17.3

a random number or the bane of my existence?

Unfortunately, the latter.

As a stickler for all things that reek of academia – today, I embarked on a brand new type of edumacation. The sugar-free variety. Well, that was my first thought – sadly, the second, third and fourth one – didn’t do it justice.

Course - Intro to diabetes: How to manage your diabetes

First thought: nice. Information. I can finally join the living – maybe learn some tips on sneaking sugar into my diet. Shhhh jana. You don’t want people to figure it out.

Second thought: umm 6 classes? Word. By the end of it – I will be a mutha-effin guru.

Third thought: Self administered glucose test. Huh. Now what do they mean by self administered? And what kind of a test needs administration? Huh.

Fourth thought: perforate my own skin with a lancet and then squeezing out a sizable droplet of blood many times a day!!!!!! Please, tell me that biatch is on crack!

ARGH. No such luck.

Yea. Three picks later I discovered that nothing is working.

And believe it or not, that’s quite the humbling experience.

I’ve been eating right (99.9% of the time – god promise)
I’ve been working out at least 4 times a week with daily scheduled walks and everything – no word of a lie.
I’ve been diligently taking my meds – obsessively.
And my blood sugar is at 17.3
That’s 1.3 points higher than it was.

I feel helpless.
Powerless.
Out of control.
I need someone to guide me on this course because this journey just got infinitely harder.

And all I ate this morning was HALF a multigrain bagel.

The reality is slowly but surely seeping into my brain matter. I might have to give myself insulin shots. However, before I jump into the jana-routine and pronounce myself prematurely dead – I’m going to stick it out for the next two weeks – and then ask my family doctor to switch my meds – something stronger perhaps.

I’m falling apart.
And while my brain comes to terms with more schooling in September for my diabolical disease – my finger throbs with the threat of frequent “self administered” piercing.

A self inflicted punishment for all the naughty things my fingers have been part of. I knew I should’ve read the fine print before I accepted this body.

Excuse me mister, this one is broken – it don’t work so hot. Can I get another one?
Mister?

No answer. No surprise. The heavens above rarely open up to resolve their boo-boos.

Woo-hoo.
I’m so lucky.
I get to endure a lifetime of subdued stings.
To feel like a cork board…now, I know I am truly blessed.