My adventures in the diabetic-industrial complex

Starting tomorrow I can get a discount at our local aquatic center and at Denny's. Luckily, for me, I'm at the swim center a lot more often than at the restaurant.

Self-blame and type 2 diabetes, let me count the ways. So yeah, the nurse practitioner where I go for my medical care said I have blood sugar levels that indicate borderline Type 2 diabetes, the kind where my body can't keep up with turning food into glucose because my pancreas is tired. Why is my pancreas tired? Well, there is a genetic component to getting this, and most of my female relatives have some variation on the sugar problem, at least on my mother's side. Other reasons, quite simply, are eating too much and moving too little. (And I can't help wondering how much of my attitude toward my body has been passed down the generations too, a kind of weariness, as well as a kind of wariness about doing things differently.)

Diabetes, of course, is a chronic illness much like asthma, which I've had since I was three. So why the big guilt trip for me with the sugar and not with the air? Maybe it has to do with those 7 deadly sins -- with ol' greed and gluttony raising their ugly heads, with sloth not far behind, although I can trace many asthma attacks to being to lazy to vacuum under the bed. Somehow though, wheezing doesn't trigger the guilt and self-flagellation that "bad labs" do. Maybe it's something like having the feeling that I've squandered something precious -- my health and energy -- just by eating too much. Whatever. I felt awful out of all proportion to the little physical discomfort I was experiencing.

When I got the news, I moved in with gusto -- followed the food plan (about 1400 calories a day), upped my activity by walking about 3/4 of a mile on both my daily breaks.

I also tested my blood sugar 4 times a day, on the blood glucose meter that the doctor's office gave me for free. The little test-strips cost though, and I had to argue with my insurance company to pay for more than 2 tests a day. (I figured that if I were to really get the hang of this, and figure out what makes my glucose rise and fall, I'd need all the data I could get. Eventually they came around.)

The "educational" emails I got from various players in what I call the diabetic industrial complex were contradictory and confusing, the majority promising that I really didn't have to give up much of anything, as long as I stuck with whatever product the given company was pushing. There are also social networking sites just for people with diabetes, and some members "friend" everyone who joins. Who needs 2700 "friends?" Pointless. And if, as I've come to believe, the food is trying to fill another kind of emptiness, utterly unhelpful and somewhat disappointing. I really don't want to define myself in terms of what my pancreas is or isn't doing.

Anyway, the process of eating differently and moving more was hard. I had to focus like never before, and I got to see just how much I relied on food for stress-relief. In 6 weeks I dropped 16 pounds, and when the same nurse practitioner looked at the stats that were stored in the brain of my little meter and said I wasn't really even borderline Type 2 yet, as long I ate less and moved more. Then she said she'd see me in 3 months.

Three months?! Might as well be a year. Too long. My determination wavered and I went back to solving problems with food. Canceled my next appointment. Started noticing things I'd rather not -- my feet have started bothering me more, painful after a day of standing and walking; I put 4 pounds back on, not too bad really, but still the feeling of failure; and when I eat chaotically I don't test my glucose with any meaningful regularity.

I intend to turn this stuff around. I will check in again around mid-March on this subject and let you know how I'm faring with changing habits in a positive direction.

Thanks to those of you who are reading silently, and those of you who've let me know you're there.