No Sugar, Day Six, Send Reinforcements

A few weeks ago, our 3rd grader got sick. Fever the first day, gastrointestinal issues the next. I can literally count on less than one hand the number of times she has been sick. Our little girl simply does not get sick. And so with this illness, came enormous distress.

No matter how many times she has seen others sick, when it happened to her, it was absolutely devastating. She'd alternate between guttural wails, rounds of writhing and tears, and asking, "Why is this happening to me? I just want a nice life!"

And six days in to my cutting out sugar, damned if I don't feel the same way. Only I know exactly why it is happening to me, because I made it happen!

A couple of weeks ago, I got miserably ill myself. Only this wasn't a virus, it wasn't the gastrointestinal bug my family had been lobbing back an forth, it was completely self-induced. I'd been tearing into sweets - ordering this bundt cake with whipped cream, caramel and ice cream monstrousity while shooting pool, or digging into this enormous gallon-size bag of Starburst one my team captains would break out every Thursday night. And worse than that, I had forgotten to take my meds and supplements for FOUR DAYS in a row.

Note: Metformin doesn't work to keep your blood sugar levels down if you don't take it every day.

The blood sugar spikes had been warning me. But I wasn't listening so well. Each morning after my sweet-fest the night before, I was waking up with headaches. A dull thump of pain at the temples. And finally, on the fifth day, a raging headache that would... not... let... go. I spent the day in bed. Over and over, I thought of my dad.

Dad - who passed on the tendency towards Type II diabetes. Dad - who had thought he could get around the correlation between high blood sugar and his rapidly increasing health issues. Dad - who hadn't take care of the issues and instead ended up with trans-ischemic attacks (mini-strokes), vascular dementia, and finally a nursing home. Dad, who died at 78, last November, unsure of who I was, what year it was, and weighing 119 pounds.

How many HERE IS YOUR SIGN signs does one person get?

I've made changes. But they haven't been enough.

Sure, I use sugar-free creamer in my coffee. And I rarely drink sugary soda. In fact, the last one I had was just a few days before I spent the day in bed, in pain, vomiting, and wishing I could just have a nice, pain-free life. (Cue my daughter's wails of distress, "Why is this happening to ME? I just want to have a nice life!") And instead of telling everyone of my decision, at least in that moment, I quietly went about actually doing it.

And six days in, all I can say is, send reinforcements. This is not easy and I'm so desperate for sweets that I bought a big bag of dates and have been consuming them 3-4 at a time over the past three days. By mid-afternoon, I get soooo tired. I don't know why. But instead of finding some sweets, I instead chop up some broccoli and cauliflower and steam it up with some butter, salt and pepper. Or slice up a carrot and a dollop of dip. Or I make a mug of coffee with some of my hazelnut sugar-free creamer.

Tonight, I play in league and my team captain inevitably will pull out her enormous gallon ziploc full of Starburst candies. [whimper]

I bought two more bags of dates. They are very sweet, and that at least helps me with my cravings. Somehow, some way, I'll get through this.

I keep telling myself, over and over, that it is worth my life to do this. My dad spent the last eight of his dependent on others for care. He was half-blind and couldn't get his eyes operated on due to the swelling from his Type 2 diabetes. He couldn't feel his feet. For the last three years of his life he couldn't walk, was terrified of falling, stuck in adult diapers, and had little or no idea who I was or anyone else for that matter. He was lost in time, thinking the 80s were still going on. Watching him come apart remains one of the most haunting, slow, and agonizing ends I have ever seen.

That's not a life I want. That's not a life anyone wants.

It is worth my life to do this.

It is.