hopefully for real this time. I am committed to blogging about my low-carb journey. Maybe this will help someone else who thought they could never lose weight. While I am not willing to state publicly how much I used to weigh (nor how much I weigh right now because I know most of you can at least use a calculator!), I will say this: I still have a lot to lose but I have lost over 35 lbs since the middle of March.
My world changed on February 23rd, 2012 when my (now fired, but we will get to that later) doctor called to tell me that my fasting blood glucose test came back over 300. That is high, if you are not aware of that. I went in for an A1C test (this test is indicative of what your average blood sugars have been for the past 3 to 4 months). It was not pretty. My A1C indicated that my average blood sugar level was about 320. Ugh. It did explain my eyesight and how bad it had been getting. I could no longer see the computer screen, even with my bifocals, when I was at someone else’s desk helping them with an issue.
Below is a more complete story of the beginning of my journey.
On June 18th, 2011 about 6 p.m., my life took a drastic change. As I was walking out the front door of our house, I tripped or stumbled (will never really know … except I know I was not pushed – yes, that was asked in the ER) on our porch and I took a nosedive. I went flying down six steps. I landed on the cement landing at the top of another set of 7 or 8 steps. Cement steps. I am lucky I landed there and didn’t tumble down. I likely would not be here today. I broke my left elbow and my right hand (the bone that goes up to the pinky, to be exact). Neither doctor was willing to do surgery and leave me totally incapacitated unless it was totally necessary. It wasn’t. And how can I forget the best part … braces. Again. I had them as a teenager and have them again now. Dr. Raj refuses to tell me when I will get them off. I am betting on never. Seriously … if you need ortho work in the greater Dayton area, I will hook you up.
Here is a picture of the palm of my hand. I had never seen bruising there before.
Here is a picture of the steps I fell down. This was taken from the bottom of the steps I didn’t fall down and on the first day of school, Fall 2011.
I also deeply bruised my right shin and my left leg right under the knee. When I say “deep bruises” I mean deep. Likely bone bruises. I was done seeing both of my doctors (I had two: one for the elbow and one for the hand) and the bruises showed no signs of going away. And, they are still a bit visible today, over 1 year later.
The ironic thing is: I was told by the place I got my glasses that the weird fluctuations in my eyesight might be related to diabetes and I should get it checked. At the time, my health insurance absolutely sucked and I might as well have not had any so I was off to meet a friend at WalMart to get a meter and test strips. I should have followed up on that then but didn’t.
Fast forward to February 2012. I had been hired on at my place of employment after being a contractor for 3 years. Finally … health insurance that was worth something. Let’s back up a couple of weeks. On January 21, 2012 I was to drive some junior high kids to Lexington for a CON (a UU conference for kids). I slept horribly all night long and about 7, I thought to take my temperature. It was 102.5. Crap. I called Shannon, the DRE, and found out the third adult, and second driver, was not able to attend and we were going to have to take my van and her car. It turned out that if i didn’t go, they could all fit in just my van. This was perfect as I was not fit to drive and Maggie missed the one last year when she was sick so my guilt was assuaged. Shannon came to get Maggie and my van and leave me her car (which never moved from in front of my house!)
When I came to about 11 a.m., I noticed my left leg was hot, red and swollen. From the knee down. It seemed to be focused near the bruising I still had from the June fall. I spent the day in bed. At some point, I managed to get my law homework done just before the midnight deadline. Barely. The fever broke that night, hovering at 102 most of the day. The next day, I called a good friend who is a nurse to discuss the red, hot, swollen leg with her. My insurance was not going to kick in until February 1 and I didn’t want to go to the doctor if I could at all avoid it. She had me do some things to check for DVT and we determined it probably wasn’t that and she told me when I would need to hit the ER. I took a wait and see approach.
By the time the first of February rolled around, the redness and swelling had pretty much subsided but was still there. I went to the doctor, who wanted a “pre-physical” appointment (whatever that is) and I talked to him about my leg. The upshot was: if it happens again, call me but you are fat and probably just need compression stockings. Yes, you read that right.
I had a physical on February 17th. On the 23rd, I was home from work because I had a fever and had no idea why. My doctor called to tell me that my fasting glucose was high and he wanted to see me. I made an appointment for that Tuesday, the 28th. Friday, I woke up and my right leg was red, hot and swollen. Centering on the bruise from the fall in June. I needed to go to work and I knew I was seeing the doctor on Tuesday so I decided to wait. I spent most of Friday with a fever. I thought it subsided Friday night but came back late Saturday afternoon.
Saw the doctor on Tuesday, who drew blood for an A1C and gave me the news that I most certainly had Type 2 Diabetes and needed to change my diet and start taking my blood sugar. Now, this quack, err, doctor, said I should take my blood sugar “a couple of times a week” and to not stress too much over it. He also said my leg was just lymphadema and reminded me that I was fat and needed compression stockings but we would have to wait for the pain to subside. Like I said … he is a quack.
He recommended I take a diabetes education class at a local hospital. I called and was able to get in that Thursday and Friday and the following Thursday and Friday as well. Good news … a partner could come with you. I dragged Alex along as I was pretty sure he would get the same diagnosis and this would save us the cost of him going to the class. Smart thinking as I was right.
By that weekend, my leg was getting painful but I kept thinking of what the doctor said. I tried to just ignore it. I had to take Michael and Maggie to a party that afternoon, after picking Michael up from a friend’s house. I hated to call K’s moms and ask one of them to bring him home as it seemed like every time he was over there, I was sick and needed them to bring him home. Besides, I was going to have to take them to the party later anyway.
I went to work the first part of the week. In my Eastern Religions class, I had to visit an Eastern religion worship service. Despite the pain in my leg, Maggie and I went to a Buddhist temple. While there, my leg was extremely painful. Though I had put socks on (we had to remove our shoes upon entering), someone noticed the swelling in my foot and brought me a stool to prop it up. The monk was talking about how sometimes we need to take medicine and need healing and may even need surgery. I began to silently cry. We were in the front row so the wracking sobs, though mostly silent, were quite evident. The woman next to me gave me some tissues. It was if the monk were speaking directly to me and no one else.
The next day, we had our third diabetes education class. A nurse did the two Thursday classes. I stayed after class to show her my leg, which was now very painful, red, hot and swollen. The quack, however, made me doubt myself. I showed her my leg and she was very concerned and, if Alex had not been able to get me an appointment for that afternoon, she was going to send me to the ER. I cried most of the way home from the pain. I called my team lead and let him know I could not come in but would work from home.
I went to the doctor that afternoon and he thought that I might need antibiotics but was still calling it lymphodema and still told me I needed compression stockings once this was over. I asked for pain meds and he very grudgingly gave me 20 of Vicodin. He made it clear he was not happy with it but I let him know how much pain I was in and that OTC stuff was not working for me. He said I would be better in 72 hours. I was counting the down, trust me.
After spending the next three days in bed, working from home on Friday, I was anxiously awaiting Sunday night. No better. Worse, in fact. I was taking 2 Vicodin to sleep and taking aspirin and ibuprofen during the day. I was not doing such a good job of staying on top of the pain. I went back in on Monday and all he did was add an anti-inflammatory. He decided to order an ultrasound of the leg to check for blood clots.
I spent over an hour Monday night sobbing in great pain. I was on the phone for part of that time with my best friend. Judi was telling me I had to get on top of the pain, not let it get on top of me. I was terrified the pain was just going to get worse and that I would run out of Vicodin and he would not give me more. I had been asked on Monday if I had been running a fever. I told the doctor I was not sure. I had woken up sweaty a few times but wasn’t really sure. My temp that morning, in his office, had been 98.4. He never asked what I had been taking or when. I had had a Vicodin at 7 and 800 mg of ibuprofen at 8. At 10, when I saw him, my temp should have been no where near 98.4 when my normal temp is 97 or lower. He never asked.
I called my mother as I had not talked to her for a couple of weeks and felt she needed to be updated. The last time I had talked to her, things were a bit rocky for her. When I talked to her this day, I learned she was likely heading for a divorce and was not sure where she was going to live. I had already been looking at some houses and found that there were some in the area we would likely be able to purchase and make room for her in our lives and home. I was thinking I would meet with some resistance so figured we would buy a house over the summer, invite her to come up for the holidays and show her that she could live with us. I told her right then that she could come here. She accepted my offer and plans were being formed immediately to find her an apartment until we could buy a house and to get her here as quickly as possible. While this has been a wonderful thing, it also added some stress to the next few days and weeks. I was worried about her and she was also worried about me as well as dealing with stress in her life.
I waited until 10 to take more medication as I wanted to take my temperature. Dang it. It was 100. I just cried some more and took a handful of mediation. I took one Vicodin and took another one about midnight, when I woke back up. I was also taking aspirin and ibuprofen quite regularly as well. I called his office first thing to let him know of the fever and to find out when my u/s would be. I was told, “He takes patient calls between 12 and 12:30. Please call back then”. I said, “NO. He told me to call if I had a fever. I do. Tell him and when will you make my appointment?” She was able to get me an appointment for 10 a.m. I woke RJ up to come with me. Even though he doesn’t have his license, I didn’t want to be alone.
Oh, I had gotten cabbage leaves to put on my leg. They help with swelling so I thought … this can’t hurt me. While I was using them that morning, you could see a spot of … something … rising to the surface. Infection. Wanting to come out. It was pretty cool … and gross at the same time. RJ was not overly impressed with my oozing leg. I did let the nurse know this new development as well. As we walk into the imaging place, the lady behind the desk practically jumps out of her window, asking if I am Barbara. She tells me the doctor tried to reach me and he wants me to head to the ER. Well, my cell phone never rang and there were no messages. He didn’t try very hard.
We headed to the ER. I was taken back fairly quickly and they drew a whole lot of blood and the tech put in an iv. The prevailing thought was that I would be admitted for IV antibiotics as I was obviously not responding to what I had been on for the past five days. It took them from 11 a.m. to after 6 p.m. to find me a room. Well, I think they had one for me but they had to wait for an admitting physician to come and see me. It was frustrating and irritating to be kept in there so long. I asked for food and the only thing they could bring me was a crappy sandwich … which I could not eat because of the bread. I pulled off the one piece of ham and the one piece of cheese. Yum.
I got next to no sleep Tuesday night and spent the day arguing with the food police. I was trying to stay very low carb. I was told I had to order at least 45 grams of carbs with each meal on the “carb controlled” diet plan. Oh, they had me on the “heart healthy” plan as well so no cheese. No butter. No cream. My blood pressure is low-normal. My cholesterol is good. I argued with the food police over breakfast and told her, “FINE! Send me a second piece of toast. I will not eat it but send it”. She yelled at me back and said she would just send a banana and I could keep it. I sent it back to her … besides, a full banana is way more than 15 grams of carbs. My nurses had to keep going back to the doctors to get them to stop putting me on the carb controlled diet. It was a mess.
I also spent most of Wednesday waiting for different doctors to come in and see me. My leg was an oozy mess. It was determined that I would need surgery but we still didn’t know when. So, I was NPO for most of the day. My nurse and I kept joking that the best way to keep my sugar down was to starve me. When the surgeon finally came in, it was scheduled for the next morning. I was told I would have a drain tube placed in my leg. I was still in extreme pain and was getting morphine and Vicodin, alternating about every three hours. Once, a nurse asked what my pain level was before giving me my shot. I said, “1”. She laughed and said, “I can’t give this to you”. I said, “Well, it will be a 7 in 10 minutes when I get up to pee if you don’t give it to me”. I got my shot. Amazingly, when I woke up Thursday morning, there was NO pain. None. I figured they shot me up all night long. Nope. They have to talk to you first. I tried negotiating with the surgeon in pre-op to not do the surgery. Basically, I was told I was going to need it sooner or later. I finally said, “Fine. You are the doctor and just like I tell our sales force, please don’t try to do my job, I will let you do yours”.
In recovery, I had a hard time remembering to breathe. I was constantly hearing the beeping of the pulse-ox machine and being reminded to breathe by my nurse. A couple of times, I heard the machine go off and would take some deep breaths and she would chuckle and say it wasn’t me. She did finally stop giving me narcotics and gave me a shot of tylenol and something else … the non-narcotic pain relievers helped. Because of this though, I had to keep a pulse-ox thing on my finger for 24 hours. Scared the crap out of us a couple of times at night. Maggie stayed with me and was at the hospital for the surgery and spent the night with me. She was great to have with me.
I had two separate dietitians come and talk to me while I was in the hospital. The first one, I pretty much told to leave my room. She was lock-step with the ADA in that I needed to eat 45-60 grams of carbs per meal. I was keeping less than 45 PER DAY. She didn’t like that. I told her to leave. The second one that came in … I wish I had gotten her card because she agreed with me and told me to eat lots of protein (needed for wound healing) and to keep the carbs as low as I could. BTW, by low-carbing, I had lowered my A1C by close to two points in just a few weeks. It was still horrendous, 10.4, but that is better than where it had been just a couple of weeks before.
Telling my story to the many and varied medical professionals I had contact with during this time verified one thing for me: the doctor I was seeing is a quack. I have gone back to my beloved physician (Alex is still seeing the quack and liked him at first, which is why I went to him). I fired him by walking into his office and asking for a copy of my records. His receptionist asked if I was leaving. I said, “Yes” and she asked why. I said, not quietly and with a waiting room full of people, “Because I don’t appreciate being told I am fat and needed compression stocking when I had a f*cking infection in my leg, that is why!”
I ended up with a huge hole in my leg and no drain tube. Instead, It was packed. And had to be changed daily for almost two months. I was thrilled when, after a month, I told my surgeon I wanted nothing more than a shower and she told me I could have one. I would have been in there for two hours if the hot water would have lasted! My surgeon was amazed at how fast and how well I healed. As my dad said, “I will never be a leg model” but that is not the important thing … I kept my leg. I had visions of waking up from surgery without it.
So, that is the tale of the beginning of my journey. While some of it might not seem relevant, I think it paints a more complete picture of how I came to know I had Type 2 Diabetes.
