Wednesday, February 4, 2015

I Want Candy

I'm a sugar freak.  

For as long as I can remember, I have had a love affair with sugar. 

 My family loves to tell the tale of how, at five years old, I sat in front of the television with a bag of oreos and my two cups of milk** and destroyed the whole bag.  

My love of oreos, candy, chocolate, tastycakes, donuts and generally unhealthy foods didn't end there.  During my first trimester with Aubrey, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  I ate well, and controlled it without medication.  Immediately after giving birth, I was GD free.  My blood glucose numbers were fine until my 28th week of pregnancy with Nathan.  This time I required medication since diet alone wasn't cutting it.  After giving birth, my numbers sort of normalized, but I was still considered diabetic.

I happily took my medication, and pricked my fingers four times a day.  I knew I had diabetes, but didn't really consider myself a diabetic.  I wasn't sick.

Except, I was.


Fast forward to this past summer, 2014.

I woke up one morning with a blood glucose reading of 490.  Yes, four hundred and ninety.  I called my then doctor, who said I should monitor it and come see her on Monday.  She told me to not be alone, gave me instructions on when I should head to the ER and things that my husband should look out for that would indicate I needed to be seen.

The next day my numbers were still high.  Over 500 fasting, and over 300 with meals and medication.  The solution?  "Oh, just increase your dosage!  No big deal!"

Say what?!

No big deal?  I spent all weekend thinking I was on the brink of death, or at least a coma, and now I'm being made to feel as if I am over-reacting?  What planet am I on?

I followed doctors orders for the next six weeks.  My numbers stayed high.  Still over 400 fasting, and in the 200's with medication and meals. My A1C was now an ENTIRE point higher than previous draw.  

Guess what the advice was?  Increase your frequency.  Take this higher dose three times a day instead of two.

This didn't sit well with me.  Wasn't I damaging my body?  How does this make sense?   What can we do to make this get better?  To make me feel better?

Someone gave me a copy of Practical Paleo.  I looked at the meal plans, and decided to give it a try. 

And I was hooked.  Am hooked.

I'm so thankful that I found paleo, and that I'm regaining my health.  I still love sweet things (Larabars are filling that void for now) and I'm sure it will always be a struggle to avoid those things but I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything.  Paleo is easy.   

I'm still working on reducing my stress level and sleeping at least eight hours a night (a nearly impossible feat with a working husband and two kids who don't sleep through the night) but my numbers are normal.  I'm down to taking my medication once a day, and hopeful that I won't need it much longer.  So that's my story, my reason for giving this whole thing a try.

And the reason I avoid oreos.  Delicious, unhealthy, cream-filled goodness that was actually killing me.

** Two cups of milk?  Yes, m'aam.  "Clean" milk for drinking, and "Dirty" milk for dunking.  Am I the only weirdo who did that as a kid?  I can't be!  


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