Today I had an appointment with Dr. Hottie. I was nervous. Like really nervous. Like, the kind of nerves I had when I used to walk into his office with a logbook full of made up numbers because I didn’t like the real numbers. You see, I’ve been struggling with my blood sugars a lot since going back to work three months ago. The pressures of the work, the stresses of the deadlines, the commute, my gawd, the commute, has had me in what has seemed to be a continuous BG roller coaster mode.
stress = adrenaline = high blood sugars = what goes up must come down = crash!
Then add to that the never-ending sickness of Big Ring and Little Ring since daycare and Dear Diabetes seems to have been put on the back burner.
But those worries were for naught. Today’s appointment had me once again walking away with straight A’s. My hglA1c (three month BG average) was 6.3, a little bit higher than the last two years, but still pretty freaking stellar. My cholesterol was out of this world amazing. Dr. Hottie told me if I keep numbers like this I will never have to go on a cholesterol pill, in fact, he said, even if I had had a heart attack last week, he’d still be giving me a gold star with this result! And my blood pressure was “Wow! Amazing!”
I really like making Dr. Hottie happy
It’s been this way for at least seven, maybe even more, years now. The good results. The happy doctor. The we-only-need-to-see-you-once-a-year exiting wave. Which is SUPER awesome!
But it hasn’t always been this way.
I used to see Dr. Hottie every three months. I used to fear his incredible intelligence (he is freaking smart) in that he’d call me out on the fact my logbook was a big fat lie, like, you know, the obvious discrepancy between the decent logbook numbers and the atrocious hgA1c results I got. I used to fear his scale. I use to fear his examination of my injection sites, which used to be just brutal. I did, however, love when he’d place his fingers on my neck, his wrist with a childlike beaded bracelet wrapped around it, so close to my mouth, and examine my thyroid… er, I mean…
I haven’t always been a good diabetic, and still, even with these results, I am nowhere near being a perfect diabetic (can we ever be perfect???), but I have, for now, somehow figured a way at keeping this frienemy of mine at bay. And that makes me happy, which I guess makes Dear Diabetes happy.
Ps. Dr. Hottie also noted I didn’t have much by way of thermal insulation at the feel of my cold hands (the city got its first snow today) which made me REALLY happy… so happy, I think I’ll go celebrate with a sweet, warming strip of chocolate!