About Me

My photo
I blog. I also mother, wife, create, preserve, recycle, cook, act, quilt, exercise, laugh, write, lolligag, work, volunteer, sing, and sometimes sleep.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Carpe the freaking Diem

It's been 11 years, 10 months, and 9 days since I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.  Tomorrow, after years of being able to control my disease with diet, exercise, and sometimes oral medication, I will be put on insulin.  My life, as I know it, will change forever.
I've been on insulin before...as a Diabetic, the moment I became pregnant, I was immediately put on insulin.  Say what you will about Kaiser, but their preventative medicine protocol is amazing.  I was carefully monitored and bore 2 beautiful, healthy children, one at 6lbs 9 oz, one at 7lbs, 5 oz...a fact I'm incredibly proud of.  I took insulin 3 times a day and checked my blood sugar 7 times a day and controlled every morsel that went into my mouth so that my babies would have the best shot at being healthy. 

In November of 2000, I suffered a miscarriage.  We were living in Baltimore at the time, far from friends and family, and it was incredibly hard.  I went to a new obgyn to make sure everything was in order following that experience, and as I sat in his office after the examination, he told me I was "absolutely perfect", something that made superstitious me very uncomfortable.  Sure enough, his office called back the next day to tell me that, as it turned out, there was sugar in my urine and I needed to go see a real doctor to see what was going on.  I made an appointment, and was asked to fast before coming in, which wouldn't have been so bad, except my appointment wasn't until 2pm, and they kept me waiting 90 minutes before seeing me, so I was a bit of a shaky mess by the time I went in.  The doctor came in, stuck my finger, checked my sugar on a little machine, and said "Yep, you're diabetic."  Not understanding completely the way diabetes worked, I didn't understand how a drop of blood could make that determination, and so quickly.  So I asked "Are you sure?  How do you know?" And he said (not nicely) that my blood sugar was 177 (normal fasting should be between 60-90 for a non diabetic) and that they didn't need to do any more tests, it was clear.  Then I asked if it was type 1 or type 2 (I was 27 and had a friend who had been diagnosed with type 1 at 28, so I thought it was a valid question).  He laughed and said "It's type 2.  Look at you."  The horrors of the rest of that day and what followed in the journey to being in control of my Diabetes is in and of itself a saga, but I survived.  I pulled through it, I learned (A LOT) and I did what I needed to do (with a lot of tears and frustration on the way). 

As time passed, it's been a lot of ups and downs.  Lately, it's been a lot of downs.  Diabetes isn't fun.  A friend of mine who suffered through terrible cancer once said she preferred having cancer, cause at least she could fight it and be done with it.  People don't judge you for having cancer (unless maybe you're a smoker)...but OH the judgement that comes along with being a diabetic.  Especially type 2.  I don't like to tell people I have it, because I have enough issues with people judging what I eat (and I'm not just talking my grandma) that I don't need to give anyone more ammunition.  And I am sure that most people mean well, but until you've gone through it, you don't know how it feels, and it's not an easy thing.  But all of that changes tomorrow...because tomorrow I go on insulin. 

Over the last few months, the effectiveness of my oral meds has decreased.  I've lost over 30 pounds in the last year, in an effort to "help" and it's actually gotten worse.  My doctor, my cousin (a doctor), and I have all reached the same conclusion...the next step is insulin...and while I'm ok with it on a technical level, needles don't scare me, the process is a PITA, but it's not the end of the world...the concept of it has been really hard.  The hardest part is that I can't keep it a secret anymore.  People have to know now.  I hate this the very most.  I haven't even told my parents yet.  (It's a good thing they don't read my blog). 

I know I will be fine, and I will rise to the challenge and fight back this stupid treason my body is inacting on me...and I be successful.  But it's another hill to climb, one that people will try to tell me how to climb, one that I will occasionally stumble upon, one that I don't even want to climb...but I know I have to because the alternative would suck.