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I was first diagnosed with type 2 diabetes in 1996.

At the time, I was eating ice and drinking a lot of water. No one in my family recognized this as being a problem. I was morbidly obese and miserable. I finally went to a clinic, where they ran a simple test and told me I had diabetes. I was 26, and I felt that it was something the pills they gave me would make go away. All I cared about was what was I going to have for lunch. I left the clinic that day with pills and a meter and a handful of pamphlets that I looked through but didn’t really care or understand what it meant to my health.

Over the next few years, I would take the pills and occasionally test to see what my blood sugar was. I got tired of taking pills all the time, so I would stop taking them for months at time. I ate what I wanted and pretty much continued on a cycle of denial of my diagnosis. The doctors would change my meds but it didn’t mean that much to me. I had to start seeing a kidney specialist and taking meds for high blood pressure. My kidneys were functioning at an okay level but needed to be monitored. The day my doctor decided that I had to use insulin for the first time was also the day I lost my first real job.

After a few months, the insulin was working, but I was having to take large amounts to combat my resistance to accept that diabetes was a real thing that was controlling my life. I felt tired all the time and everything hurt. The clinic where I was being tested got a new provider, and I started going to them for all of my medical issues. She helped me to understand that by not taking the meds I was hurting myself and allowing the diabetes to be in control. At the time, my latest A1c test showed my levels to be 13.5. That meant my average was well over 300, and I was not doing very well.

To be honest, I was having blood sugar readings of over 400 and 500. When it was that high, my vision was blurry and I would fall asleep until my body had a chance to recover. I started on insulin again and testing on a regular basis. In six months, my A1c went down to nine then eight then stayed around seven point five for a while. I was still not eating well and having a lot of stress related to work and family. All I did was go to work or go home. I didn’t really have a life.

Then, in January, 2014, I fell and hurt my back. I had trouble standing, walking, lifting, and sleeping. I had to go on short-term and then long-term disability, because the fall had messed up my back. I went physical therapy and took pain meds. I gained weight and felt miserable all of the time. My family didn’t understand how miserable I felt. They still needed me to drive them around and do everything I did before getting hurt. I wanted to go back to work. I missed having some place to go every day.

During physical therapy I developed a friendship with one of my providers. She would listen to me about my fears and helped me see that I could get better as long as I kept trying. We worked together to get me back to work. I was cleared to do light duty desk-type work. But my employer didn’t have any work for me to do.

I was miserable and felt lost. In October, I stopped going to PT and started going to the gym three days a week for a women’s strength class. I struggled to do even the basic of moves, and walking for more than five minutes on a treadmill was exhausting. The gym was part of the physical therapy practice, and I could still get help if I needed it from my friends.

In November, I got a call from my employer and they decided that there wasn’t a place for me to come back to. I lost my job and my incentive to keep trying to go back. I felt like everything I had done was a waste of my time. I didn’t have anything to go back to. Then I went to the kidney doctor and found out that my kidney disease had progressed to stage three kidney failure. Blood work came back, and I was not happy with the results.

I was miserable and having a hard time dealing with everything. I talked with my PT friend, and she was sympathetic to a point. Then she told me it was time for me to grow up and take control of my life.

She was right. I was 44-years-old and pretty much ignoring and denying what was wrong with my health. My friend will always have a special place in my heart for helping me see my life wasn’t over yet. I still have a lot of life to live and explore before I’m done.

I started paying attention to what I was eating and how much I was exercising. Over the next few months, I attended nutrition classes and educated myself on what not to eat. I stopped drinking soda and cut down on fast food and over-processed foods full of salt and carbohydrates. I started eating clean, whole food including lean protein and more vegetables. Not every day is perfect for me. I have lapsed and started eating some fast and junk food.

The results so far have been pretty good. I have lost ninety pounds and go to the gym five days a week. I was able to go off insulin and a few other meds. I am working to get off more meds as my weight comes down. Unfortunately, the kidney disease has progressed faster than I want. Because of this, I have more incentive to continue to lose weight.

I feel better about my health and know that I am the only one that can make this work for me. I owe a lot to my friend. Without her advice and continuous support, I’m not sure if I could have gone as far as I have. I still have a long road ahead of me weight wise. But I know that I can do this, thanks to a little help from my friends and family.

[Photo credit to Molly Lewis]

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