Better Late Than Forever Never

Where has the time gone?  Well, it has gone into a steaming pile of nothing.  I have been busy with the whole “being a daddy” gig and being a lazy waste of Cheeto smashing space.  With the advent of the 2015-2016 school year I have decided to do right with trying to get on track with my health – the one thing that truly only matters in terms of my prolonged happiness.  I use adult language so be warned.

Scary Monsters
I’m going to be honest, I thought I would never really deal with the fear of diabetes, but around May of this year I was placed on a couple of diabetes medications because my terrible dieting habits finally took their toll on me.  Sitting in my doctor’s office, weighing a rotund 365 lbs, I was feeling bad and they took my blood glucose level (BGL).  It was 452, roughly half of my cousin’s sugar when he almost left this world from almost going into a diabetic coma.  I felt like crap and I was very tired.  I Took those medications and didn’t think twice about it.  My sugar stayed on level even though I was still eating trash.  One day at school, my sugar stooped into the low 60s and as a result, I missed a week of school because, well, I almost died I suppose.  I was scared.  For the first time in my life I thought I was legit not going to make it and my brain broke.  I walked around the school asking a few questions:

  1. Where am I?
  2. What am I supposed to do?
  3. Am I dying?
  4. Why can’t I feel my face?
  5. Why are my hands/feet numb?
  6. Why is my vision doing weird things?
  7. Why do my coworkers keep asking me why I look so terrible?

The second I snapped out of that fugue state I immediately went to the nurse and she brings me a cup of sugar.  I called my doctor and drove myself to the doctor and she determined that she was “too aggressive” with my treatment and just put me on one medicine.  I drove home, in a state that was probably not the best, and then my body crashed hard that evening.  I got off all of the meds and wrapped up the school year.  Fading memory.  I defeated the BEETUS!

But Not Really…
We went on a nice vacation this summer and it was a long drive to Virginia.  I noticed I was drinking more liquids than usual.  Water, Coke, mochas from McDonalds and eating more toxic waste.  I also had to make frequent stops to pee.  Was my prostate going bad?  Do I have Prostate cancer?  I didn’t know, but I do know this:  I got one hell of a nasty yeast infection.  I was like “Come on, my dick ain’t that dirty!” but apparently, when your sugar hovers around 400 and you pee 10 times within an 8 hour window, all that sitting with any sugar heavy urine left over is like a breeding ground for bacteria.  I treated it with, well, some generic ointment and I took a few lighthearted jabs from my wife about it.  However, as I healed up from that, I noticed that I had a slight burning sensation when I peed.  So I sang a song by Rodney Carrington and peed.  No biggie.

A few days later I couldn’t sing that song anymore because the burning sensation was no longer sensational.  It was a razor blades cutting my urethra into ribbons sensation.  I thought Little John was broke.  No, apparently I had a UTI.  Most likely caused from, you guessed it, that infection.  I damn near cried when I peed for two weeks and I felt Paul Edgecomb’s pain (Tom Hanks from The Green Mile).  Except every time I pissed, I cried out for Michael Clark Duncan to bear palm my crotch and suck the evil bacteria bugs from my mouth.  DIdn’t happen.  Just two weeks of taking an antibiotic that destroyed me in so many ways got me peeing right.  Oh, I was pissing blood too, so I am pretty sure I was again, close to dying or something.

Returning to the Doctor
Went to a new doctor for this UTI thing and mid treatment I went back for blood work.  He was hitting me with the dreaded D word and a few days later my hba1c (Don’t know what this means) level was 10.79.  He immediately wanted me on insulin shots and I stopped him and said “Hey umm, can I drop that level with just dieting and exercise?”  He said definitely.  Come back in three weeks.  Of course, I’ve missed that appointment (I am terrible about making doctor’s appointments).

So I have been on a diabetic diet for three weeks now.  I hate my life. I hate you.  I hate everything.  I want a bucket of coke, a platter of fried chicken and a tub of ice cream.  But no, I have been weathering the storm for a few weeks.

Weight: 354.2 Lbs


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