Since I've been writing a blog (six years now!), I haven't written much about my daily struggle with diabetes. Mostly, I believe, because I can say just so much. If you've been reading all of my blog posts, you've no doubt read about my initial diagnosis and the aftermath of it, which I posted in 2011. If you haven't read it, click here to do so. Since then, I've been relatively stable, keeping things under control with two kinds of insulin and a few medications to keep my kidneys functioning properly and my cholesterol in check. So far, so good—for the most part. However, as of late I've had some problems come up.
Back in May, my primary care physician (PCP—no, not the drug) recommended that I see another doctor up in Oxnard who specializes in treating diabetes. In fact, he is a diabetic himself. His staff includes a couple of registered dietitians, one of whom I see on a regular basis.
While under the care of my previous PCP, I had my insulin dosages adjusted with the intent of keeping my blood glucose within a good range. Unfortunately, more insulin is not necessarily the best way to go about doing that. In the past few months, I've had some serious lows—we're talking in the 30-40 range. That is not only low, it's dangerously low.
One day, right after a doctor's appointment in fact, I stopped at the post office, then for reasons unexplained I drove up to an area in our city known as The Estates. This is where people with money live—huge lots, huge houses, quiet streets. I don't even remember driving up there or which way I went. As I drove around, I got sleepy (most likely because my blood sugar was dropping) and stopped in front of one house to catch a few winks before going home. I was awakened by a loud tap on the window and saw two sheriff's deputies standing there. They were concerned with whether I was OK and would I be able to drive. One of the deputies mentioned that since my license plate frame mentioned diabetes, had I had an "episode?" I said no, but later on felt that perhaps in truth I had in fact had one. I drove off, unsure as to exactly where I was—and being dark now didn't help—but somehow found my way up to Hwy 118, then I knew how to get home.
Not long after that, Lori was away for a week. One morning during that time I woke up on the floor. A few other mornings I woke up and could barely speak. What I could get out was slurred, barely intelligible speech that was not easy to understand. Not surprisingly, I scared my daughter half to death. Fortunately, I've taught her how to check my blood sugar and what to do when it's that low. She knows how to work my glucose meter, where my glucose tablets are, where the honey is, and how much to give me. If my condition isn't where it should be if she needs to leave for work or school, she has offered to stay with me till I'm able to function on my own. Fortunately, she's not had to do that. Hopefully that will not happen.
Because of all that fun, my doctor and dietitian have adjusted my insulin, to a level that will keep my blood glucose from going that low. So far, I've been OK, but I stay on top of it. My old glucose meter pretty much bit the dust so I called the manufacturer and they sent me a new one. They didn't even charge me for it. And it uses the same kind of test strips that the old one did.
I do have to express a peeve about this—not about the disease itself, but about people who just don't know or understand, but think they do. I call these folks "armchair physicians" because, you know, they're experts on the disease and have the cure right in their pocket. My favorite is "Why don't you just... [fill in questionable advice]." I've said many times that there needs to be one day a year when you can slap anyone silly for any reason without any penalty. That said, I do have to be fair and say that even many diabetics have no clue about how to manage their condition. They could learn or seek advice from their doctor (they should do both), but often fail to do so. Why they don't is a mystery to me. If I have to live with something, I'm going to learn as much as I can. Common sense, right? Well, apparently not to everyone. I know people mean well, but sometimes meaning well by offering simple encouragement rather than questionable advice off the top of your head is more appreciated.
At this writing, I'm 56 years old and was diagnosed almost 14 years ago. Diabetes is a progressive disease; it's always changing and it does NOT go away, contrary to what some people will tell you. However, making the effort to manage it will slow down its progress. I'm ever so thankful that I have not had any permanent damage done. My vision is almost perfect (it actually improved since I was diagnosed; read about that here), my kidney function is excellent, I have no loss of feeling in my feet or legs, no neuropathy/nerve damage, my cholesterol is OK, my heart is OK, etc., etc. It wouldn't hurt me to lose some weight, though, but that'll happen.
So there you go. Despite the joking that I often do (like referring to myself as "sugar challenged" and other things), do know that I take this very seriously. All we can do is the best we can do, as I often say. Each day is a new battle in the war against this disease. Every day is a fight. Even though it's likely that some effect of this disease is what will eventually take me down, in my opinion, if I can reach my 70s or 80s, then I'll have done well.
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