I’ve been a very good girl since Saturday. Vigorous long walks, not a single simple carb or sugared anything have passed my lips. Proteins, and veggies! I was feeling quite proud of myself.
Hubby gave me the very romantic gift of a home blood glucose testing kit. (I hinted that I wanted one) So this morning, before my coffee, I decided to take it for a test drive. I read the little booklet, got it all calibrated, stabbed myself in the finger and voila! …
I think I actually yelled “Shit!” just as my mother entered the kitchen.
He said it was wrong, it had to be wrong. But those big black numbers just kept flashing up at me. I was filled with a sudden dread. What if I did everything right, was a very very good patient, and the numbers got WORSE? I mean, MUCH worse? (because 167 is wayyyyyyy over the diagnostic number of 125)
I’ve been very grumpy ever since. He thinks it’s a mistake. He says, “and if it’s true, we just treat it.” As if it is a simple thing. On one level maybe it is but the swirl of emotions that is running through me says it is NOT. SIMPLE. AT ALL.
More numbers: not surprisingly, my blood pressure was quite high after this blood testing debacle.