I’m noticing that my Doc and I use the same wireless mouse. Nice. He squints at the flatscreen as he calls up my blood test.
My last Doc took off in November to Africa to heal sick Africans, the bastard (*), and my new Doc, a thin wisp of a man, pushes himself back from his desk with downturned eyes and a sigh. The kind of sigh that rips through your memory and lands on the moment when one of your parents decided that it was time to tell you about the birds and the bees, or why your pet goldfish is swimming upside down. Yeah. One of those sighs.
“The numbers suggest that you are diabetic,” he says looking to me and back to the monitor. He flips the page up and down, reciting numbers and blood acronyms that don’t register with me. I’m in “aaaw goddamn it” shock. “There’s no real border line here, really, it’s just that your blood sugars have topped and stayed over the limit where we consider someone diabetic.”
I’m thinking back to the time when I was a manager of a traveller’s hostel in Ottawa and had keys to the pop vending machine. With reckless abandon, I would open the damn thing and suck back 3, 4, 5 cans a day. I also had keys to the chocolate bar display. Long nights behind the counter were ticked off with Kit Kats, on the hour. Successful calls to the difficult Executive Director was rewarded with a Mr Big.
“There is a great program at the Women’s College for nutrition and diabetes. I’m going to fax them right now and get you signed up,” his fingers fly over his keyboard.
I’m remembering bartending and how I would mainline syrupy Coke and Ginger Ale from the pop taps to keep my energy up and be nice to the customers after midnight, my usual bed time. I think about the little extra snacks I would have before bed at 3am, after a rough night at the bar.
“The waiting list for this program can be a bit long,” he makes an apologetic ‘woopsie!’ face.
I am thinking about that ice cream maker my brother gave me last year for my 40th birthday. I used it once! I swear!
“…but it’s the best around. Worth the wait.”
I’m thinking about pasta.
“Two months, I should think.”
I think about my foot falling off. I think about going blind. I think about my heart stopping. I stop tinking about that.
“Can I get your blood pressure? I haven’t done that in a while.”
So now I’ve become a statistic and a further burden on Canada’s envious health system. I think about how in the last 5 years I have used food as an emotional crutch. Eating has become my drug, evident in the wild fluxuation of my weight. And now I’m in a K(raft Dinner)-hole of sorts with the time come for me to pay the pusher.
This evening, find me googling Type 2 Diabetes and defiantly swilling red wine. Expect a maudlin post not much longer after that.
(*) okay I don’t begrudge my old Doc for leaving. It was just “good” between us, you know? I could make him laugh at inappropriate things like the growth on my toenails. This new one reminds me of a bank loan manager and the few times I’ve tried, I get panicked looks shot back at me
19 thoughts on “Sugar And Spice”
Men are sooo obsessed with their weight!
I said “I AM THIN AND GORGEOUS” just this morning! – for the first time in 2+ years the “first” number in my weight was a “1.” I was happy indeed.
You mean like Diabetics Christmas, Channukah, et al?
Oh, DR, that totally sucks, but ever the opportunistic thinker you have already gone where I was heading and MILK THIS FUCKER FOR ALL IT’S WORTH! No housework! Special food! And double the (paid) days off!
Whole wheat latkes, all around!!!!
Comparatively, yes you are thin sweety, darling.
But with less of you to love it might all be around longer for those of us who enjoy to do so.
You are, sweetie…and now with proper diet and SharkBoy you will be more so….
I AM THIN AND GORGEOUS!
Actually the doc said this looked inevitable. Mom says it’s in her side of the family.
Shrug.
No, he looked skinny about 11 years ago at Bloor Valley – since then, not so svelte.
But a svelte bear is usually a rug laying infront of a fire place.
Lay off the pop!! Alcohol metaboizes down to sugar especially if you drink pop and booze.
Did your pill adventure aid in this at all? Loads of people, even skinny ones, developed Type 2 on Crixivan – or so the urban church street diet legend went.
But, you look so skinny.
(Insert Jewish mama “eat! eat!” here…)
I wonder if we have the same doctor….
Hey Tedster:
It does suck BIG TIME…..but take whatever time, whenever you need it and get this sucker sorted. I need you at your desk……..
Legs
Thanks all. I’ve already started to use diabetes as an excuse to get out of housework. “I can’t iron that shirt! I have Diiiabeeeeeteees!!” Sharkboy isn’t buying it.
Peter: that Voddy and Crystal Lite sounds very Dynasty to me for some reason. But I love the idea of mixing that powder in a poolside plastic cup.
Hockeyfan: I dont think Canadian Docs get any kickbacks for suggesting specific drugs. I’ve only seen this new doc twice and he’s just going on the previous year’s steady increase of blood suggah numbers.
M Healey: I’m keeping the ice cream maker, dude. I may be diabetic, but I’m not stupid!
Madame: I dont think they’ll be taking blood. Taking the frigging fun out of eating, yes. Blood, no.
Here’s hoping that the tests Women’s College runs show that, in fact, you’re not diabetic…
Well, that, to use the grade seven vernacular, sucks the bag.
If you give me the ice cream maker back, I’ll trade it in for a bike, which you can use once. Does this mean you get one of those cool prick your fnger devices that BB King sells on tv? I always imagined that the worst cases have maple syrup oozing out when they stick themselves.
More Improv. That’s my advice.
Not one to critized your health system, but how long would it take to get in to see another doctor to get a second opionion…??? If it was an American doctor, I would say he was just trying to push some drugs on you….it’s a big business…you know…??? My father in law has diabetes and he is 73….being living with it all his life….and has only just recently started with insulin(sp)…so it is not the end of your eating world…he has a bowl of ice cream every night before bedtime…
The last time I saw my doctor I asked him if he was doing his “Africa Thing” again this year; don’t get me wrong but I miss him when he’s away and have issues with feeling bad about asking for things like my ARV’s in a “new convenient single once daily tablet” when he has returned from places where things are..well, worse.
I know emotional eatin, and drinking, and…hopefully I’m beginning to get it under contril, and luckily I’ve never had a sweet tooth, although I’ve never met a carb/fried food that I didn’t/couldn’t learn to love. Good luck – and I have actually heard great things about that Women’s College Program myself!
(Vodka + Soda and a splash of Crystal Light can be quite refreshing and low/no sugar!)
Of course you are. Bring me some lettuce.
Aaaaah… no worries..
I’m here for you!
xo
M