Morbid obesity and learned helplessness
- Thread starter Elizabeth N.
- Start date
Elizabeth N.
Herder of cats
I gave up on ever changing my weight and the health issues connected to it after an appointment with my former endocrinologist. (I also fired him that day.) I had been counting every fucking thing I put in my mouth and driving myself crazy with something as close to that 1,000-calorie "magic number" diet as I could get. Now, that probably meant that I was consuming more like 1,800-2,200 calories, but it was by God a fraction of what I was eating the next-to-last time I saw that jerk.
I had been on a blood sugar rollercoaster from hell, ridiculous highs and lows every day, and I knew it was NOT because of what I was eating. My A1c was quite high, probably double digits, though I no longer recall those details. I was at wits end. I told the doc all about what I'd been doing, showed him my fucking food journal (last one of THOSE I ever did, too) and my monitoring records.
The doc looked at me, all sad faced and patronizing, and said, "Couldn't you at least TRY to exercise some portion control?"
I looked at him and said, "Are you calling me a liar, or are you telling me I have to starve myself even MORE than this?" He didn't really answer, and I knew that it was the former.
I left that office saying, "There's no point to this at all." The jerk didn't even begin to address the rollercoaster blood sugar results. Hell, now that I think back on it, he probably thought I had fabricated the whole damned record. (This was in the days before you could store a gazillion test results on your meter; you had to keep track yourself.)
It so happened that I had an appointment either that same day or the next for my allergy shots. I was upset enough about the situation that when my allergist asked me how I was doing, I unloaded on him, in tears and misery. This was totally out of character for me and surprised the doc. So HE looked at the details, did an exam and drew some labs on the spot. Lo and behold, I had sky high CRP and WBC. Hello? Infection anybody?
I've forgotten now what kind of bug I had going on, but whatever treatment I got evened out my blood sugars in a couple days, gee, imagine that.
But I had nonetheless turned that corner in my thinking. I saw myself as doomed. Ten or so years later, I was on oxygen, probably 70-80 pounds heavier, and had not seen anyone except my family doc for diabetes management in all that time.
I had been on a blood sugar rollercoaster from hell, ridiculous highs and lows every day, and I knew it was NOT because of what I was eating. My A1c was quite high, probably double digits, though I no longer recall those details. I was at wits end. I told the doc all about what I'd been doing, showed him my fucking food journal (last one of THOSE I ever did, too) and my monitoring records.
The doc looked at me, all sad faced and patronizing, and said, "Couldn't you at least TRY to exercise some portion control?"
I looked at him and said, "Are you calling me a liar, or are you telling me I have to starve myself even MORE than this?" He didn't really answer, and I knew that it was the former.
I left that office saying, "There's no point to this at all." The jerk didn't even begin to address the rollercoaster blood sugar results. Hell, now that I think back on it, he probably thought I had fabricated the whole damned record. (This was in the days before you could store a gazillion test results on your meter; you had to keep track yourself.)
It so happened that I had an appointment either that same day or the next for my allergy shots. I was upset enough about the situation that when my allergist asked me how I was doing, I unloaded on him, in tears and misery. This was totally out of character for me and surprised the doc. So HE looked at the details, did an exam and drew some labs on the spot. Lo and behold, I had sky high CRP and WBC. Hello? Infection anybody?
I've forgotten now what kind of bug I had going on, but whatever treatment I got evened out my blood sugars in a couple days, gee, imagine that.
But I had nonetheless turned that corner in my thinking. I saw myself as doomed. Ten or so years later, I was on oxygen, probably 70-80 pounds heavier, and had not seen anyone except my family doc for diabetes management in all that time.
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