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.