We're on the third day of Karen's stellar DBlog Week, and today we're asked: May is Mental Health Month
so now seems like a great time to explore the emotional side of living
with, or caring for someone with, diabetes. What things can make dealing
with diabetes an emotional issue for you and / or your loved one, and
how do you cope? (Thanks go out to Scott of Strangely Diabetic for coordinating this topic.)
The title of this prompt has had ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down" stuck in my head for days. I don't want to talk about that, though. I want to tell you a story about the most recent day that brought me down.
On Monday, I went to see my endocrinologist. If you’ve read
past posts, you’ll know that we’ve been seeing each other for a decade, and
that our relationship has had its ups and downs, but has vastly improved since
I moved back to Toronto in 2010, found the DOC, got an insulin pump, and got my
diabetes groove back (though is it considered getting it back if I’d never
really had it to begin with?)
It’s been a strange feeling, going from absolutely dreading
an endo visit to going in pumped (pardon the semi-intentional pun). This time,
I was pretty excited. My glucose levels had never been better, if my meter was
to be believed. More lows, but less bouncing, and much more in-range. I very
recently joined a gym, and felt last weekend that I was kicking diabetes’ ass.
I was sure that this A1c was going to be my best ever. It was going to start
with 6. 6.7, 6.8, 6.9, maybe…but definitely 6. My average on the meter indicated 6.7,
but I figured it didn’t tell me the whole story, so I didn’t think it would
necessarily be that low, because I was hoping.
I have a daydream that I come back to every so often. I
finally break the 6 barrier that I’ve never been able to crack. My endo opens
the exam room door with a bottle of champagne in hand. I break down in happy
tears. “I can’t believe I finally did it,” I say. “I can’t believe I’ve come so
far.” A sports jersey with my last name and A1c number is revealed. Lucas, 6.8.
The jersey is mounted, attached to wires, lifted to the ceiling for display.
The number is retired. I’ve done it. Finally. One final achievement. One thing
to cross off my bucket list.
I don’t know why the 6 barrier, as I call it, is so
important to me. You’d think getting down to 7.1 once would have been
satisfying enough. It certainly was to my endo. But not to me.
But on Monday, I didn’t get a 7.1.
I got a 7.4.
Now, that’s not a bad number, and it’s down from the last
two. But it’s not even in my top three, and I was expecting at least .5 less
from all the data I had. Therefore, even though it was respectable, I felt a
sharp shock of disappointment. The wrong kind of tears prickled behind my eyes.
I needed to make sure I had heard right. “That’s disappointing,” I said. The
resident was not mean, but not very comforting (and still had quite a bit to
learn; thankfully my CDE, who has T1 herself, showed up to guide her through
some aspects and nip any offense in the bud); “yes, it’s not the greatest
number, but it is down from last time.” She didn’t know how hard I’d worked.
She couldn’t see it. Then I found out that, not only had I not lost weight via
dieting and exercise, I had gained a pound (the nurse was shocked – apparently
I really, really don’t look like I weigh what I do – what does that even mean,
it’s like “you don’t look diabetic” – what does a diabetic look like? – but
I’ll choose to take that as a compliment). In any case, I was feeling really
discouraged about everything. I wasn’t pumped. I was dumped.
Then my endo came in, heard my number, and immediately
congratulated me, and it was a very strange feeling, but it was what I needed
to hear. While we’ve had our differences, here is a woman who knows my history.
I know she knows my history, and suddenly things were once again in
perspective.
A few years ago, I “knew” I had no chance of being a “good”
diabetic, so if I had to be the best something (and I always did) I had to be
the best at being the worst diabetic. It was almost a form of pride to be that
“bad.” In undergrad, Princeton kids loved to one-up each other on how little
sleep had been had, how many pages of work were due, how few hours were left to
do it. Much of what we took pride in was how stressed we could make ourselves.
It’s not necessarily the healthiest way to live, and often indicates a certain
degree of fatalism.
Now, my perfectionism has swung the other way, and I’m
disappointed by a number my endocrinologist sees as perfectly viable. I was
“happy,” and she was not, when I was mistreating myself. Now she’s happy, and
I’m not.
But if I thought about it this way enough, I could be. Because disappointment can be positive.
Because what this disappointment means is that I can see myself do better. I
can expect myself to do better. I can see better as a possibility. I can see an
A1c starting with 6 on my horizon. I CAN say, “I can’t believe I’ve come so
far.” Because 6 barrier or not, I have. I have come so far.
I probably won’t be fully happy until that number actually
gets entered into my chart, but the visualization of it is a good thing. To
have disappointment, you need to have hope. Recognizing that is something to
hold on to.
So I think I have a new goal. It’s not to break the 6
barrier, and celebrate with champagne and tears, and retire my jersey with an
achievement unlocked. It’s to break the 6 barrier, take it all in, smile a
little, and say, “okay. What’s next?”
What’s next?
It’s hope.
I totally can understand your goal of breaking the 6 ... even 6.999 would be champagne worthy. But then I wonder why I have let this dang number have so much power? Great post, Ilana. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteOh my goodness, I have been there!! Last Fall I was SURE I was in the 6's. I would have bet I was 6.4 or lower but then it came back that I was 7.1. 7.1 is amazing! But I was so sure I would be in the lower 6's that I was pretty upset. Good news, I was able by the next visit to get it where I thought it was previously. You can do it!
ReplyDeleteAlso, I think hope is the best tool we can have as diabetics :)
I love this post!
ReplyDeleteWonderful post, Ilana. I'm sorry you didn't get the A1c that you wanted (and deserved!), but it will come. But great job on putting it all into perspective.
ReplyDeleteSometimes I think nothing is more disappointed than working so hard and not seeing the results you are due. But I'm so proud of you for turning it around into motivation to keep caring and keep going. I know you will break that 6 barrier and I'll be toasting with champagne for you!!
ReplyDeleteGreat outlook! From someone who's been there: Getting under 7 almost never happens .5 at a time. Usually, far less than that. And think: Where would you be if you hadn't tried so hard? I think you should be proud of what you've accomplished, because it's significant.
ReplyDeleteGreat outlook! From someone who's been there: Getting under 7 almost never happens .5 at a time. Usually much less than that. And think where you would've been had you not tried to hard? I think you should be proud of your accomplishment, because it's pretty significant.
ReplyDelete