“I have the sugar”. Those were the words I uttered last month when I found out that I am now in the diabetic range. My A1C was 7. I was officially diagnosed as Type 2 diabetic. I sighed. I was feeling overwhelmed.
I met with my doctor to go over my numbers. He was angry because I hadn’t repeated my labs or seen him since August of last year when the numbers indicated that I was pre-diabetic. He wanted to know why I hadn’t bothered to see him or return his calls. He was acting like I stood him up or something.
I guess in reality I did. I had been so busy and pre-occupied with life that I put my health on the back burner. Yes, I still worked out. Yes, I still kept losing weight and increasing my water intake. But, my life was in a tailspin last year. I couldn’t focus on me. I had to focus on everyone else.
My son got shigella. My daddy got diagnosed with cancer. My son was having emotional issues. I was going through a horrific time with my ex. I got a kidney infection and ended up in the hospital. My car got hit by a U-haul truck while it was parked. I thought I had breast cancer.
There it was. A lot of the load that I was carrying had weighed me down. My health became minor. I had to work. I had to pay the bills. I had to take care of my son. I had to get a grip on reality. I was having a nervous breakdown and I couldn’t have one because there wasn’t any time to have one. Who would take care of my Munch if I did?
He listened. I said, “I need you to understand the plight and burden of being a mother. A black mother. We carry the weight of the world on our shoulder and we often neglect our health.” He said, “Okay, well now you can’t neglect your health. It’s serious.” I felt defeated as I responded, “I know.”
We spoke about my weight loss. He was happy. He sees the scale going down. We talked about my work out routines. My activity levels. My stress levels. My eating habits. There it was. My eating habits. I mostly ate healthy but I didn’t know that my love of carbs was killing me. Oh, how I love pasta, rice and sauce. I dreamed of pasta and warm breads. They comforted me.
They were slowly killing me. “I don’t want medication. My mom says that I could become dependent on medication and she doesn’t want me to take it. She wants me to reverse it. She’s a chemist you know.” He sat there and slowly responded “Nothing against your mom but you need the medication. I don’t want your pancreas to have to work so hard to get that sugar out of your body. The medication helps to get rid of the sugar. I wouldn’t recommend it unless I thought you needed it.”
“I know” I muttered.
“No one changes their eating habits overnight. It takes time. This medication will start to work while you continue to try and make better choices.”
“I know” I replied with tears streaming down my face.
“Look, since you’re against it I will start off on a low dosage one pill daily, although I would normally recommend two pills a day. I want you to test your blood sugar every other day and I want you to continue to work out and change your food choices. Keep a journal of what you eat so you can see the things that make your sugar levels rise. We will retest in 3 months. We will see what’s going on.”
The nurse came in and showed me how to test my sugar. Simple finger prick. Once every other day.
I could do that.
I left the office feeling defeated.