But My Nemesis Is So Darn Tasty!


Immediately on returning from our anniversary trip, it was time for my (theoretically) annual physical exam. My doctor and I play this little game where he writes my prescriptions for ever-smaller quantities until I break down and agree to come in and get naked. Then I come in, pretend I write superhero comics (don’t ask), turn down a rectal exam, and leave with a new lease on medication.

This time, the nurse pressured me into signing up to access their spiff new website so I could do things. I had no context for why I had to sign up for a new account when I already had an account for their crappy old website, but she left the screen open on the computer. After a few moments of sitting around in a tiny gown, at least filling out the form gave me something to do.

The next day, while watching a marathon of “My Cat From Hell” — which, by the way, made me appreciate our own furry little bastards all the more — I checked my email and saw that my labs were available for perusal.

Oh, boy!

I logged in and read over a baffling array of test results. All manner of cryptic abbreviations were followed by context-free numbers. One thing that I did understand was the note “borderline diabetic” on my blood test.

I frowned over my gut at the words on my tablet’s screen. I knew I was in bad shape — I’d regained all 80 pounds that I’d lost on a “buy our horrible food” diet — but I hadn’t really expected to be headed for diabetes. My people are not generally fit, but none have ever had blood sugar problems. Sure, it could be that the cancer and heart disease just happen to get them first…

Resolving to cut down on carbs (and portions), I soberly returned to work, where I found a giant box of donuts in every kitchen. I held out for a few hours but finally gave in, figuring that a single donut was still better than the four or five I usually ate.

I wound up eating three, all told. Take that, diabetes!

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6 thoughts on “But My Nemesis Is So Darn Tasty!

  1. I’m supposed to see a nephrologist for a kidney checkup because my glucose was high when I got a blood draw recently; I have spent two days playing phone tag with two different doctors’ offices to try and get an appointment made. All this for an appointment my doctor just sort of informed me that I was going to make (and faxed my bloodwork results to the nephrologist without asking).

    The receptionist for the kidney doctor told me I should be making an appointment with an endocrinologist based on the glucose level, and that Dr. [REDACTED] is booked through September so I couldn’t get an appointment with him anyway. I told her that all I have to go on is what my doctor told me to do and that she was the first human being I got to talk to in two days of voice mail hell, that I would be hanging up on her, and then calling my primary care physician.

    In an attempt to game the diagnosis, I haven’t had any soda since Friday and I didn’t have any doughnuts when they brought ’em in to work. Time will tell if I 1) ever get the damned appointment set up, and 2) find out if my sudden avoidance of sugar does anything when I do get it.

  2. It was my pee that gave me away. That in turn pointed to a probable cause for my other bad blood signs.

    Yeaaaaaaah, do your best to avoid the tip into the big Type 2. I knew it was almost inevitable, that I was following in the footsteps of my father and his father. But sticking yourself to bleed into a little meter isn’t as metal as you’d think, and the damned things run on the printer/ink model.

    Really: avoid if possible.

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