‘Spreading’ as in putting on weight.
There I was parked up in my lazy-boy that I push up near my computer to watch Netflix most nights now. I had the 3 red cushions under my right foot to help ease the pain and I flopped my arms down on either side of the chair and just heaved a big sigh. I then looked at my guts and my boobs and I thought to myself “No fucking way! I’m putting on weight??” I had a very ‘black dog’ night.
A few days later, because by then I’d managed to convince myself that all my clothes were feeling too tight again I thought I better reach out to Kaiwhakaora Kai. It’s been a long time since I’ve weighed myself – weeks. It took a bit of juggling between many emails for Kaiwhakaora Kai and I to get some dates set up. I feel more rested knowing that I have fortnightly dates set in place to see her as of the 4th Nov through to when she finishes up for the year come Dec.
Two more days after getting those dates sorted I came to realise that I hadn’t been seeing things. I am spreading. It’s not cos I’m putting on weight. It’s loose skin. My loose skin is more floppier and sagging heavier. Fucking attractive right?
Would it surprise anyone that due to how fuck awful I’m going to look once I drop around a further 100 kg that I have actually given serious consideration to not lose any more weight? True story. I’ve dealt with various chemical dependencies. I’ve come to terms with a great deal of the childhood trauma I endured. I gave up my son so he might have a better life than me and what happens? He’s just like me! I’ve had grey hair since the age of 8. I’ve had facial hair – like of the werewolf variety, since around the age of 20. I spent 30 years and who the fuck knows how much money on prescription costs for anti-psychotics only to be told last Thursday by who was current psychiatrist that he does not believe that I have ever been psychotic. E.V.E.R – he believes the psychotic symptoms I was presenting with were and have been all along, C-PTSD. Another true story. And one I’m gonna have to write elsewhere cos it doesn’t belong in this journal only to say that ALL anti-psychotics induce weight gain and predispose someone to Diabetes. And now – I’m gonna have to manage looking like an expended sack of skin on top of everything else I’ve had to endure over the course of my life.
Which brings me to today. I had my first annual Diabetes Review. A week before the appointment I went to the lab to give blood and pee samples in prep for the appointment. The blood test is called HbA1c and it is a non-fasting test that reads the amount of glucose stuck to red blood cells over a period of weeks. I have an HbA1c test every 12 weeks.
When I had my first HbA1c test a little over a year ago, it was determined that I was Pre-Diabetic. On the indicator above, my result was around 47. Over the year it climbed to it’s highest result of around 57. I did lower it to 55 then 54 when I eventually made the decision to stop drinking regular Coke / regular Pepsi.
Nothing could have prepared me the shock I had yesterday when the Nurse during the review shared with me that my HbA1c was now 44. My body reacted like I’d just scored the home run needed to win some Softball series. My arms shot up in a call of victory and my feet broke out into something that I think was meant to be a tap dance.
And do you know what my first thought was? “Far out! Lets go celebrate at McDonalds before grocery shopping!”
Old thoughts die a lot harder than old habits do