Sugar, Sugar: The Good, The Bad, the Ugly… the TMI Version (You’ve Been Warned)

Why is it I always end up being somebody’s guinea pig?

When I was 16 and had my first gyno appointment, the doctor had an apprentice in there, and so propped me open and groped and pointed every couple of minutes to explain things to the apprentice while they both peered into my vagina.

When I had my IUD put in, there was a midwife apprentice in attendance who was there to observe the procedure. Said procedure ended up taking two clinicians, the apprentice, and 45 minutes to complete, cause I’ve apparently got a small cervix.

Today, Dr. S. had two newbie doctors in attendance. One of them was assigned me, and after quizzing me about bowel movements, shots, and not believing me when I said I wasn’t on any other medications (“Your blood pressure is high. Don’t you take any medications for it?” Uh, no, it’s never been high before…), and chastising me for gaining *another* eight pounds this month, left me for ten minutes to go and consult with Dr. S.

And then all three doctors crowded into the little room to look over my sugar chart and talk about the fact that this new insulin was giving me some really watery shit morning and night. Apparently, insulin doesn’t do this. Or, it shouldn’t. But ever since I started this new one, it’s been a problem – in addition to the spotty sugar levels.

I got another quiz on what I was eating. I told them I felt hungrier now than I had on the Lantus, but according to the eight pounds, I MUST be eating more. I told them I was working out at night, which I hadn’t been the month before, but no, it’s a matter of me eating too much, Dr. S. insisted.

And then he said it point blank:

I needed to lose weight.

I was a little taken aback. Seriously. Even at 191, that’s on the low end of the scale for me. Anything under 200 is. I was running at 215 or 220 when I got sick. I understand the concern that I’ve gained 18 pounds since I’ve gotten healthier, but I thought that was the whole point – I’ve gotten healthier. I’m healthier (and much stronger) at 191 than I was at 176.

“The more you weigh, the more insulin you have to use,” Dr. S. said, “you’ll need to start cutting back.”

Cutting back? Cutting back??? Cutting back to where????

Sweet jesus.

So, apparently, I need to lose 10 pounds.

Ha ha aha ahaah aha

I mean, shit, fuck, really, this is fucking ridiculous.

OK, yea, I’ve already switched out regular bacon for turkey bacon. And regular cheese for low fat mozzarella. And stopped adding salt to food. OK, I can do that….

And now, OK, well, I guess I can cut out butter. And I can measure my almonds in the morning so I don’t snack on them all day. And cut the amount of string cheeses I eat from three a day to two. OK.

But I can’t eat less than that. Which means my only other option is to bump up the cardio time from 30 min 4-5 days a week to 45 min 5-6 days a week.

And if, in a month, I’ve gained weight, I’m going to laugh at all of them.

Of *course* I’ve gained weight! I was *starving*!

The general consensus is that my sugar still hasn’t stabilized, which is why it’s bouncing around so much. Dr. S. put me back on the Lantus – oh, sweet Lantus! – and handed me $400 in free insulin.

Oh, *that* part fucking *rocked.*

“Here’s some free samples,” he says, and hands me 2 $80 bottles of Lantus and 2 $80 bottles of Novolog.

Fucking sweet!

Then I went home and cried.

I’ve worked so hard at getting the sugar levels to stabilize, and I had three doctors quizzing me with the assumption that I was doing something terribly wrong, and I hated that assumption, the assumption that I was living on cookies and regular soda, just for the hell of it. And then, to get told, after all this hunger, all this watching what I’m eating, all this stupid mandatory exercise, that I need to lose weight, oh for fuck’s sake.

You think I’m not? You think I’m doing this for spite? This *is* a moderate weight for me.

But not moderate enough, apparently.


So I came home and cried and then put in my time on the elliptical machine. Now I’m gonna make some broccoli – without the cheese sauce – and pretend I’m doing it for fun.

The upshot of the day?

I have an interview tomorrow with a firm downtown who’re looking for a project coordinator.

They didn’t blink at my 50-55K a year salary requirement.

I’m trying to be optimistic.

I’m tired of things sucking.

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