Have you ever looked in the mirror and really saw yourself? I don’t know if I have.
Mirrors can be deceiving. In some lights I think I look great. That great feeling gets squashed pretty easily when I have to see my endocrinologist. After that my mirror shows me every negative thing he projected on me. Eleanor Roosevelt said that nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent. No offense to her, but some people really take advantage of people whose bodies are less than perfect while they themselves ride their superior power trip.
Knowing how visiting my endo can crush my self esteem, I overcompensate with the way I look. Vanity has been my blessing and curse my whole life. When I’m nervous I spend as much time as possible glamming it up. The hair, the makeup, the clothes all have to be perfect because if someone is going to dig at the holes in my armor I want to at least feel like I look good.
I was feeling good after my scale showed me a number I haven’t seen in nearly three years. My weight keeps coming down which is making my self esteem slowly come up. I know it’s not noticeable yet but going down a full dress size and having my new clothes fit rather loosely can do wonders for a girl’s mental well being.
Until the endo called me fat again! Thanks doc. Do you think I don’t know what I look like? Do you think I’m oblivious to the extra pounds I have carried around since my second baby was born? Stop pushing Symlin by telling me it will make me lose weight!
Good heavens! Do you know how I lost the weight? I have evened out my morning blood sugars enough that I’m not having as many lows so I’m not eating as much to bring my blood sugar back to normal. And I have significantly decreased the amount of insulin I take in a day. I can’t consistently exercise because of my morning hypoglycemia. The weight loss is a direct result of less insulin. Why in the world would I inject Symlin for the side effects of less insulin overall and weight loss when I’M ALREADY DOING IT ON MY OWN?
But no love from the doctor in the weight loss department.
We butted heads some more over how to deal with my basal rates on my pump. I tried, and failed, to explain that the more I pump insulin into my body to try and correct highs the longer it takes for my blood sugar to come down. I proposed decreasing my basal rates for the 12 hours a day I am consistently high and increasing my basal rates for the 12 hours I am consistently low. My thought process is if I even out my basal rates maybe my blood sugars will follow suit. Right now my basal rates are like a teeter totter; heavily tipped to one side.
I know it sounds completely insane but I really believe it may work. In fact, I had a doctor do that for me and it worked then so why not now? The doctor I see now is not an arguer. Maybe that’s a good thing because I would give him a run for his money. He noticed my passionate position and simply said, “You can try it to prove it to yourself . . .” Thank you I will!
It’s me against all the naysayers again. How many times have I fought the world in an effort to prove myself? I will do it again and again. As much as it takes. Nobody tells me what to do. I write my own ending to life. I will contact my former doctor if I have to. Telepatienting never sounded so good! I will find out why I’m hypoglycemic for 12 hours and hyperglycemic the next 12. I will solve this problem. Alone if needs be. And I will do it without Symlin. My weight will come down too. Watch me.
My A1c was 7.2. Not as bad as I was expecting but it still stung when he said, “You know where it should be.” Yes, genius, I do. And two points off isn’t the end of the world you are making it out to be. Yell at me, sugar coat it in this way, whatever it’s all the same. How about we realize we’re all adults and you just tell me the numbers. Let me crucify myself over it later if I choose to.
My mirror now shows a fat girl. Sad but true. It does not, however, show a failure. It shows a powerful woman not ready to give up. There may be anger in my words but there is also determination. A determination that comes when one is pushed down over and over in an attempt to make one feel like a failure. I won’t believe it. Nobody tells me what to do and certainly nobody tells me what to think.