The diagnosis is in, and yes, I have Type 2 Diabetes.
Well, woo to the effin' hoo.
So the book and the blood monitor and I are exchanging pleasantries, you know, trying to get used to one another, begrudgingly. It's not that they're bad, per se, it's just that they represent restriction, and as you all know well, food and restriction are not supposed to go together in my world. My world is one where I make my own bread AND butter, where I know how to roll sushi, decorate cakes with chocolate butterflies, and smoke my own barbeque. Where I was contemplating learning to cure my own bacon or to make cheese. Where I can do, make, or eat ANYTHING I want. NOT one where I pop 4 pills a day, draw blood (on purpose), and rid my diet of simple carbohydrates. Sure, I'm a huge proponent of moderation, but I was much cooler about it when it was VOLUNTARY.
Screw you, diabetes.
All right. The real truth is, it's NOT THAT BAD. I'm just stubborn (Taurus-THE BULL) and don't like being told what I can and can't do in my very own kitchen. The book is actually great--the recipes look good but what is most helpful are the tips on what you can modify in meals you already make to exchange the bad fats for good, simple carbs for complex, etc. She also uses only natural foods, no chemically altered low-fat foods or sugar substitutes, which I kinda like (although I will be using Splenda myself). And really, we don't eat that poorly now, it's not like I live on fast food and cookies, so this isn't a world upheaval. It's more the principle and hassle of the whole thing that has me down. I know I can do it, I'm up for the Iron Chef Challenge of it all, but I'm still frustrated. In my fantasy life one day I run a little cafe and bakery, and it's tough to work diabetes into that dream. Not impossible, like anything, just not what I had in mind.
I wish I had a frozen Snickers and a fountain Coke to make me feel better--OH WAIT, I CAN'T HAVE THAT ANYWAY. See--it's things like THAT bringing me down. I hardly ever *require* the Snicker/Coke pick-me-up, but knowing I can't have it is a killer. I must take inspiration from my dog Lucy, who also has to endure a restricted diet (thanks to food allergies), and who has learned to be excited about the ice cubes I give her as treats in lieu of Milkbones. And you know what? Every once in a great while, I give her steak, and damn the consequences. So I guess Cokes and Snickers will be my once-in-a-blue-moon-I-deserve-it-for-being-such-a-trooper treats. Yes. That is somewhat encouraging...
I do love my doctors, they are great, and the PA that's handling my case is superb and very relate-able. We think this is 90% a result of heredity (and the rest a result of me doing whatever I damn well pleased all these years), but just to be thorough they are running some other tests for other possible origins (Cushings and Polycystic Ovary Syndrome--I don't have all the symptoms of either, but I have a few, and it's worth looking in to). If I were diagnosed with either, it wouldn't necessarily change how we're already treating the diabetes, but of course we'd be able to treat either of these as well and it may reduce the effects of the diabetes in the long run, require me to take less medication, etc.
These stupid human bodies require so much maintenance, you know? I once heard it said that if your body was a car you were thinking about buying, you'd pass it up for being such a hassle.
So. That's that. The diagnosis is what it is, and I just have to learn to adapt. And I think I'm done venting. Let's move on. So what else is new?
We're finally getting the rainy day I've been hoping for since May, and I have a very special date with a couch, my book, and some hummus and pita chips--because THOSE I can eat. Not too shabby, right? Shaping up to be a good day already. . .
I love you guys.