. My original medication was Glipizide, one tablet 30 minutes before breakfast and dinner. Now it's two tablets before breakfast and dinner. He also added one Glucophage with breakfast and dinner. He didn't seem concerned about my prickly feet and the excruciating skin pain on my front thigh. He squeezed my feet and told me to come back in June (two months)!

Am I just crazy-insane? Isn't this serious? I feel like my legs are withering, dying.

I know, it's a little late for me to panic now. I've ignored symptoms for years, so who am I to be afraid now? But I am. I'm terrified.

At least my first step, medication, is under way.

According to my favorite little book, Control Diabetes in 6 Easy Steps, Glipizide can lower my blood sugar too far. My doctor told me that Glucophage won't. After doing some research on my own, I found that blood sugar can still drop too far if Glucophage is taken in conjuction with Glipizide. Shouldn't my doctor have known that?

Right now, I'm not worried about it being too low. Not when my waking reading is 309. So I've got a pill box to take with me during my 12-hour workdays. I also bought a single, screw-top vial that attaches to my keychain and filled it with both Glucophage and Glipizide. I decided to do this when I went out on a Saturday to just run to the store and got caught up in an unexpected brunch without having taken my meds.

Timing. That's another big problem for me. Remembering to take the Glipizide 30 minutes before meals is difficult when my meals are spur-of-the-moment. I can work for hours without realizing I've missed a meal. The books say I should eat at the same times every day. So maybe a timer/alarm is warranted, too.

What a pain in the ass.

But, I remind myself, at least I still have an ass to be pained. And I'm grateful. So, I'll do whatever I must.

Now for Step Two: Supplements.

6 Major Steps in Getting Control

There is no getting around them. I know, I've tried and failed. Though they may not be the most welcome, they don't need to be as hard as they first seem. I'll break them down into baby steps later.

1. Diet. Everyone says it's simple, but if you've ever tried to interpret the food list booklets from the doctor's office, you know it's not. Carb counting, exchange lists, food pyramids--no one system seems to be complete. And all that planning and figuring. It looks time consuming

2. Exercise. For Type II diabetes, this is probably the most important step, and the hardest. It's hard to move, especially if you have distal neuropathy or are overweight. Walking is the best to start out with. You can start slow and work your way up to longer brisk walks.

3. Medication (if prescribed). Taking drugs is easy, right? Just pop a pill. But a lot depends on taking it at the right time. And then there are the side effects.

4. Blood Testing. Without checking your glucose levels yourself, you won't know what steps to take when. It's an important step in getting control, and an unpleasant one. The good news is monitors are getting better and easier to use.

5. Supplements. Vitamins, minerals and herbs. These can help, but they can't take the place of good diet and exercise.

6. Attitude. Some books call it Stress Relief, but I think I need something that will apply to more than one area of my life. A change in attitude can alleviate stress, instill confidence and even, some say, create reality.

But where to start? They are all important. My blood sugar is over 300 and exercise can make it go higher. I don't have money for new groceries or supplements. My attitude sucks and I feel fairly hopeless. So I'll start with Medication.

How the Hell Did I Get Here?

THE PAST

I remember seeing Type 2 diabetic patients come into the hospital in various stages of decline. I was a young nurse's assistant then and couldn't understand why they let themselves go to such extreme, often deadly, conditions. And worse yet, I'd see the same patients over and over again, each time farther down the road to amputation, blindness or worse. All they had to do was follow a diet and get some exercise.

What was their problem?

Thirty years later, here I am--overweight, sedentary, blood sugar out of control, and nerve damage in my feet and legs. What the hell is my problem? I don't understand it now any better than I did then. But I don't have time for psychoanalysis; I'm in trouble now and I need to get out of it now.

My mother developed Type 2 diabetes in her fifties. Like the take-charge woman she is, she reversed it in a few months with a strict diet and physical exertion. She allowed herself no more than 1400 calories and day and kept track of everything she ate. She raked the yard, mopped the floors, swept--anything physical she could think of.

She's been off medication with normal blood glucose levels for twenty years.

I'm not my mother.

Of course, she was a housewife with plenty of time on her hands and a big house, kitchen and grocery budget to work with. She had all the resources she needed right at her fingertips. Still, no one did it for her. She took responsibility and did what had to be done.

I'm so not my mother.

Here's where I start whining and making excuses.

I've always eaten whatever I wanted. Though I was a thin child, I've been heavier than the norm my entire adult life. In my twenties and thirties I was curvy and really didn't care what weight I should be because I really didn't think I'd be alive beyond age thirty. So I never learned to eat sensibly. Exercise wasn't a problem, though. I grew up in the country and spent a lot of time hiking, walking, horseback riding and climbing trees. Back then it was having fun, not exercising.

When I turned thirty and was still alive, things changed.

Peter Pan had been my role model since toddlerhood, but I finally realised I had to grow up. At the time, I believed that meant getting a career job with retirement benefits instead of working at fun places, DMing role playing games and participating in medieval faires.

I chose computers.

THE PRESENT

I went for a bachelor's degree and over the next twenty-four years, my life gradually morphed into what it is today. I'm gone 12 hours a day (10:30 am to 10:30 pm) to a full-time job. I spend my 10-hour shift sitting at a computer engrossed in programming problems. I eat lunch and dinner--if I remember to eat dinner--at the computer. And when I get home, I spend another couple of hours on my computer updating book lists and processing orders for my side business (Corvid Books). By the time I'm free it's around 1:30 am. I've usually forgotten to eat a real meal so I'm hungry, but too tired to cook, so I end up snacking in bed. By the time I turn the lights out around 2:00 am my glucose levels are skyrocketing, my feet are so painfully sensitive that I can't even put a sheet over them, and I'm exhausted. But not exhausted enough to sleep. I'm awake at least another hour or two worrying about my feet, my aging parents, etc. You know, all that adult crap. Five hours later, the alarm goes off.

I know, excuses. They can put it on my gravestone:

Here lies Lisa

She would have lived

But she had so many good excuses

I was diagnosed with diabetes about ten years ago. I did well for the first year, then got tired of sacrificing. After all, I didn't feel sick. First I stopped eating properly because it was a real hassle to plan. Then I stopped checking my glucose levels, because if I didn't see it, it wouldn't be real. After that, the medication went out the window. And I lived in Never-Never Land ignoring the disease killing me softly, quietly.

I was symptom-free until about two years ago when the feet and leg pain started. Then I stopped healing. Scratches took weeks to heal. Dental surgery got infected, stayed infected. My whole left leg tingles and the front thigh is a sheet of pain. I'm not stupid, despite the way it sounds. I know these are blaring warning signs.

Regardless of where I've been, I'm here now, ready and willing to change. And still the little girl in me is kicking and pouting and wanting to scream, "Whatever! I'll do what I want!" But I've finally reached my fear threshold and I'm determined to survive. I can't do it all at once, it's too overwhelming. I'm taking this one step at a time.

THE PLAN

I'm using this blog for three purposes:

1. A journal to record my efforts so I can look back and see what works and what doesn't.
2. Information gathering. Information, products, books, plans--whatever works will be here as I find them and compiled on my Squidoo Lens (Reversing Type II Diabetes)
3. To let others who might be going through similar problems know that they aren't alone

So, that's the plan. Let's see if I can follow through this time.

My name is Lisa and I'm a Type II diabetic.

Sounds like I'm an addict, doesn't it? In a way I am, though I'm not addicted to drugs or alcohol or even something wild like sex. I'm addicted to what seems harmless--a sedentary lifestyle and unrestricted diet. I'm the typical Type II diabetic.

To put it bluntly: I'm an old, fat white woman.

Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, I ignored my condition for years. I took my oral medication (Glipizide) sporadically and exercised, well, never. Diabetes can be easy to ignore because there aren't many symptoms. And if you don't check your blood glucose levels regularly, you can pretend you don't have it at all. I went on eating whatever I wanted, not exercising, and pretending I was fine. It was easy because I felt fine. And, since I didn't test my blood, I didn't know my glucose level was creeping up over 300. Even when my feet and legs started to torture me with painful pins-and-needles tingling, I just buried my head deeper.

You'd think that, since my aunt had her foot amputated because she ignored her diabetes, that I would have known better. What can I say? Stupidity. Dilusion. Fear. The problem with hiding your head in the sand (and, by the way, ostriches don't) is that just because you don't see the Mac truck hurtling straight for you doesn't mean it isn't going to splatter your ass all over the road.

Long story short: I'm pulling my head out of the sand. I want to live.

I've confronted diabetes head on. This blog will chronicle my efforts to reverse the disease, as well as what works for me and what doesn't. Hopefully, it will help the newly-diagnosed as well as those who've been dealing with it for years.