Tag Archives: endocrinologist

Forever in my diabetes-thriving heart

Tears.

When I got the email two weeks ago, my heart broke into pieces.

We had been together for 21 years. I had chosen this man, picked him specifically from a lot of others. He was perfect in every way that my 18-year-old self desired. He had an American accent. He had a welcoming smile, a fit body – oh, those legs – a firm, warming handshake, and a delectably nerdy side too.

He had me at bow-tie.

We had grown comfortable over the years, familiar. There was a warmth between us. The awkwardness of new was long gone. Our conversations were easy, filled with laughter, and respect, dare I even say knowing twinkles in our eyes. I yearned to impress him. When not in his presence, I counted down the minutes until I next was. I always dressed the part, making sure my face, hair, clothes were as close to perfection as I could muster.

But now, all that is gone.

Dr. Hottie is moving on.

Yesterday was my last ever appointment with my crush-worthy endocrinologist. It was the last time I would ever feel his strong hands softly caressing, er, I mean, inspecting my neck for thyroid growth, the last time I would feel his warmth so close as he checked my racing heart, the last time I would have his eyes boring into mine, so invested in my words. It was the last time I would see that welcoming, inviting smile of his, so hypnotic you forget you’re talking to a doctor and share everything – everything. It was the last time I would giggle over his choice of bow-tie: a classy navy blue with blood red polka dots. It was the last time I would ever have his silky warm hands wrapped around mine; you better believe I lingered.

Yesterday was the last time I would ever hear Dr. Hottie boast again of my diabetes rockstardom.

The realization of that is where I crumble.

I have not always been a diabetes rockstar. There were several years in my teens and early adulthood where I repeatedly rebelled against this disease. I started seeing Dr. Hottie at 18; the first seven years were not my best years. He saw me at my worst, and yet, he never judged, just encouraged. He was the first specialist to see ME, not my diabetes. If I wanted to go out and drink myself under the table, he didn’t necessarily condone it, but he also didn’t live in a shell. He knew I was going to do it, and he gave me tips on how to do so without completely destroying the diabetes within me. If I wanted to eat the cruddiest food, he didn’t say no, he gave me options for better balance.

He talked with me, not at me. That was huge.

When I finally punched Dear Diabetes in the face and said Look, you don’t control me, I control you, I did it for me. But if we’re being completely truthful, and I think we are, the crush I have had on Dr. Hottie has been a strong guiding force in keeping Dear Diabetes under my thumb. When my hgA1c started on a trajectory towards near perfection, the excitement I saw in his twinkling eyes, and heard in his voice made me want more. I craved his exclamations:

“These are numbers to grow old with!”
“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it!”
“You’re healthier than many without this disease!”
“You’re a rockstar!”

While I am still mourning the loss of this great specialist in my life, I am proud to say that we ended our relationship on a beautiful note. Yesterday’s hgA1c was 5.3. To put that into context for those without this disease, the hemoglobin A1C for a “healthy” non-diabetic is less than 5.7.

Yep, I am a rockstar!

Goodbye Dr. Hottie, you will forever be in my diabetes-thriving heart.

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     About men, indeed 😉                                                                                     (Photo retrieved from: https://www.flickr.com/photos/44592535@N04/)

Dr. Hottie report: straight A’s

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.

NOTE:
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!”

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NOTE:
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! 😀

26 weeks: Channeling Aretha

R-E-S-P-E-C-T! That’s the song I felt like belting out as I soared out of the diabetes in pregnancy clinic earlier this week all afloat with good momma-to-be vibes swooping through me.

When I walked into the clinic Tuesday morning, I was prepared to give them hell if they gave me any trouble – any trouble! – with my weight gain or BG control. I’d been practicing in my car all week with strong one-sided conversations with that nasty dietitian I saw last, and I was determined not to let her break my shell again. But the practice was all for not. This week I saw a new dietitian, and my favourite endocrinologist of the clinic was back from her European holidays.


The past couple appointments I’ve felt dread walking through these doors, but not anymore!

So what happened? Well, let’s start with the weight gain: It seems I’m down a smidge from a month ago (0.7 kg to be exact) which could have something to do with the fact that because these medical peeps have essentially freaked the crap out of me, I wouldn’t step on that scale without first removing my shoes, jeans, insulin pump and watch! (FYI: the scale is in the washroom, no one is around me, I could have gotten stark naked if I so desired… and believe me, the thought did cross my mind.)

The new dietitian, who I really liked was a little concerned with my slight weight loss, and so I told her what I did and why. Her eyes half bulged at my reasoning for stripping down. She told me I am in no way overweight for my pregnancy, that in fact, I’m slightly below the range I should be. Not upsettingly low, just 1 kg below the 73 to 77 kg range they’d prefer I be in. She told me not to worry about weight gain, I’m “on the right track.”

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!


Seriously, with meals like this, how could I not be viewed as healthy?

She was also super impressed with how much I check my blood sugars. I half-laughed and told her that over the years I’ve become a bit OCD with my BG control, even before pregnancy, to which she replied I was a breath of fresh air after dealing with so many others who hardly ever check their blood sugars.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

When it was time to see my favourite endocrinologist of the clinic, I was so super happy and took the opportunity to combine the diabetes appointment with a counselling session. Pretty much as soon as I walked into her office, I was spilling out every bad appointment I’d had since she left more than a month ago, the tears, the nasty comments, the worries, the fears, everything. And I kid you not, I think she might have been more offended than I was with the situation. She told me in no way should any of that have been said to me. She said my HgA1c is “outstanding,” and that “it’s the best of anyone in that clinic,” and that my belly, which measured 25 and a half inches, was perfectly in line with being 25 and a half weeks at the time, and that the higher blood sugars I was experiencing corresponded to the exact same time that non-diabetics get tested for gestational diabetes due to a healthy placenta pumping out added hormones that make it more difficult for insulin to do its job efficiently. “You are doing everything right,” she said. “Don’t let them freak you out!”

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!


You better believe I was channeling Miss Aretha!

So basically, suck it nasty doctors and dietitians!

She-Diabetic: Hear me roar

Oh man, I walked into that doctor’s office, pounded my chest with great amounts of bravado and announced I am She-Diabetic, hear me roar! Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly how it went down, but in my head that’s how it played out.

As you know, after last week’s appointment with my maternity doctors, I walked out feeling crushed, defeated, like I was the worst mom-to-be ever. But thanks to the advice of my moms and sister-in-law, I decided to take charge. I made a follow-up appointment on Monday with the senior doctor in the clinic who has a pretty good history with my family. I had a page full of notes with me to ensure I wouldn’t forget a thing, and with my voice somewhat on the shaky side (Hey! Even She-Ra didn’t like confrontation without her super-chick costume!) I listed off all the reasons why I had concerns regarding my appointment with Dr. Jackass and why I in no way wanted him to be a part of my delivery.

Throughout my entire spiel, Dr. D’s face was contorted into a grimace – eyes squinted, nose crinkled, lips puckered, and neck buried so far into his shoulders, I was surprised he was able to pull it back out again. He was either thinking a) Holy crap, how the hell did I end up with this one today? or b) Why the hell would Dr. Jackass tell her that?

I’m going with the latter.

So here’s the thing, Dr. D told me that technically speaking Dr. Jackass was following proper protocol. Because I have Type 1 diabetes, I’m automatically considered high risk, which means, following the book, I should be sent to a high-risk obstetrician. But what Dr. Jackass failed to take into consideration is my knowledge, my history, and my excellent control of this disease. He was looking at me as a label, not as a person. Not the first time that’s happened in my 25 years with this disease, but still frustrating as hell!

Dr. D also said that he and the other senior doctor in there had no problem caring for me during pregnancy because in their history they’ve dealt with several high-risk patients (long before the town got a selection of obstetricians) and because I was so well controlled with my diabetes going into pregnancy. And furthermore, he told me I had no need to worry about getting Dr. Jackass, given that Dr. Jackass would be retiring from obstetrics come August – one month before I am to deliver.

Wow.

However, Dr. D recommended I keep my appointment with the high-risk obstetrician. He told me she has a great reputation, I’d really like her, and that she is the highest level of care I can get. As well, because it would solely be her I’m dealing with (not a group of doctors like I do at the maternity clinic) she would more than likely schedule my inducement on a day she could be there, ensuring I had a medical professional there I trusted. And if I didn’t like her, Dr. D said I was more than welcome to come back there, and they’d work it out for me.

The appointment concluded with Dr. D telling me not to take too much stock into the so-called “larger than average” belly I’m sporting, because regular ultrasounds, which I start getting at 28 weeks, are a far more accurate measurement of the baby than my bloody belly. He also said that by all accounts, I’m doing great with my diabetes … which is exactly what my regular diabetes specialist (who’s not handling my diabetes during pregnancy) told me in an email earlier that day after I had frantically fired off an email to him seeking advice.

Here’s an excerpt from Dr. Hottiecrinologist:

I suspect the increase in sugar after breakfast is a strong increase in hormone resistance from the placental hormones at that time of day.  It means the placenta is healthy.  You may have to increase your basal rate earlier, before breakfast,  to get ahead of the glucose surge. (In addition to the CHO ratio change).  It sounds like you have been doing very well overall…

So, to all the other medical peeps out there giving me a hard time, treating me like I don’t know my disease, or that I am solely my disease and nothing else,  you can all just fugg off! ROAR!!!