I have a confession to make.
I am a terrible diabetic.
No, really. I am. Honest.
I wouldn’t admit this if it wasn’t true.
Maybe it was The Move. Maybe it’s been the fatigue (which remains a mystery since I’m also too lazy to get more lab work - though I doubt anyone could fault me for that). Maybe it’s the switch back to the insulin pump. Maybe it’s the fact I’ve away from any sort of medical supervision for the last six months.
Or maybe I’m just not cut out to be a diabetic and I should be fired or dishonorably discharged and sent packing.
Really, I’d be okay with that…
But the truth is, things have been lousy here in the Garden State for the “can-do cupcake” (thanks Allie). I haven’t been testing very much. Maybe four, sometimes five times a day. You know, the usual round of morning, afternoon, evening and bedtime tests and sometimes they’re even before the meals! Imagine that!
They’re usually high. Sometimes they’re not. Occasionally they’re even low and I do a little happy dance because I’m slowly tugging my average back into an “acceptable range.”
Standard deviation who?
Let’s not even talk about the lack of gym attendance even though I’m shelling out a whopping $70 a month.
Or the eating habits. Which consist of sushi, sandwiches, cereal, the occasional apple, and a nightly dose of popcorn while watching Heroes (Heroes!) or the never-ending marathons of America’s Next Top Model or Law & Order: SVU. Maybe a salad or two thrown in for good measure.
It’s easy to get in the pattern of eating fast food almost everyday when you don’t own dishes. Or pots. Or forks. And it takes you half an hour to drive a quarter mile because you don’t know where anything is.
On Monday, I had an interview with a freelance writer for Diabetic Living, a publication from the folks at Better Homes & Gardens. It’s a terrible feeling to spend an hour talking about all the work you do to make the lives of people with diabetes better, making them happier and healthier and motivated, and to listen to people tell you how inspiring you are, how hard-working you are and realize that you’re really the poster child for what not to do.
It’s not the first time it’s happened.
I’m pretty sure it’s not the last either.
But I have been in New Jersey for over three months now. It’s time to quit using the “I just moved 2897 miles” excuse for why the above rant is excusable.
It’s not excusable. I said on Monday that being burned out and depressed is not an excuse for not taking care of yourself. Well neither is graduating college, going from a 97— zip code to a 07— zip code and starting a new job. Especially when that happened three months ago!
The magazine is supposed to publish the interview early next year.
Hopefully by then, I’ll actually be the girl that I say I am.
