Today I spent the morning at the Doc’s office finding out more about my recent results that would reflect my changes over the last month. My cholesterol dropped 50 points, My glucose down another 50, my liver functions cut in half, but my A1c went sky high.

“Your test is broken!”

Yes, I kind of had that ‘take your test and shove it’ mentality still. “Well it’s just wrong,” I said pouring through the billion test results. The rest of the test results wouldn’t make sense if it was right. He decided to redo the test, AGAIN. “If everything you said is true, there must be a lab error,” he admitted.

A few minutes after the Doc left a young lady came in to take my blood. Jab after jab she kept missing the vein and twisting the needle to try and get it. “Where’s the normal lady?”, which was my polite way of telling her how much she sucked at this and she really needed a different career path. I finally grabbed the pen and made a dot on my arm. “Jab there.” She made some happy comment about striking oil, but I was in no mood anymore.

5 minutes later Doc came in the results. He even shook my hand, “Congrats it’s normal, you were right.”

Damn right I’m right. Screw you lab technician guy who screwed up in the first place!

A little bit more work and I’m back to ‘normal’. At least there won’t be any more blood tests for 3 months.

With my recent blood test results being unfavorable, I redoubled my efforts to stay on top of checking my blood. I’ve always been one of those people who can eat the same thing every day and be perfectly happy. I know how my body reacts to certain foods because it’s always the same which I suppose makes me a little relaxed on checking it sometimes. Why check it when it’s always the same and I’m eating the same thing, right? Last night, in my renewed effort, went out and even bought a new blood glucose meter… because the 10 other ones around the house evidently weren’t enough.

Last month when I had my A1c checked it was 8%. So I worked out more, ate better and did anything I could to bring it down to avoid medications. I dropped 10lbs and everything seemed to be going smoothly… until my next A1c a month later. Granted A1c doesn’t need to be done that often but I was there having blood drawn for other things so I might as well have them do it again. The results came back and now it was over 9%.

I am scratching my head now.   How can someone who gets consistent readings of 80-95 on any number of blood glucose meters get a 9% on an A1c? It just doesn’t make sense to me. I must be missing something.

As far as I’m concerned right now, the A1c can just suck it.

I see the Doc tomorrow so we’ll see how that goes.

VoiceMessage.mp3 (NSFW)

Seriously? Worse??? I told my good friend, Ellie, about it and her mouth dropped.

Ellie: But you’ve been good!
Me: I know.
Ellie: And you excercised every day.
Me: I know!
Ellie: And you’ve been eating right!
Me: OMG, I KNOW!

Seriously, I thought I was going to kick ass on this test. Nope, my blood sugars are worse. Which means the Metformin I’m on is either doing nothing or is making things worse? I’m not sure how this is possible.

Either way, I have to go back on Thursday morning and figure out what is going to be done about it.

Today, all I’ve had is a few Glucerna’s. Which is fine… not very exciting. I just feel like anything I put in my mouth is going to make things worse. So I might as well do some meal replacements and see if that helps any. I’ll just drink these for my day time meals and have a decent dinner.

Woe is me… woe is me.

Touché, but it’s probably wrong to call your 2 year old daughter a bitch.

Crap includes: shake to charge flashlight, sansa mp3 player, texas hold’em cards and chips, flower pail (?), collapsible picnic basket.

Not the greatest bag of crap I’ve received, but not horrible either.

Last night after dinner we turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. I coerced Malcolm into turning on Intervention. Seeing other people’s lives in shambles makes me happier about my own. We often joke about how I need to come up with some heavy addictions to get on the show. I think it’s more of a ploy to get me a free vacation at a beach spa and for him to have the place to himself. The episode sucked… there was no intervention at all; it was more of a story on several families’ losses due to huffing toxins.

The next show, Hoarders, came on and I was pretty much already into my relaxed stupor on my lay-z-boy eating the last of the sugar free gummy bears. It is television shows like this that we sit and judge other people and tell the TV how dumb they are. The kid was crying because his house was so overloaded with crap and he was on numerous allergy medications already. The mom, being very passive and matter-of-fact about most everything, knew there was a household issue but was complacent in changing anything. She came from a family of hoarders and watched as her house went down the same path.

It was about the time she was trying to pull a pink blouse out from under a giant stack of clothing that pretty much hit the ceiling that both Malcolm and I looked around the basement living room.

Our eyes widened.

Malcolm: “OMG we’re hoarders.”
Daniel: “I was just thinking that.”
Malcolm: “I can’t sit here, I need to clean!”

I was already jumping out of my chair, “Already on it!”

Several garbage bags were filled with the random crap that had been collecting around the room.

Malcolm: “Ummm…. Daniel, when was the last time you had cookies?”
Me: “I haven’t had… “

Malcolm was holding up an old plastic contain that once held mini chocolate chip cookies.

Me: “Ohhhhh.”

I wasn’t to convulse on the floor in disgust.  That had probably been had been hiding in the corner for a year or so. Shameful shameful shameful.

My sewing/craft table is still piled up from random art supplies that had spread around the room but for the most part the room was clean. I flopped back down into my chair with a cold drink and sweaty brow. Malcolm finished up with some vacuuming. A little more time this weekend and the room would be back to its former glory.

It was nice to actually have a place to put my drink down. Of course I felt guilty when I did, so I hopped back up and ran it up to the recycle bin. It’s amazing how focusing on work, working out, cooking, and every else that we’ve been trying to make a priority and fills the day takes a toll on the house. At the end of the day I just want to relax and chill for a while before bedtime and the last thing I worry about is the condition of my surroundings. I had spent the previous night cleaning my room and doing laundry, so life is feeling back in order.

Go home, people. Go home and put a hardcore half hour of work into your home. Maybe you’re not a slob like I’ve somehow become, but there is always room for improvement. Take it from me and ‘follow your dream. You can reach your goals. I’m living proof. Beefcake. BEEFCAKE!’

Me: “You know that makes no sense, right?”
Bobbie: “But it does to meee!”

She’ll probably kill me for posting about this later but it got me to thinking about the last time I was emotional over something that was probably really insignificant.  I told her about the cheesecake.   I hadn’t remembered till just now.  I must’ve blocked out the whole traumatic experience.

After my checkup with the Doc in my last post I did the post-modem on the fridge and threw away the things from pre-doctor-lecturing that would get me in trouble.

There it sat,  my queen, my goddess, my venus, my princess and the love of my life: the eggnog cheesecake.

I ripped it out of the fridge, grabbed a fork and marched into the living room where Ian sat watching T.V.  ”Eat this!  Eat it all and don’t stop until it’s gone.”  I walked back into the kitchen where Malcolm had witnessed the whole thing.

Malcolm: “That was really hard for you, wasn’t it?  I’m so proud of you.”
Me: “I think I’m going to cry.”

I excused myself out the back door and onto the porch were I fought back the tears and waited until the verklempt-ness dissipated.  The magnificent piece of tasty creation was now gone…. or at least was being devoured and it’s fate was out of my hands.

It’s amazing how the things that hurt you the most are the things you cling to the hardest.

Everyday things are getting better as I make changes.  I almost down 10 pounds from cutting out all that crap I was eating and excercising most days.  And my blood glucose levels are almost normal again… they’re lingering around 110-120 mg/dl.

However, all that being said, life without eggnog cheesecake sure does suck.

they sit

they taunt

they want to be eatten

did i mention i hate being good?

Friday, I had taken the day off to get a million of appointments out of the way.  I met with a wealth advisor and reviewed my finances for a while.  The advisor was cute, young, intelligent…. Married.  Damnit!

I hopped over to a Lens Crafters and talked them into letting me do a walk in.  So I got my eyes dilated and walked out with some contacts.  It had been years since I worn contacts so I have to go back next weekend and have them check my eyes again.

I ran to my doctor and had my prescriptions updated.  He yelled at me for not coming in more often.  I guess insurance companies don’t like it when it’s been over a year and you want to keep your prescriptions active.  I had been freaking out about my blood pressure being high the last few appointments I’ve had with other doctors, but they all use those electronic doo-dads that measure for them… I swear they don’t work.  Doc checked and my pressure is perfect, like always.

Before I left the doc’s office he made sure to send in the little Asian lady with the cart full of vials and she stabbed away at me with needles.  Remember back in those combat movies when someone would get captured and they’d send in the demented guy to torture them with all his crazy knives and pliers?  That’s what I imagine when I see her.  I never had a problem giving blood, but part of me still wants to scream out “Tell me what you want to know!  I’ll tell you ev’ry-ting!”   It would be like Miss Swan trying to get information out of someone.

Afterwards, I drove home.  It was only about 3pm by then so I decided to take a nap.  And then BAM!  I woke up sick.  I knew something was coming; I had a rough cough the past few days.  But it never fails… one tiny nap and it is a full-blown sickness.

I spent the whole weekend in my lay-z-boy with a roll of TP and a garbage bag.  It was pretty sad.  Why can’t I get sick on a Monday?  Monday’s suck already… but nooooo, I only get sick on Friday so it can screw my whole weekend.

Yay.