Adjusting
68Getting used to real life
So, now it's back to school and trying to establish a routine with Diabetes. First period "Government" (it's too early in the morning...), second period "Science" (God help me), third period "Band" (Thank you, God) then lunch.
It's a good thing that lunch for me was right after third period because we were starting to ramp up our competition show for the coming summer tour. Subsequently, we ran a 9.5 minute show as many times as humanly possible during a 55 minute period giving 100% every.single.time..
At least 3 out of the 5 school days each week, after band practice I found myself staggering toward my car like the Frankenstein monster due to my sugar being low. Sometimes I couldn't run the show with everyone because my sugar was too low. And I had to go home for lunch. Looking back on those times, and other times since, that I have gotten behind the wheel in a hypoglycemic state, I think about how dangerous and irresponsible it was and is. Keeping hard candy nearby seldom did the trick for me as it takes too long to get into my system. On the other hand, chocolate and other processed sugar worked way too well.
Nowadays, there are little tubes of cake frosting, glucose tablets and glucogun injections for low blood sugar. Back then, there was not much in the way of treatment for episodes of severe low blood sugar outside of the emergency room. My conundrum was I was so "brittle" that any quantity of processed sugar would shoot my sugar into the stratosphere. It was not uncommon for my sugar to just jump to 500 completely unnoticed by me.
The doc didn't understand how I could function with it that high but to this day, or actually until just recently, a 500 or 600 glucose reading didn't faze me. I worked 12 and 14 hour shifts as manager of a high volume Pizza Hut with it that high. The only clue I had that it was that high was that my eyes would feel like they were being sandpapered. Now, I'm down for the count when it gets that high. Like the old saying goes, "If you abuse it, you don't get to use it as long." Nothing is truer for me than that old axiom. Anyway.....
So I would make the five mile drive home, hoping and praying that "the road in the middle" was the correct one. Sometimes, crossing my eyes made it easier to see, as strange as that sounds. Only by the grace of God did I make it home as many times as I did without driving obliviously through the living room of some unsuspecting little old lady. Fortunately, the only accidents (all three of them within three years of getting my license) happened when I was fully aware. Maybe that should be "unfortunately" so I'd have an excuse...
Mom or Dad would have lunch waiting for me when I walked, or stumbled depending, through the door. Usually it was a piece of ocean perch baked with butter, parsley and lemon; Brussels Sprouts or green beans and mashed or whole potatoes. That sounds boring but it was simple, tasty and, most of all, satisfied my belligerently exacting diet for lunch.
Mom was nearly beaten by my diet. After having six boys, losing one to encephalitis when she was pregnant with me, raising five others; being threatened with physical harm by the mother of my oldest brother's impregnated girlfriend (unproven still to this day); physical battles with her own alcoholic brother and God only knows what else happened that I don't know about, my diet almost did her in. I think half her gray hairs to this day are from that goddamn diet.
As an aside, in regard to my mother's resilience in the whole matter of the alleged child of my oldest brother. When the disgraced girl's mother called my mother ranting and raving, Mom never got upset. The woman then resorted to personal threats. "I'll mop the floor with you!" To which Mom responded, "OK, let's start with my kitchen because it needs it the worst." Gotta love my mom. True grace under pressure.
Anyway, the diet back then was based on exchanges. You got "x" number of exchanges based on "y" calories allowed. Some hospitals still work on this principle. It's maddening, archaic and, in simpler terms, it sucks. For example, at breakfast I was allowed 2 bread exchanges, 1 fruit exhange, 1 dairy exchange, 1 fat exchange, 1 protein exchange and 1 free food. (Free foods were things whose calories were so low or non-existent that they had no weight in the realm of the diet. Raw vegetables-not carrots, damn you, but cucumbers, lettuce, dill pickles!, tomatoes, etc. you get the picture) Sounds so simple, doesn't it? You just go to the list for each exchange and, skippitty do dah, dinner!
But what happens if you go to a restaurant? What happens if you go to a relative's for dinner? Hmm? Hmm? What if you make a casserole? What happens if you make pizza at home? Hmm? Welcome to the insanity of exchange juggling! You could trade two fruits for one bread but then you couldn't have fruit. OR, you could trade one bread for two green vegetables. 4 ounces of ginger ale counted as 1 bread exchange!?! Ready for the bottom line? According to the diet I could have 1/8th of a 12" CHEESE pizza. No pepperoni. No supreme. One slice of a medium-sized crappy cheese pizza. That covered all my exchanges for the meal except for free foods. Damn, I'm full. I need a nap after that gigantic meal!
Now, the diet is relatively simple in comparison. Now, a diabetic whose sugar is well controlled can eat pretty much whatever the hell they please, in moderation. In 1977, however, there were no artificial sweeteners made from sugar. There were only the chemical compounds that killed lab rats. Nowadays, there is a multi-billion dollar industry segment that makes foods for diabetics and those with dietary restrictions only.
Now, there are artificial sweeteners that don't kill lab rats. They only make them depressed, suicidal, cause abdominal pain and contribute to kidney failure. Much better for the diabetic who is prone to depression anyway, subject to nerve pain from neuropathies and whose kidneys are already at risk.
Mom, bless her heart, was so adaptive. Me? I'm a sweet freak. Still to this day. Mom had lived all over the world and was a phenomenal cook. (She still is, at 86) In order for me to have something sweet, she took unflavored gelatin and sweetened it with fruit juice. She tried baking with Sugar Twin (ech!) or with very little sugar for me with moderate success. It was better than nothing. She would bake zucchini bread or banana nut bread with molasses or honey, which are a little more complex than raw sugar. She used natural sugars wherever she could, or the least amount of raw sugar she could get away with, in order to try to not blow my sugar to Jupiter. Mom, in a word was simply, great.
There were a precious few diabetic foods on the market at that time. They, at least where we lived, though were limited to sugar-free chocolates and cardboard-like cookies. After having tried those, I can say, with all honesty and sincerity blech! The chocolates tasted like plain cocoa mixed with turpentine. The one with fruit and nuts was saved only by the fruit and nuts which I had to count as a fruit exchange anyway. The cookies, well, I already covered those. Yuck.
One day, after a couple of months of following the diet to the letter, I just lost it. After school, I went to the drug store (I think it was Pickle's Drugs. You Kosy people can correct me if I'm wrong) and bought a Whitman's sampler. I even had it gift wrapped to complete the ruse because the pharmacist knew I was diabetic. Then I drove off to a dirt road I always used to drive whenever I skipped school (I'm sure the statute of limitations has run out on that offense!). I drove all the way to a clearing where the logging company had done its thing. I parked and, like a 200 pound Gremlin eating after midnight, devoured the entire box in less than 15 minutes.
Afterward, I sat there in total silence for some time, don't know how long, just looking out at the pine trees. Finally, I lit a cigarette and got out of the car. I puffed on the smoke. Five minutes after that, I threw up magnificently two whole pounds of chocolate. After a few minutes of dry heaves, I rinsed my mouth out with Tab (ech! again but no other choice) and drove home. I tested my urine and was horrified when the tape immediately turned black. So I went for one of the 5 runs I've ever done in my entire life. Between running and walking, I probably covered about 2 miles before I turned around and threw up again. When I finally got home, I was relieved to see the tape stay a very light green, which was acceptable. I went in my bedroom, put on a couple of albums on the record player and promptly passed out.
So went the next couple of months as I adjusted to, sometimes kicking and screaming, what it meant to be diagnosed with an illness for which there is no cure.
