It's been a long time. I say I'm going to write and I don't. I've been lacking the direction and unexpectedly and forcefully it seems to have been thrust upon me.
Last week, I went in for my routine doctor visit and check up. I hadn't been in a while and expected no change in anything much other than perhaps a referral to an Endocrinologist for my Graves' disease. On Tuesday, I received a call from my doctor while I was at the movies with my brother. Normally, I would have let it go to voicemail, but for some reason I answered. The doctor informed me that my blood sugar was high and that she wanted me to come in to do a couple more tests and discuss the possibility of diabetes.
Hold the phone. Diabetes?! DIABETES! I was in shock and I was saddened. I phoned my mum and told her what had just transpired over the phone. We were both very upset. I had to dodge into the theatre bathroom and have a violent cry while I was on the phone.
The next day, I showed up to the doctor's office, fasted and hoping for the best news ever...that all this was a fluke. It wasn't. The test that morning showed my sugar levels to be high and the test for the last three months said that my sugar levels had been regularly high. So there I was, sitting in the chair with a magazine on my lap thinking to myself that I'm twenty-two years old and my body is just deciding to quit on me. After a few questions the doctor said that it was more than likely that this happened because of my ignored Thyroid disorder. Then I was mad. I've been carrying around the knowledge of having Graves' disease and seeing blood test after blood confirm this while having a doctor who put me on the wrong medication first and then told me to "wait and see".
We waited...and now we've seen.
With a referral being ordered that day to an Endocrinologist and a Nutritionist, I walked out of the office with orders to maintain a strict 1500 calorie diet and pamphlets on diabetes, meal planning, and my new Nutritionist. The next day, I received a call from a nurse to come by and pick up some more things. On Friday, I stopped by after an eye appointment and was handed an orange case filled with a One Touch Ultra, lances, blood strips, and a book to record my readings.
I don't do well with needles. I don't faint or scream or cry or run away, but I can't look. I cannot look. Ever. The last time I looked at a needle going into my arm I was fighting nausea for an hour. I just don't look. But now I was expected to poke myself in the finger...regularly! After dinner, I sat and loaded a lance into the pen and set up my metre. Then I sat there, screamed for my mum to come help me, and cried. I can't poke holes in myself. I can't hurt myself day after day. I know, thousands of people live with diabetes and have it much worse than I do. Poking myself in the finger isn't a big deal. Except the whole reality of having this disease that I've avoided having and watched out for my entire life snuck up on me and slapped me in the face. Hard.
I got over it and poked and it wasn't bad. But for a few minutes, it was terrible, not because of the poking, but for everything. The stress of all the information and confusion came to a head at the kitchen table with a lancing pen poised against my finger.
Now the weekend is over. It's still stressful. Necessary family members were informed and a weight was lifted off my shoulders for the first time knowing that other people were worrying and praying over me.
So, here's a new direction. Living with diabetes and trying to control it with diet, rather than drugs just yet. Eating things that don't taste like sh*t, because my mother would never stand for it (neither would the rest of us), and keeping it all at 1500 calories. It's new to all of us and we're learning and stressing together. Expect some recipes and some progress reports because there are a staggeringly small amount of diabetic friendly food blogs or even cookbooks out there that don't make me want to gag.