Rear-ending a septic-sucking truck...

The photo is from from Google images

Last Friday started like any other day.  It was beautiful.  The sun was even shinning.  Well, that’s exactly not like any other day because this is Michigan and you don’t get much sunshine in the winter.  My first stop for the day was the medical clinic at the hospital where I was to have a blood draw for my annual physical (we’ll, it’s been being more like an every other year event).  They drew the blood, filling up a half-dozen vials and I went on my way.   Having fasted for 12 hours, I went out for breakfast and enjoyed corn beef hash with poached eggs, with plenty of hot sauce.  

Life was good, that is until about 3 PM.  My doctor’s nurse called and said that he wanted more me to go back and have more test.  Never a good thing!  I made time to stop back by the clinic and they quickly drew more blood and got me to give them a sample of my urine.  A little after five o’clock, the doctor called me from his cell phone to mine (my doctor is a friend).  He was on his way to watch his son play basketball, but said he wanted to let me know what was going on.  He said that my fasting blood sugar was 317, which was way high and suggesting that for the time being, I go easy on the carbs.  He said he wanted to see the results of the next tests (something about an A1C level) and would go by the office on Saturday morning to check it out.  Friday night, I was good, eating fish and vegetables.  Saturday morning, I was with a group of friends at a buffet and I thought I’d be good by only eating one biscuit with just a little sausage gravy.  Before the meal was over, the doctor was calling for me again.  This time, he insisted I go back right away to have more blood drawn, saying that my A1C levels were off the chart (over 15).  The good news is that everything else within my body seems to be working well.  The extra tests were looking for damage from high blood sugars (and there doesn’t appear to be any).  However, my little splurge with one biscuit and some gravy shot my blood sugar up into the 450s.  My doctor, in consultation with an endocrinologist, put me on long acting (basal) insulin.  He also gave me a diagnostic of type 1 diabetes (that’s right, what’s often referred to as juvenile diabetes, what can I say, I’m young at heart.)  He also said that although he doesn't know why, it is possible that a virus attacked my pancreas. Since then, I’ve gotten well-versed in pricking my finger and reading my blood sugar levels. 

Yesterday, after a long appointment with the endocrinologist, I am on a regular basal/bolus insulin regiment.  This means I get to count up what I’m eating and giving myself shots before meals as well as the evening shot of basal insulin.  I now feel like a full-fledged junkie. 

This week, my blood sugar levels have been dropping and I have been very fatigued.  I haven’t felt much like writing or even reading.  I haven’t been on skis in over a week.  Hopefully, when things are under control, I’ll feel more like resuming regular activity.  When I asked him about activity level, the endocrinologist assured me that shouldn’t be a problem, proudly pointing out that he has had several patients who have run marathons.   I didn’t ask if they’re still alive.

Life is never guaranteed.  Never before has this seemed so true.  But, as I’ve assured those around me, this means there’ll be more cookies and ice cream for them.  On the other hand, a friend with whom I play basketball, who is a sales manager for Hostress, is lamenting the loss of another customer.