My Other Struggle

I think I've been pretty up front about most of my life here. Sometimes I fear the idea of certain people reading what I write here, but the fact is that I put it out there, so if it gets read, its my truth and I'll stand by it, good, bad or indifferent. And while I've openly grieved numerous friends in this space, talked about love and heartache, my effed up family, my recent A.D.D. diagnosis, and a bunch of other things, I've never talked about one of the things that has plagued me most of my life- my weight.

I was diagnosed as diabetic just under 10 years ago. I'm not sure if I blogged about it or not, but I remember how I learned about it. I was hurt, angry, disappointed, worried, but eventually, I accepted it and moved on. My diagnosis was first met with vigilance, eating healthy, tons and tons of salads and veggies, gym membership, I began jogging, all of that. But life did what it does, and stuff got hectic, and I fell back into old habits.

A while later, roughly 2011, I was at a barbeque with my bestie, Daisy, when a woman sat down across from us, and promptly stood to shake our hands and introduce herself. "My name is Cat" she said. My jaw dropped. I remembered her!!! Her shop was the shop where I'd first started my locs back in 2004. She'd always been so wide in the hips, now here she was, mush smaller than me, and just beaming. Naturally, I asked her secret. How did she manage to lose so much weight? She simply responded that she gave up starches. That day, I knew what I had to do.


Fast forward a few months later, and I'd lost 30 pounds. I went from 200 to 170. I looked good, I felt good, and an unintended consequence of losing the weight was that I was no longer diabetic. I couldn't believe it! No pills, none of that, simply eating well. Truthfully, I wasn't even exercising at the time, it was all diet.

Shortly after losing the weight, my dumb ass fell in love and managed to gain it all back (won't do that shit again...) Since then, I've struggled to get back to that glory weight. When smaller, I felt that 170 was still a bit bigger than I wanted, that gut still plagued me. Now here I am, back at 200, wishing like hell I was a size 10 again, rather than 14/16. I'd done good about my diet this time around until I went to Maryland to visit my bestie this Thanksgiving. I went in (it was Thanksgiving for God's sake), and I came back unable to shake my lifelong addiction. I kept trying, planning, went to the gym once after watching my on/off friend, Ted, drop 50 pounds after hitting the gym twice a day and dieting regularly (he looks great now and his sex drive is even more amazing and now I feel like I can't let him be the only slim hottie between the two of us). But junk food has stayed my monster.
                                             


My diet has continued to go through healthy and unhealthy cycles. I recently went to the doctor for the first time in forever because I finally have health insurance like an adult and why the hell not. It was a general check up, and I asked on a whim that my blood sugar be checked. They almost didn't, but I felt that since we were getting all of this other stuff done, why not? My doctor took one look at my results and said "you have diabetes, I'm putting you on meds." My response was along the lines of "nah, I'm good, I'll just diet and eat well." Doc was like, "no, you don't understand. Your ass needs meds homie." I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I'd beat it, it was gone, diabetes was no longer my problem. I'd won! Remember? Nope? My body doesn't either. Truth is that when my doctor first told me that without the meds I'd die, my first thought was relief and that I was ready to get the hell out of here anyway. But then I remembered my sun, light, moon, and stars, Caleb. That little boy needs me like I need him and I'll be damned if I'll check out leaving him to grieve me. Every person that I know whose mother died when they were a kid is a fucked up adult (some are more functional than others, but yeah, it takes a toll). I took and am still taking my meds.


So I started driving Lyft recently, to make coins on the weekend. This Saturday, I picked up an older woman who was on her way to an appointment for dialysis. I couldn't help it- I asked the woman if she'd had diabetes, and admitted that I too struggle with keeping my diet in check. I told the woman that I needed some sort of push to get back on the wagon.

The woman went on to inform me that she'd almost had her food amputated, and had her toe amputated instead. She shared the gruesome story of what led to the amputation, and then later talked about, how her teeth had fallen out, and she also has heart disease now, on top of needing dialysis. What really struck me was how she shared that with diabetes, you don't always feel the damage immediately. How you can eat all of the junk food you want, and feel fine afterward. Except you're not fine, it just takes a while to know exactly how much damage is done.


So I'm not sure where she is, but Ms. Rhonda probably saved my life. I haven't eaten bad since. I'm eating more fruits and veggies than I ever have in my life. But I'm okay with that, because I'm diabetic, but I know I will beat this.