Emotional Diabetes

I think a panic attack is the only way to describe my reaction to yesterday’s virtual doctor’s appointment. I didn’t fall apart on the outside, but man, inside I was freaking out.

I somehow had the idea that the doctor or his assistant would say something positive about my blood tests — but all I heard was my glucose is too high. I kind of thought the fact that I’m otherwise super healthy would be noted, but nope. They again (this was my 2nd appt) tried to get me to take long-term insulin to bring my glucose down to an acceptable basal level. But I again refused, due to my experience with the stuff causing explosive weight gain (a pound a day).

The doctor’s tone changed. He seemed to be talking to a child and explained how effective insulin is in helping diabetic people like me control glucose. A little weight gain is to be expected, he added.

I’ve gained 25 lbs since last spring. Most of it came on from a short stint of using long-term insulin along with the short-term stuff. The rest was just the result of the short-term insulin. I hate my body. I can’t fit in my clothes but I hate the thought of buying larger sizes. I can barely control my anger that my body has turned on me in this way. I don’t lack for exercise (often reaching 20k steps a day), but walking doesn’t bring the glucose down. I eat low-carb foods, no fruit, no grains or processed foods, no alcohol, nothing to drink but coffee and water. I feel like I’ve sacrificed 90 per cent of the food I love and get no benefits.

I tried to express this to the doctor/assistant but they kept on talking about the wonderfulness of insulin. I tried to explain that weight gain will raise my blood pressure (“Oh we can give you a pill for that!”) I talked about additional weight causing issues for my heart and joints. They didn’t hear what I said. They’re hyper-focused on glucose, at the expense of the rest of my body and emotions.

They wanted to prescribe me drugs I can’t afford. I’m not sure they’d help me anyway. In the end, I was urged to use more of the insulin I’m using. Just use more.

“I’m going to kill myself!” I shouted in my head. I had the same thought during the first appointment a few weeks ago. It’s a form of extreme thinking, but one that stems from panic and desperation. I’m looking for an escape.

Then I remembered the blood tests that show that I’m in perfect health with the exception of the damned glucose. It’s alarming that I get so panicked I want to end it all. It was a fleeting but powerful thought.

And I remind myself that I do have a way to lose weight — fasting. I know I’ve had trouble with it this year, but persistence is key. And my most remarkable traits are determination, the ability to focus on a goal and pig-headedness.

Later, I drove out to buy dog food and tried to process what transpired with the appointment. I kept coming back to the mental rant that I had had enough, and the only way out was death.

But who interceded but Barry Gibb singing on the radio:

Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother
You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’
And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive

And I laughed. It was all too perfect.