Age Old Debate

I overhead two young moms the other day debating what to do about Santa. Do they play along with the whole charade, pretending like he's real, letting their kids find out "the truth" later on, or do they simply spill the beans from the start? It's hard to know which is best.

I believed it when I was a kid. My parents had me totally convinced. Maybe it was easier back in the 1960's. Or maybe it was just easier for me, growing up in a sheltered household, where my parents kept us happy and safe.

Sometimes, I think it's the same way with Diabetes. Especially when it comes to checking my blood. Do I want to "know" or not?

A few years ago, my sister decided to tell her kids while they were still small. I remember thinking it was such a tragedy, robbing them of that childhood fantasy, taking away the "magic" of Christmas. But they seem okay now. No harm done.

In my family, we found out the hard way. One year, around age 10 or 11, I heard my parents throwing a fit in January over all their Christmas bills. At first, it made no sense to me. If everything came from Santa, what were they so upset about? Then it finally dawned on me. The whole "Santa thing" was a crock.

Of course, I had my suspicions. All the department store Santas. Really? Even the guy who came to my kindergarten class, wearing black-rimmed glasses and a beard that kept sliding up and down his chin.

Looking at it now, to kids it must seem like a world-wide conspiracy. Your parents, your teachers and even your church all telling you the same thing. Everywhere, the same story. It must be true. Why would they tell you otherwise?

It's probably the only time in your life when everyone agrees -- except, its a lie!

As an adult, you come to realize that people lie all the time. They do it for lots of reasons. Even good ones. They lie to "protect" you from disappointment, or pain.

I never blamed my parents. They wanted me to be happy. And for a few short years, living in my make-believe world of childhood, I was incredibly happy. It was like a gift. And part of me still cherishes it to this day.

Unfortunately, many make-believe things in life turn out not to be true.

People are not always as good, or sincere, or trustworthy as they first seem to be. Anymore, I find it hard to trust anyone. I'm always looking for the hidden agenda. A few people will surprise you. After all your searching, all your patience, all your meticulous efforts to uncover their "secret" intentions -- you find out there are none.

But mostly, it's the other way around. My wife is a good one with instincts. She can always sense when someone is not to be trusted. She figures it's better to know, before they take advantage.

And so, I'm pretty cautious with most people I meet. Not revealing too much of myself, staying neutral, letting them talk my ear off, telling me "how things are", so I can measure it all in my mind, trying to figure them out.

When my doctor told me I had Diabetes, I knew he was telling me the truth. I didn't want to accept it. But he was going "by definition" from my test results. Then I confirmed it myself -- by the numbers -- over and over again.

He recently doubled the dose on my medication. It bothers me, but I'm going along. Day after day. In February, I'll find out if it worked or not. I'm sure he's only trying to make me better.

But it makes me not want to check. Not want to repeat the daily ritual. Not want to go through the daily anxiety of reading the meter to find out if I'm "okay".

And so, it's like another debate. To know, or not to know?

Of course, I should keep up the routine. I need to know the truth. And I will, eventually. Once my numbers level off, then I can test without fear. Right now, I don't want any bad news. Nothing to spoil my world.

It's nearly Christmas, after all!

　

Holidays...with a Twist

With Thanksgiving under our belts, we forge ahead into the holidays. My first since becoming Diabetic. And so I can't help but wonder how it will differ from seasons past. 

We keep twisting our lives to adapt. How we shop, how we cook, how we eat -- and how we celebrate.

Now I can't expect everyone to prepare sugar-free treats just for me. And I won't bring it up every time we sit down at the table. (I've seen people do this. It puts a damper on the whole thing.)

What does it mean to me? I'll probably be trying to identify the "least harmful" items to eat. Steering away from sweets toward things like crackers and cheese. Drinking diet Coke or Pepsi whenever possible.

Knowing now, (for the first time ever) that my grandmother is also Diabetic, I can select a sugar-free assortment of meltaways from Gorants for her gift, since she loves them so much -- because it's the right thing to do.

I can bypass many traditional delights because they're not good for me, and look the other way when my wife decides to indulge a time or two. She deserves a break. Since we first got the news in August, she's been incredibly supportive.

Foods that I might have steered away from in the past now hold greater appeal. I'll go for veggie trays and dip. Salads and breads and fruits. (This year I enjoyed dressing and gravy like never before.)

But I'll have to be careful with my eyes. (Especially with new glasses.) It's a natural thing that people notice. I must try not to stare. Not to gaze upon pastry in their hands or little napkins stacked high with holiday cookies. I don't want to be the person on a diet who makes everyone else feel guilty.

And I'll be polite. When someone raves, "Oh, you just have to take a bite!" maybe I will, in the Holiday Spirit. Even my doctor said it was okay to "cheat" once in a while.

But I won't sit around looking sad. I won't make annoying comments like "Do you know how much sugar is in that?" Of course, they do. They don't need to be reminded. And they don't need to hear endless boo-hoos from the ex-smoker who's just "dying for a cigarette".

Who knows? We may not even make it to Christmas. The Mayan calendar ends 12-21-12. It could be the end of life as we know it. All the preparations, all the worry could be for naught. Forget Diabetes.

If nothing happens, I'll be surprised.

My mom's been gone a year now. Our second family Christmas without her. We're talking about eating out, together at some restaurant (no decision yet on which one), then returning home to open gifts. We've never done that before. Will it lessen the strain or increase it? I cannot even guess.

With the kids in our family getting older, we should have less opening of packages than in the past. My wife and I are thinking about gift cards for everyone on our list. Somehow, we don't "feel it" so much this year. All we can think about is all the people suffering in New York and New Jersey from Hurricane Sandy. For the first time, we became especially conscious of all the corporate sponsors in the Macy's parade. It seemed more like advertising than anything else.

So what's up with the Mars "discovery"? They say it could be 'history in the making'. We just started watching season four of Ancient Aliens on DVD from the History Channel. Makes you wonder if the current Middle East conflict is part of a grander scheme. Does anyone else feel like this scenario might be reminiscent of 9-1-1? Everything changed after that.

We still look back on the days before 2001 with fond remembrance. Much the same way I look back on my life before I was diagnosed with Diabetes. Nothing's the same.

No doubt every member of my family will try to keep up the holiday tradition, with all the frivolity we can muster. Plans will be made, gifts will be purchased and we'll anticipate a "time to remember". It'll be my first season with Diabetes. We may even get visitors from outer space.

Yes. I'm expecting a "twist" this year -- in more ways than one.

　

The Eyes Have It

Today's the day. Five years (at least, maybe more) since I got a new pair of prescription eyeglasses, and I'm going in. I know my eyes have changed. They told me so when I had a Diabetic eye exam in September. The news was good at that point (no signs of retinopathy or any other problems) except that my vision was blurred.

Well the blurriness is gone. I can see everything clearly (except for small print) without glasses at all -- just like before. So I said to my wife, "Why go?" and she said, "Because you're due!" She's better than me about things like that. Doing stuff that "needs to be done" whether you want to or not.

Without her at my side, I might not do a lot of things. Like attending birthday parties for my niece and nephew (which inevitably take up half of a perfectly good Sunday afternoon), or calling hours at funeral homes for people I've never met (but happen to know a coworker or extended family member), or weddings, or...well, you get the idea.

My wife is like my own personal Jiminy Cricket. (You know, Pinocchio? "And always let your conscience be your guide!".)

I go along, because I know that she's right. She's always had a knack for making friends and keeping them. She knows what people expect and how they interpret all kinds of behavior.

She taught me how to take an interest in others. To ask about their children/ pets/ homes/ activities/ disappointments/ joys in life, etc. People expect you to ask. They expect you to care. And when you do, they not only take it as a compliment, but they tend to like you more back. It's a reciprocal thing. And it works.

We all need help from time to time. It behooves us to gather as many allies as possible, wherever we happen to be.

I used to forget people's names almost instantly. Even after I'd seen them over and again. Because it didn't seem to matter. Out of sight, out of mind. It didn't matter to me, but it mattered to them. I just didn't realize it.

Another thing was eye contact. I used to avoid it pretty much. Not wanting to get too close, to feel their eyes scanning me, to think about how they must be "sizing me up" the way most people do the first time they meet. The whole thing gave me the creeps.

But it also put me at a disadvantage. Without eye contact, people could never really get to know me. Everything stayed superficial, with no growth in the relationship. Keeping everyone at arm's length, made them acquaintances (but not friends) forever.

I used to think "what relationship"? They're just somebody I know. But very few people have the ability to stay neutral. They either like you or they don't. And when the chips are down, when someone else has the power to influence your fate, nine times out of ten, it's better for them to be your ally. (You might say "The I's have it" -- the ability to make your life better or worse.)

Of course it doesn't always work. But it's worth a try.

I don't possess a lot of natural charm. I've never been very good at winning strangers over to my side. The key here seems to be "make sure they're not strangers for long". The more you get to know them, the more they get to know you and bingo -- you've found a friend. The more people you interact with from day to day, the more friends you need.

So now that I have Diabetes, I also realize that I share something in common with every single person who has this condition. I see the medication in their chart and think, "Oh my god -- just like me!" And it's a moment of revelation. I wonder how they're coping from day to day with all the same challenges and how it affects their view on life.

My doctor likes to call it a disease. He keeps saying how it's "wasting" away at my body. Sucking the life out of me. He sounds like a broken record. I don't want to think about it that way. I don't want to feel as if the clock is suddenly ticking toward my cruel and bitter fate. I'd rather think of it as something to be managed -- but a condition I can live with.

At least my eyes are finally back to normal. All I need is a new pair of glasses. (My wife just reminded me, again.) For two months at least, I had trouble. Wondering if my vision would come back.

As an artist (my inner self at least, long before I ever went to college) light, and color and motion (I've always loved movies) mean a great deal. It also means I can better connect with people. For a while, I feared my enjoyment of life might diminish.

Now they're back. The eyes have it -- and I, for one, am glad.

　

　

Keepin' it Real

My job keeps me on the road quite a bit these days. And it changes one's perspective. Downtime in the car allows my mind to roam. I find myself asking questions about where I am (in life) and where I'd like to be.

My wife used to say that our lives are divided in phases of about 25 years (give or take a few). The first 25, we grow up, get an education, get married and have kids. The second, we strive to acquire a home, raise our kids and plan for retirement. The third, (hopefully) we establish an exit strategy from our careers, watch our kids get married, and enjoy what's left before old age takes hold, zapping our energy and strength.

Not everything goes according to plan. With graduate school and career bumps, it took me until age 36 to clear phase one. Right now, I'm somewhere between phase 2 and 3. My age was never much of a concern until now. Diabetes is making me feel old. It's a sign of mortality that I hadn't anticipated.

Since the moment I graduated from college, I heard financial planners say, "Invest in your retirement". But for me, it was never possible. Between repayment of student loans and trying to keep a roof over my head, there was never enough to put aside. I tried setting up an IRA once, but it never grew much, because I could not make regular contributions. Then I was self employed for a while. Finally, I ended up cashing it out after 10 years to solve a money crunch.

An employer's 401K did enable to me to acquire a small nest egg over a period of about 4 years, but I could not survive on it for more than six months. So retirement is out of the question right now. (I still have a goal in mind, about ten years down the road.)

Many people over fifty are seeing their plans go awry. Forced out before retirement age, using up their savings prematurely, seeking work for less pay simply to cover the bills.

This brings me back to those long commutes, wrestling with myself in the car. I keep trying to assess my skills and consider the possibilities. Every one of us has untapped potential. Avenues we elected not to pursue early in life, that may still be explored, if we are brave enough to try.

Ever read about people 'starting over' at forty...or fifty? Some do. They finally pour their efforts into some dream they once harbored, finding success at last, doing something they really love. (For me, it was always art.)

So I'm wondering if this newfound awareness of my mortality should motivate me to pursue a dream. Not in a foolish way. Not chucking my 'day job' without something to fall back on. But taking the time available to me, on nights and weekends, to develop my skills and find an outlet.

My art ability was something I never really learned, because it came naturally. And though I pursued it with great intensity as a youth in many ways (drawing, painting, sculpting, movie make-up, film-making), when it came time to choose a college major, I chose a career in healthcare because I was afraid of wasting my parents' money.

Every so often I would dabble in art, to see if the skill was still there. Incredibly, the talent survives.

Fear is a great obstacle. Diabetes, in a way, is forcing me to confront my fears. I stayed away from art out of fear. Fear of failure. But now I'm ready to try it again. Because I see other people doing it every day.

I was always afraid of oil painting. I thought it might be too hard to learn. Too complicated. Too expensive. Recently, I acquired some oil paints and created my first work of art in that medium. It was time consuming, yes, but not difficult. I already possess an eye for color and composition. All I have to do is apply it.

So now, I'm ready for more.

I keep thinking, maybe this is what I'm supposed to do. Explore a god-given talent while I still possess enough strength and enthusiasm to do so. Make it part of my reality.

Maybe that's what "Keepin' it Real" should mean for me.

Round Two

The results came in from my blood work. My sugar level was good (121). But there was another number, A1C, which read at 8.0. (Supposedly the norm should be 6.5 or less). Even though I don't understand the importance of it, my doctor had said it might be necessary to adjust my medication level. So, another trip to the pharmacy for more pills.

My wife keeps telling me I have to do this. I'm only doing it for her. I don't believe in all this medication. Why? Because I feel fine.

I'm very wary of side effects. I've managed to live my life for fifty years without taking prescriptions. Now, maybe my blood chemistry has changed. Maybe this is simply an attempt to replace what's missing.

Only time will tell. I've heard stories about one medication causing a side effect. Prescribing another medication to counteract it. Then another side effect, and so on. I've heard people tell me they take ten or twenty pills a day. And they almost never feel good with that kind of routine.

"This time," I said, "I'll go along." But I'm not a lab rat. And I don't want to feel like someone else's science experiment.

Maybe this is normal, early on. Making adjustments until the numbers line up. Then, hopefully, once I'm stabilized, I can stick to a routine without change. I'd like that.

It happened to my brother. He takes more than one pill a day.

But it also happened to my mom. That worries me more. She died from cancer. In the end she took more pills per day than I ever thought possible. I just don't want this whole thing to get out of hand. I don't need to make my life more complicated. It makes me wonder how long this whole "process" will take.

It also makes me wonder how long I will live. Of course, no one knows. But I've always hoped for a lifespan consistent with that of my parents. Dad's seventy-five. I should have twenty-five more years.

It's not the length per se that matters, but time. Time to do other things. To pursue my goals and dreams. To spend with my wife. Trips we'd like to take. Places we'd like to see. Plans we've made.

No doubt this will be one round of many. I remember my brother telling me how he had to keep going back to the doctor's office every three months for a refill on his prescriptions.

I can understand how some people get fed up. I've heard more than one person say, "I'm supposed to take some medicine, but I stopped. And I don't go to the doctor any more."

Now, of course, I'm sure it is probably best to follow medical advice. And I'm struggling to reach that comfort level. That level of trust. To believe that it is best for me.

Fear is ever present. But I don't want to be controlled by it. People use fear all the time to manipulate others. They dream up scenarios to frighten them about what might happen. I'm leary of those kinds of predictions. Anything might happen. That doesn't mean it will. Something inside tells me not to fall for that.

I'd rather take it day by day. Look for the signs, but not obcess over them.

Too much awareness can mess up your mind. All the media outlets surrounding us. Bombarding us with messages. (Most of them designed to push us toward one action or another. And it's all for profit.) Sometimes, I get information overload. So, I turn off the television and the radio.

And it can be an amazing thing. When you turn off all the noise, it enables you to think clearly about things you never thought before. It frees your mind. Some of the best ideas I've ever had came to me this way.

Okay. Three more months. I'll stick to the plan and see what develops.

Until the next round begins.

　

　

　

Deja Vu

Three months since my diagnosis with Type 2, and there I was, in the doctor's office, getting my blood drawn. A new nurse this time (let's call her Chatty Cathy) making all the pleasant small talk one might expect. "Here for bloodwork?" she asked. I might have said, "I'm not here for my health!" -- but of course, I was.

The concept of drawing blood doesn't thrill me. I do not really trust the medical profession. Maybe it's all the pharmaceutical ads with "actor portrayals" instead of real physicians. (Although this seems to be the case less and less, with 'real doctors' showing up on infomercials to sell everything from weight loss pills to miracle skin cream.)

I always feel like they're on a fishing expedition. It also seems to me like every so often, the 'standards of normal' get revised downward, narrowing the range, so increasing numbers of people can be diagnosed with high levels of one thing or another, requiring medication to bring it down. (Years ago, I had one doctor rubbing his hands with anticipation as his assistant stuck a needle in my arm. It was almost as if he was excited about what they might find.)

This was the same doctor who put my wife on more than one medication for high cholesterol. One gave her a run down feeling all the time, zapping her energy and motivation. Another caused a panic attack, making her feel like she could not breathe for almost an hour. They ended up taking that one off the market. (We later switched to another physician who did similar tests, took her off all medication, and she's been fine ever since.)

And Chatty Cathy? She stuck me twice. The first arm did not surrender enough blood.

So my doctor came in to repeat the same speech about Diabetes. Even though I was feeling encouraged by a weight gain of five pounds (after losing twenty without explanation prior to diagnosis), he told me that we want it to 'level off' now, so that everything will stabilize. He said they would be checking my blood sugar and cholesterol. He also said they'd be checking kidney and liver function. If everything looks good, they might even extend my next visit to six months instead of three. He gave a refill on my medication. (A ninety day supply this time -- that's one big bottle of pills.)

For someone who's always been so healthy, this whole Diabetes thing feels like a mistake. Like it wasn't supposed to happen. I still keep thinking it might somehow go away. I've totally adjusted my routine, changed my eating habits, and I feel fine. (My blood pressure that day was 106/72. How great is that?)

We may get results sometime today by phone. I'm really hoping everything will be okay. I'd like to stop thinking about this for a while. Take my daily medicine and forget about it. (I keep thinking there must be a way to get around this. To improve my levels to the point where I can get off medication and live like a normal person. In spite of all my self-talk, and efforts on acceptance, it's a thought that won't go away.)

Of course, it's not the worse thing that could happen. It just makes me different than before. I don't see why this change should occur just because I turned fifty. One day I'm fine, the next day I'm not. (Not completely true, of course, since it took several months for me to realize that something was wrong, and my doctor told me that I've probably had the condition longer than that.)

A doctor's office is just not my favorite place to be. I'm still bound and determined to spend as little time there as possible. After witnessing what happened to several people, enduring extended treatment for cancer, with months and months of misery, only to die anyway, my wife and I have made a vow not to do the same. (I still believe that medical care should be a personal decision, and each person should have a choice about how much care they wish to receive.)

Does it not feel like a major shift has taken place? I understand that the costs for healthcare providers keep going up, making it harder and harder for them to survive on their own. That's why so many join medical groups. That's why they go to work for corporations. I do appreciate the fact that my physician continues his own private practice.

So, here I am patiently waiting, hoping for good results.

It's like deja vu.

　

　

　

　

　

What's your plan?

I hear it all the time. People talk about careers, or house-hunting or the upcoming football season. Any time we embark on some new venture, the question arises. So it seems logical to ask the same question about Diabetes.

When I was a kid, plans were simple. My parents got married, found jobs, bought a house, raised kids. End of plan.

School was pretty much the same. Go to class. Do your homework. Study. (Admittedly, I liked school.  Books and me got along.) I liked it so much, that after graduation, I kept on going. For eight more years. (By then, the appeal was gone.)

We all make plans, every day. Some more complicated than others. Some people draw up elaborate plans. I've read books on the subject. The authors are so super-organized, it sounds impossible. Calendars and journals filled out in explicit detail -- days, weeks and months ahead of time.

Now people put everything in their cell phones. It's all in there.

But how often do plans go awry? Meeting dates change. Appointments need rescheduled. Endless emails back and forth. Sometimes I think people spend twice as much time rearranging their plans, confirming them with others, than it takes to do the actual thing they had "planned" in the first place.

It's okay to change it, they say, so long as you replace one plan with another. (I make mini-plans all day. Most of mine are short term. To get through the next hour, the next day, or next week.)

But too much planning makes me feel stifled. Like I can barely breathe. There's no room to take a walk, or play with your dog, or visit a friend. No time to relax. We're not supposed to live that way.

I try to be flexible (sometimes it's not easy, because I don't like surprises). So I'm constantly trying to adapt. Wherever I happen to be, it's all about getting my bearings. Who, What, Why -- and When. When is a biggie. (We all keep track of time.) For me, it's how long until I go home.

Sometimes I wonder. What kind of plan do I need?

Planners act as if they're in control. But they're not. It's an illusion. (Remember Jurassic Park? Classic example.) Things can change any time.

So, I plan to eat right. Been doing that for months already. It's second nature by now.

I plan to check my blood. Ditto. Not my favorite part of the day. It seems so unnatural to make myself bleed on purpose. Holding my breath for five seconds, waiting for that number to appear. High or Low? Bad or Good?

I plan to take my medicine. Twice a day, every day. (The concept of forever still bothers me. But I always said I could live with it.)

Beyond that, I'm not so sure. Should I plan for complications? Should I fret about what lies ahead?

I've never been good at that. My wife is much better. She frets about everything. Every storm, every holiday, every event that's about to happen. We gas up the car. We lay everything out. We dress early. (Usually, we're the first ones to arrrive.)

Diabetes? I'm almost afraid to read much about it. I'd rather live here and now. My "plan'? To get through the day, and pretend that it's not really affecting my life.

Okay. What's yours?

Crunch Time

It's been nearly three months since my diagnosis with Type 2 Diabetes. My prescription for Metformin is about to run out, and I have a doctor's appointment in several days. Hard to believe. Somehow, it seems longer.

I've been instructed to fast again the night before. They'll probably check my blood.

I'll want the reading to be good, so maybe I'll rake some leaves the night before. Still have plenty of those around, and it seems to do the trick. For now, I'm hoping to keep everything the same. No new meds. No more change in my routine.

I've had enough change for a while. Alterations to my diet, daily readings, adapting to new ways of thought. I'm not the same person I was three months ago. Not exactly.

And I know this'll probably be another ritual. Every three months, to get my prescription renewed. Although it seems like a "racket", from my doctor's point of view, it probably makes sense. The only way to be sure.

And I've heard tales. Just the other day, I overheard a conversation about someone who's "blood sugar was all out of whack". I guess she wound up in the hospital. Well, that's not for me.

I'm feeling stronger these days. My face is not so drawn. And even though I haven't checked it on the scale, it feels like I've gained a few pounds. My new routine is in place, and I'm working on other goals.

The initial "setback" appears to be over. I just want to move on, being mindful of my condition, taking care of myself without obsessing over it. (Hard to do, since I have that tendency -- a touch of OCD -- obsessive compulsive disorder. Just enough to keep me organized, without going crazy.)

All the little habits add up. As a kid, I took some phrases to heart (Early to bed, early to rise...) because I don't like surprises, and I don't like "burning the candle at both ends". I had enough experience with "all-nighters" in college to make me realize I didn't want to make it a habit. I see too many people still, running themselves down, robbing themselves of energy and motivation, when it's just not necessary.

It used to be about keeping my mind alert, my body in shape (without endless trips to the gym or vigorous daily exercise -- something I could not bring myself to do.) Now I'm hoping it'll just slow the aging process and help me live longer.

Not everyone ages the same. I know that for a fact. I see it every day. Part of it's how people live -- daily choices, over and over again. Constant wear and tear. Part of it's mental attitude. We once had an assistant who moaned and groaned all the time about "how old" she was. Getting "too old" for this or that. Making excuses for herself all the time. Well, that was over ten years ago. I've surpassed her age since (she was fifty), but I don't feel that way at all.

We've had plenty of hard knocks. Financial hurdles. Career change. (At one point, moving twice in one year, dealing with the death of our cherished family pet, and separation from our son as he faced his first year in college.)

Everyone deals with hardship. We all suffer loss.

Some people complain about everything. My mother-in-law does that. She's over 90 with nearly perfect health, in a facility where people care for her around the clock, and receives regular visits at least two or three times a week. Good meals. Activities all the time. Plenty of people that she knows, from her hometown. (My wife and I say "we should be so lucky" some day.) Yet she complains. It's like her favorite pass time.

I know people have their reasons. Most often it's poor health, or bad luck, or a long string of "things that didn't work out". Bad things happen to everyone. But we've got to get past it. Why? Because the alternative is worse, letting it drag you down, making you so bitter and unpleasant that no one wants to be around you.

I coach myself constantly. Trying to stay motivated. Looking for good things.

Diabetes definitely threw me for a loop. It wasn't a part of my "plan". But I'm dealing with it the best that I can. And now, it's time to return to my doctor's office, where it feels like this whole thing began. Crunch Time.

Wish me luck.