Most of the time I honestly don't mind being a diabetic. It's a bit of a hassle but compared to all the other health problems an individual could have, it's not too bad. It's not cancer. It's not the loss of a limb. It's not a tragedy. It's just something that I have and I have to treat every single hour of the day.
I handle the highs and lows. I'm being literal mind you - these are not figurative highs and lows. I went to dinner and a concert on Saturday night with my sister (her husband) and brother. Of course, I didn't want to bottom out at the concert so I decided to do less insulin than was necessary for my meal so that three hours later I'd still be alive. Mind you, I came home with a blood sugar of 292 (should have been around 120) but I didn't end up low, which is scary when you're trying to drive home at 11:30 at night by yourself.
Or the opposite of course, one of those awful crazy low numbers. You should try having your blood sugar drop into the 30's in the middle of the night and see if you can wake up, walk down stairs, fix yourself a snack and eat it all while being sweaty and shaking and dizzy and feeling like you are going to die and pass out at the same time. Then just being stuck at the kitchen table for what feels like an eternity until you muster up enough energy to walk back upstairs and climb into bed freezing cold and shivering because low blood sugars and the sweats make you so cold you might as well be sleeping in an igloo.
Dealing with the hangover of extremes takes hours and sometimes days to correct and feel better. And I am an "in control" diabetic with a really great A1C number who monitors and regulates and checks in with the office pretty regularly. I schedule and go to my appointments. I count my carbs. I make modifications to my medication as necessary.
But sometimes....just sometimes it stresses me out so much I want to explode.
Parts of my left arm sometimes feel numb from too many shots. My hips are bruised. My feet go numb and my vision isn't as good as I wish it was. It's enough to get a girl down I tell you. My new office thinks that I've been misdiagnosed and incorrectly medicated for years as a type 2 diabetic and that I'm really a type 1. That would make sense. That would explain a lot. I am so glad that I sucked it up and found a new doctor. Even though it drives me batty, I am glad that I go to an office that is so involved in my diabetes, down to the mere unit of insulin.
Every once in a while I really really really really don't like being a diabetic.
But, it's not a brain tumor. It's not a death sentence. It's just this huge bump in my road that sometimes feels too stressful and too much to handle on top of the rest of life.
I quit exercising for a while because I was just too tired and guess what! Everything sort of fell apart. But last week, before I got hit by the flu, I got back on the band wagon and hooked up with my frienemy, the treadmill. It sucks that in order to generate energy you have to do something that requires the energy you don't feel you have. That's a vicious cycle in my life sometimes - that in order to not need the nap I have to skip the nap that I feel I so desperately need.
Oh well, right? The TV is off. The apple has been eaten. The carbs have been documented. no crap has been consumed. The exercise has been charted. Today alone, as I sit and type, I am finishing off my 128th ounce of water for the day. That's healthy to the point of flooding, right?
All I really want is a cherry coke with crushed ice a greasy hamburger with bacon and haystack onions and some french fries for dinner. Instead, I'll settle for a diet coke with a spritz of lime and a salad that may or may not have tortilla strips on it.