Spoonful of Sugar Series - #1 “Pollyannaism”
A Disappointing Diagnosis
When I was treated for ovarian cancer (pre and post op), part of my regimen was radiation. Back then (1970s), full abdominal radiation was the gold standard, to which we (Mum, Dad and I) all agreed. But there were complications, a couple severe, whilst I was in the hospital. One of those was, despite me not eating much of anything, I developed an elevated blood sugar count. Subsequent to the completion of my radiation treatments, we were told that unavoidable damage had been done to my pancreas, liver and spleen. The doctor made it clear that I would henceforth have high blood sugar levels and that, with age, it would worsen. In the euphoria of having, unexpectedly, defeated ovarian cancer, those words of wisdom were all but forgotten.
During the past decade, following all blood work results, my family doctor made a point of telling me that, ‘though my blood sugar was still higher than normal, it was static, and still below the pre-diabetes level. Nothing, she promised, to worry about. Fast forward to my new doctor and my first complete physical in #IdRatherNotSayHowLong, my blood sugar has risen further - into the official "pre-diabetes range" and I have one, three-month opportunity (’til the next scheduled full blood panel), to get it in order or regular testing and insulin would almost assuredly be necessary.
Not a surprise, right? But it was. A shock. I don’t feel any different. How did this happen and why now? What changed? (I know, I know - age!) I felt devastated, frustrated, betrayed and angry. And humiliated. And ashamed. Did my eating habits contribute to this?
I try to eat healthily, and my meals always are, but I have a seemingly interminable list of weaknesses, none of which were regularly indulged, but all of which are now taboo:
Shortbread fingers with afternoon tea; and
French toast or pancakes topped with maple syrup; and
Toasted Hot Cross buns. With marmalade, not butter. Good marmalade, Scots marmalade, with lots of peel; and
Scrambled eggs for supper, with toast and jam for dessert; and
Peach cobbler; and
Blackberry cobbler; and
Apple crisp; and
Blueberry crisp; and
Pumpkin spice lattes; and…
“she had been too busy wishing things were different to find much time to enjoy things as they were”*
When the doctor gives you an unexpected diagnosis (or even confirms a suspected diagnosis), it can leave your mind at sixes and sevens. Having already had three whoppers in my lifetime, this is a perspective with which I am very familiar. One minute the world is rosy and the next you are in utter turmoil and that’s the state I was in when I exited the doctor’s office - busy wishing things were different, and consumed by guilt and regret.
Cam is steadfastly by my side, and the minute he saw my face he knew something was very wrong. I explained and, as always, he was quick to assure me that together, Team Perrault can handle anything, even this. I also confided in my closest, dearest friend, but that was it. Although I always confide in our Women’s Solidarity Committee, paralysed by shame, this time I did not. I’ve always been an open book where my health is concerned but this diagnosis I guarded as if it were a state secret.
Arrangements were made for me to see a dietician (that’s an altogether different blog post!), and the plan was that, for the ensuing three month period, I’d follow her instructions and advice to the letter. Provided I am dedicated and do not cheat, when the next blood draw results are in, we’ll know definitively whether the cause of my higher blood sugar is dietary or physiological . Ohmigosh - in a very Pollyannaish-manner, I am holding on - admittedly by a thread - to the hope that my new diet is a good enough fix.
“When you look for the bad, expecting it, you will get it.
When you know you will find the good—you will get that….”*
Back to the dietician (who is lovely). At my second consultation, she enquired about my friends’ reactions and I sheepishly admitted that I’d only told two people. Why haven’t you told anyone else, she asked me? She continued, The people who love you and know you best will want to help and sometimes that badly needed help comes in the most unexpected ways. Social support has one of the biggest, positive, impacts on our health - all the way from diagnosis, through treatment, to recovery. Serious health issues affect all aspects of your life; your friends and loved ones need and deserve to know what is going on. Quite the lecture, non? She stressed, over and over again, that high blood sugar is nothing to be ashamed of. That I ought, very soon, to confide my diagnosis and this blog post is my first share. My fingers, toes and lots of other bits are all crossed that no one judges.
“And most generally there is something about everything that you can be glad about”*
Today, clinging to Pollyannaism, I am glad about you, dear readers, and glad about getting this secret out into the open.
’Til next time, y’all…
* Eleanor Hodgman Porter, from Pollyanna: Pages 97, 276 and 79.
Comments
Some thoughts from a veteran, if you don't mind.
Almost 20 years ago, after a physical, I received "the call" from my doctor's office; he wanted to talk to me.
So I assumed something important was up when the appointment was booked for a day and a half later. The conversation was short and blunt. My a1c result was 7.1, above the 7.0 threshold that reflected diabetes. He said diabetes is like being pregnant, you either are or your not, and I was.
I was quickly scheduled to the diabetes clinic for a meeting with a nurse and a dietitian. The outcome was a more restricted diet, a suggestion to exercise, lose at least 10% of my body weight and add a few new pills to my daily regimen. I was warned that injectable insulin was likely down the road (I was hoping for a long way down the road). I don't know if it was just ignorance, but I never expected any prejudice and I never have faced any.
My family and friends and co-workers all knew about my new diagnosis, and while there were a few questions, nothing else.
After a few years, I met and moved in with a Registered Dietitian. I didn't know about her profession and she didn't know about my diagnosis until our second or third date. Her experience and expertise helped me, she even figured out how to make cookies and cake to satisfy my sweet tooth, after eating a healthy main course.
Today, I am 45 pounds lighter than those days, I lost more weight than I needed to or planned on, but that's ok.
I now give myself 4 injections a day and take a couple of meds orally. My family and friends all know, most have been there when I surreptitiously pull up my shirt and stick myself with the needle. Sometimes they ask about it (how often do I do it and does it hurt), it has NEVER been an issue for me. And by the way, 98% of the time I can't feel it at all, 1% of the time it stings a bit, and the rest can hurt like hell .
I always ask if I can take my shot and have never had to take it somewhere else, although some people turn away. If I didn't ask, they likely wouldn't even know that I had done it.
I have heard about, and many of the diabetic organizations certainly warn of the stigma associated with this disease. Perhaps I am too oblivious or unaware to see it, but I never have run into it.
Has it meant some changes in my life? Yes. Are those changes onerous? Not in my experience. Have I ever felt excluded or stigmatized? Nope.
My sugars are listed as tightly controlled and to date there has been no evidence of related disease. That's very good news because some of them can be quite severe.
If you questions, please feel free to reach out.
You got this, girl!
(PS Continuous Glucose Monitoring with either Dexcom or Freestyle Libre saves your fingers from multiple finger sticks a day, and I would HIGHLY recommend it if you can use it!