Facing the Meter

Accountability is a good thing. That's what I would tell anyone who asks. Finding accountability can be tricky. Most people aren't willing to tell another they aren't following through, aren't living up to a standard, or are just plain doing the wrong thing. I like to think I am the kind of friend who can hold other accountable. But sometimes when I am given that responsibility, I do great at first, then I piddle out until I am so embarrassed about my lack of follow-up that I can hardly talk to the person. If you gasped at my essentially selfish behavior, this post only gets worse, at least for me, the confessor.

Now I am in need of accountability. And I need someone or lots of someones who won't annoy me but who won't piddle out. It occurred to me that maybe I could use my blog. Unfortunately, I think people are more willing to correct, exhort, or encourage others in their faults if they just have to send an email or a quick comment on a blog. It's the face to face conversation that is dying in our culture. But, maybe I can use our culture as it is, to aid me in a struggle.

I am part of the recently named national epidemic. I am diabetic. A bad diabetic who regularly cheats on her diet and who doesn't exercise or check her blood sugar levels very often. I am a type 2 diabetic. A strange and mysterious type 2 who doesn't fit any of the characteristics of type 2 except the key one--my body doesn't process insulin correctly. I am 5' 6'' and quite small, so excess weight is not an issue. Until last year there was no history of diabetes in my family, though my 80+ year-old grandma developed it in the last months of her life. I had gestational diabetes with both girls. Diet and exercise did not control my blood sugars so I had to give my self shots of insulin daily, and had to give myself twice as much insulin with pregnancy number 2. After each pregnancy my diabetes disappeared slowly (it was supposed to disappear instantly). About a year after Kassy's birth, I noticed my blood sugars were creeping ever higher.

By that time I had moved to Montana, away from all the doctors who knew my medical history. I went to the community clinic and asked for an A1c test which is an average blood sugar reading from the last three months. The doctor thought I was crazy since there was no way he would ever think to test me for diabetes. After some explanations and several blood tests--it was confirmed that I was indeed diabetic--still producing insulin so I couldn't be a type 1. I did the usual mourning, for my myself, for the potential issues of the future, for the food I couldn't eat, for the way it felt to no longer enjoy potlucks (because the desert table was the best part). I did the usual anger thing, alternating between ignoring my diabetes and trying super strict diets with food like unsweetened ketchup (blah!) and sprouted grain breads. It didn't seem to matter what I did, my numbers wouldn't move to into the recommended ranges. Eventually I went on medication and my numbers are down, but not where they ideally should be. Because my numbers are not super high, and because I am without weight issues, I have trouble finding a doctor who does much more than adjust medications. I wish someone would help me discover what it is about pregnancy that sent my body into such a tail-spin.

Now, the best thing to do as a diabetic is control your eating and check your blood sugars. Knowledge is power, and if I knew how certain foods affected my blood sugar, I could have more control.

Maybe you need a super quick diabetic primer here. Insulin is made in the pancreas. When you eat food, your body converts any carbohydrates into glucose which goes into the bloodstream. Various cells use insulin from the pancreas to grab the glucose and convert it into energy for all kinds of functions. My cells don't grab the glucose so there is too much sugar in my blood, which means that for some reason, the cells are not receiving the insulin properly. And for lots of reasons, having too much sugar in your blood can, over time, lead to numerous complications involving eyes, kidneys, pancreas, feet, etc.

To check my blood sugar, I need to use a glucometer. I poke my finger, squeeze a little blood until a test strip in the meter and up pops a number. I hate my glucometer. One of my faults is an aversion to failure. For some reason, when a number pops up on that little screen that is too high, I feel I have failed. And when I have been eating well, or worse, if I have just exercised, and the number is still too high, I feel like I failed and that I have no path to success. so I avoid my glucometer. If you have had or were a child who struggled with a subject in school, you are familiar with this cycle of try, fail, give up, avoid. It's vicious. Mentally, I know all the problems with my lack of action, but my emotions are not cooperating.

Here's my idea. I do well with my glucometer if I am going to meet a dietician--someone who will be looking at my numbers. But I can't afford a weekly or even monthly visit to a professional. So, you, my dear readers, will be my appointment. Each Monday I will post on the side of my blog 4 glucometer readings from the previous week. Some day soon I will post an explanation of the numbers, so you know what is good, what is bad. If I fail to post, check on me. I may have thrown my glucometer against the wall.

So that's that. I know--why not ask T to keep me accountable? Two reasons--he has trouble remembering and two I tend to get angry at him if he pushes me to face my fears. This faceless interaction might be better. Let the experiment in accountability begin. And if this sounds silly, I wish you could see the tears in my eyes and feel the rate of my pulse as I imagine facing that dumb little machine. The thing about a blog like this, it's public. There's no turning back once I hit the publish button. The glucometer fits in my pocket, but I feel like I am facing a giant.