Slow Damage

I was diagnosed Type II diabetic when I was 22 years old.

I weighed 45lbs more than I do right now.

My diet consisted of primarily fast food, Chinese takeout, pizza and the occasional home cooked dinner loaded with fat and carbs. Lots of pop and desserts every single night--usually more than one.

One night after our weekly tradition of Thursday night pizza, I was having a particularly rough time breathing. My ex-husband took me to the ER for asthma and I ended up finding out that I was diabetic. My blood sugar was 437.

I won't bore you with details about what blood sugar levels should be and what can happen if your blood sugar is 437.  But suffice it to say, I really shouldn't have been upright at that point. 

I suppose I wasn't. I was in the hospital for a couple of days.

Over the years I've learned a lot about having diabetes. I've gone to diabetic education classes, met with my fair share of nutritionists and nurses and I've been on medication for the better part of the last 12 years.

Last year was devestating for us in many ways and depression took hold. When I get into a depression I don't take care of myself. I eat like crap, I don't take my meds, I don't exercise.

Basically I am committing slow suicide.

Today was my first doctor's appointment with our new physician. I knew that the prognosis wouldn't be pretty when I walked in there. I've been kind of keeping track of my blood sugars for the past month, thanks to my parents for giving me an extra glucometer since my old dipshit of a doctor couldn't manage to get me one. The readings have been really elevated.

They do lots of tests to check out the elevated blood sugar is affecting your body. They can do a finger poke to see what the glucose level is in your blood (which is how they found the 437 I mentioned above) They can do a blood draw to see what levels your blood glucose has been sitting at for the past 3 months--this is called an hga1c--but that takes awhile to get back. They also can do a urine dip.  That's what they chose to do for me today. I've actually never had anyone explain to me what levels of glucose in urine should be.

Turns out there shouldn't be any.  Hmmm.  A person with elevated blood sugars may have 25 or 50 and still be okay. Alarms start going off for them in the 300-500 range.  750 they get really worried. 

Mine was over 1,000.  ONE THOUSAND. She told me that if I had any ketones (I like mayoclinic.com for my medical info, read about diabetic ketoacidosis here) in my urine, she would have sent me to the emergency room and I would have had a fun-filled stay at the hospital. She actually said to me "I don't even know how you're functioning right now."

There are numerous other complications that can happen with elevated blood sugar levels but I think I'll just put those to the side for right now because my anxiety is already high. 

I am devastated that I have done this much damage to my body.  That I couldn't resist this unhealthy food and I ignored all the warnings from my doctors before.

You see, you don't really feel the full effects of the damage at an early stage. It's a longterm effect sort of thing. Yes you can feel fatigue and lethargy right away, but geeze, what mother doesn't feel that all the time?

Oh right, healthy ones.

She has a short term plan to get this under control while we work on a longer term plan. I'll take a medication that I can't take long term because it overworks the pancreas.  I was on this medication for many years and no one ever explained it to me. She told me that it's very likely that my pancrease can't even produce insulin anymore. She is putting me on it just to bring my sugars down and then we'll switch to something better. I will likely end up on injectable diabetic medications, insulin or otherwise.

Because I loved pizza and ice cream and brownies and french fries more than I loved myself.

I went to the grocery store afterwards to get my medications and a couple of food items.  I was standing in line in front of a small family--mother, father, little girl who was probably about 4. She was clutching a box of popsicles to her chest. I heard her dad tell her that she had to eat "chicken nuggets or ravioli--you're not just having popsicles tonight!" I glanced back at their small grocery order--lunchables, canned ravioli, bagged chicken nuggets, and popsicles.

I couldn't help it, a tear slipped out. 

This food is so DAMAGING to our bodies and yet we continue to eat it. We give it to our children.  I am somewhere between sad and angry now.

I am in no way blaming others for what I have done to myself.  But I do recognize that I didn't get here alone. Our society makes being healthy something trendy rather than something normal.  It makes it seem so out of reach for those of us who don't have a lot of money. They make the bad for you foods more appealing to children. They make them cheaper. They make it easier.

I know that I chose to put that food in my mouth.  Anyone who has struggled with an eating disorder of any kind knows that the choice isn't always that simple though.

I came home and explained to my family that my body is not healthy and that we simply CANNOT have this junk food anymore.  It's not a treat.  It's poison.  You don't treat yourself to a sip of antifreeze. You don't treat yourself to a syringe full of gasoline. You don't treat yourself to a spoonful of rat poison. 

Stop "treating yourself" to kidney damage and heart disease and obesity.

I can't do this to myself anymore. I'm scared that I will keep doing it though because it's what I know.

I need help. I need accountability. I need ideas on what I can actually eat because it really feels like slim pickings right now (I can only eat so much salad, chicken breast and green beans....)

Mostly I need reminders to love myself and to take care of my body and to show my daughters how to do it as well. I do not want them to end up where I am because I decided to show them my love through cupcakes and ice cream.

They deserve better. And so do I.