I haven’t been 176 lbs since I was 14.
Until today, that is.
Everybody has a favorite horror novel, one that just cuts right to the bone.
Mine is Stephen King’s, Thinner.
I had my first follow-up appointment today. My doctor, Dr. S, says my sugar levels look good. He’s concerned about the numbness in my feet, but there’s apparently not a lot I can do about it right now except take some vitamin B.
I’m taking 4 insulin shots a day right now, and he says that in a month or two when he’s better able to see how the Lantus (a long-acting insulin) works with my body, I may be able to go down to two shots a day over the long haul.
That would be great. Shooting up four times a day is a neccessary thing, but if I could cut that in half, well, hey.
Oh, the irony: I was well on the road to learning how to eat right and exercise. Finally taking “good” care of myself. And now I *have* to or I’ll keel over and die. Or, worse: just expire gradually from diabetes-related diseases like kidney failure, while my limbs are all chopped off.
The way to prevent a slow disintegration is four shots a day, three blood tests a day, and counting every carb that goes into my mouth (oh, thank the gods I was on the Atkins diet for a year and know how to gauge these!).
When I met with the dietician, she said, “I hear you’ve been losing a lot of weight recently. My job is to help that stop.”
That’s the first – and likely the last – time anyone’s every said that to me.
Imagine a world where your dietician wants to stop you from losing weight.
I am stunned. And humbled.
Reading through a lot of literature so I can figure out how to go back to doing my workouts. My wrists are nearly better, so it’s time to start free weights in the morning again next week. Walking really helps bring down my glucose; more intense activity may bring it down too low.
Like everything else, it’s going to be a tight-rope walk.
