Traces of Glucose in the Family Tree

My dad's mother came to live with an aunt after his father died.  I remember her as being a woman of few words with a bun sitting in her bedroom quietly.  My dad had gone to pick her up.  I wanted to go to but I wasn't allowed.  My aunt introduced us and left the room.  Grandmother wanted a kiss but I pulled away.  I wasn't ready yet.  A few weeks later, we returned for a visit.  That was when I did allow physical contact and I sat with her quietly for a few minutes.  I was in second grade.  I also didn't talk much.  I regret that I don't have any other memories of her.

Grandmother had diabetes, type I.  It used to be called "childhood diabetes" and she had in fact had it since her childhood in Germany.  She died of complications.  I don't remember that.

Years later, my dying cousin filled me in on more of my paternal grandmother's story.  Fluent in at least six languages, she had left Germany after graduating high school.  She migrated to Brazil where she worked as a governess for a physician's family.  When they moved to the United States, she moved with them.

My dad told me that she had met his father in the new country.  He was a recent immigrant from Italy.  They began a courtship.  My grandfather wanted to have sex with her, using a metaphor about eating an unripe banana.  My grandmother threatened to throw herself in front of a train if he were to "pluck the unripe banana from the tree."  They got married instead.

The kids came one by one.  During the Depression they went to live on a truck farm.  Times were different then.  When they returned to their home city, they had chickens in the backyard, several large gardens, a few cats, and a dog.  My grandfather was a gardener.  There was one bush outside of the house that he had cut to resemble a wave, Dad has said.  My grandmother sold the eggs from the chickens and took care of her children.  Money was tight even after the Depression.  Grandmother wanted a houseplant.  That wasn't in the family budget.  So she propagated a sweet potato vine which had a place of honor on the mantel piece for all the years of my dad's growing up.  My dad remembers her making pot roast.  He also remembers when he tried smoking cigarettes for the first time and he accidentally set the front porch on fire.  "Maaaaa!" he yelled for her as the flames licked the side of the porch.  [The fire was extinguished].

In her later year, an aunt-- mother to the dying cousin who had died by that time-- was diagnosed with type II diabetes.  She was a heavy-set woman.  During her last year of life, she suffered through amputation of both of her legs.

My mother was diagnosed with type II also, even though she was not overweight.  She succeeded through dietary changes to reverse the disease.  She is the only woman with type II that I know who had.

Dad's latest wife had restricted his carbohydrate intake to no avail. His dementia did not go away and he continued to walk to the corner store to sneak carbs on a regular basis.  He had always liked peanut butter cups, ice cream, and pastries.  I got Dad testing when he came up here.  After finding out that he certainly did not have diabetes, his first requested stop was to a local store.  "I'm not diabetic," he proclaimed loudly.  "I can have a chocolate bar."  He did.  Dad still has a sweet tooth.  Even so, he does not indulge it nearly as much as I have indulged my own fondness for sugar.

I had always labeled diabetes as a niggling concern in my anxious brain.  I didn't want it.  But I also didn't make any lifestyle changes to avoid or delay the onset of diabetes in my own life.  No, I made one dietary change.  I stopped using creamers and sugar in my coffee.  I drink coffee black and I have now for over five years.

I had a medical appointment recently.  After a routine urine test, the doctor came back into the examination room.  He frowned at the paper he held in his hand.  "Your urine came back with traces of glucose," he said.  "I want to send you for more bloods."  I took the paper and left.
 
The next morning found me [starving] at the blood drawing station.  Four tubes and one bruise later, I left.  The entire next week found me exclaiming at anyone who would listen, "I lost all of this weight and I might have diabetes anyway!"  I was angry.
 
Never mind that I had abused my physical body for many years via the ingestion of large quantities of sugary snacks, not eating breakfast or lunch consistently, several experiences with yo-yo dieting, and little attention to nutrition.  Even my aborted experience in TOPS and a "successful" maintenance of a 65 pound weight loss for more than a year in TOPS did not result in consistent healthy eating habits.  I would skip breakfast almost daily.  Some days I skipped lunch in favor of ice cream or chocolate or both.  I cut back on my eating for two days before every weigh-in.  That was how I managed my temporary success.  In spite of the weight loss, I continued with some eating-disordered behavior.  I wasn't starving myself or throwing up.  I was justifying my continued love affair with sugars and fats because well, hey, I was no longer obese.  There were some other folks in TOPS skipping meals and playing loose with their eating habits.  They were honest about what they were doing.  I was not.  Since leaving TOPS about a year ago, I gained back 24 pounds of the 65 pounds that I had lost.
 
I made a decision.  The night after my bloods were drawn, I decided to begin to follow a healthy eating plan regardless of whether or not I had diabetes.  And I did.  I have eaten breakfast every day since that night.  I have eaten lunch every day since that night.  I have eaten fruits and vegetables every day since that night.  I have concentrated on healthy snacks instead of garbage snacks. 
 
I went back to the doctor the following week.  I had lost two pounds.  "Your bloods came out normal," he said.  I told him that I had been talking with acquaintances who have diabetes type II and I have found no one that follows their prescribed food plans.  "That's why we have so many bad diabetics here," he told me.  "By 2050, one of every three Americans will have diabetes II."
 
It is now a week later.  I am still following a healthy eating plan.  I think I could get used to this.
 
sapphoq
 
cross-posted in shortened form to several other places

Outsider's Manifesto

I am here because I am myself.  I am alone in my own skin.  I no longer seek to fill up my interstitial spaces with the stuff of a society that I do not fit into and that I do not comprehend.  I have not deliberately sought to be a non-conformist.  I do not object to following the rules if I know what the rules are and they make sense to me.  I do not often know what the rules are or why I should follow them.  This causes me to be classified as an outsider-- and at times extra-legal-- by others.

I am practical.  I like gently worn, soft clothing.  I like sensible shoes.  I don't like wool, polyester, or the holes in weave when a wind kicks up.  I have been accused of dressing in a uniform style.  I don't understand why that is a problem.  I like the way I dress.  There is no make-up or hair treatment chemicals in my life.  I have no one that I wish to impress with anything akin to a fashion sense.
 
I am quiet.  I am given to fits of solitude interspersed with periods of superficial sociability.  I have many thoughts but few spoken words.  I think in patterns.  I embrace my passions.  I have no desire to edit them for the sake of your comfort-ability.  I like what I like.

Bits of songs wander into my brain at random.  At times I will sing these bits to the dog who appears to love it, or at least doesn't seem to mind.  I make up words that I have forgotten.  I alter words as I wish.  When I am singing, I am happy.  You do not always get my jokes.  I don't always get yours either.  I relish laughter.  I am not afraid to laugh out loud when I find something funny, amusing, or unexpected.

I don't remember faces all that well.  I use hair and voices to identify others.  If you describe the face of someone that you think I know, I will usually stop you.  That doesn't help at all.  There are other things that I also don't do well.  I am not into participating in any sort of team sports.  I am athletically awkward.  I run like a duck.  My jog is very slow.  I stumble, trip over my feet, walk into things.  I usually wear a hat or a visor to block light and glare.  I favor soft dull light and low wattage bulbs.  I can hear fluorescent lights.  I can tell when one of them is about to burn out.  I am highly distractible.  Multi-tasking is something I avoid.  I do everything at my own pace.  When working on a problem [usually related to getting something or other to run correctly] I am determined beyond the point of stubbornness.  I can work on a problem or on something that interests me for hours at a time.  If I am not interested, I don't last very long at all.  I have a random chaotic style of doing things.  My organizing skills are practically non-existent.

I am somewhat ambidextrous.  On the rare occasion that I consent to iron something, I iron with my left hand.  I eat using both hands.  I can draw with either hand.  I can write with both hands at the same time going forwards, backwards, upside-down left to right, upside-down right to left.  When I take things apart, I use both hands equally well. 

I am playful.  I play with words, computers, code.  I like to put stuff together in unexpected ways.  I prefer to start at the ending and then work my way up and backwards.  Trouble-shooting and investigating are two things that I do well at.

I am curious about many things.  My passions immerse my whole being.  I want to know how stuff works, the whys of form and function, what gets you out of bed in the morning.  I love trains, exploring new places, learning a new language, rendering photographs that I've taken into works of art.  I love textures and colors and grains.  I collect rocks.  I think old stuff is pretty cool.  I prefer interactive history over dull recitations of sentences committed to rote memory.  The smells of an office supply store, flowers, and a field after a rain are attractive to me.  The taste of ice cream envelopes my tongue and throat.  I can read grade one Braille using only my fingers and not my eyes at all.  My clumsiness disappears when I dance.  When I close my eyes, I see color-stories when listening to music.  The color emitting from a public unsanitary bathroom makes me nauseous.  I can swim like a fish and I love all water.  When I am in the woods, I feel free.  I am made of Carl Sagan's starstuff, born of the ocean, a lover of movement.  I wander and ramble through many places.  I am here because I am my own true self.  I am.

sapphoq on life