Diagnosis Day. Diabetes Day. Depressed, discouraged, disgrunted, disappointed day. That’s been today for me.

I know I had some inner inkling from the awfulness of the glucose test on Monday, but part of me was also feeling so confident and happy and proud of myself for losing weight and exercising and just DOING GOOD since my last visit to the endocrinologist in February.

She came right in to the room and said, “Well, I’m sorry to say it, but you definitely have diabetes.”

Clunk.

Umm, what happened to “pre-?” I think that was probably wishful thinking back then. But I did have a few months to get used to the idea and during that time I did get significantly healthier in terms of my weight, blood pressure, cholesterol etc.

I was so shocked (well, part of me was, and part of me was not). And disappointed. And like, “Noooooooooooo!!!!!!! After all of my hard work!!”  Isn’t it supposed to go, that you get rewarded for doing well? This is not the result I was wanting or expecting.

I sort of plaintively, hopefully asked, “Can I make it go away?” and she shook her head sadly and said, “I’m afraid not.”

But most probably I had it all along but it wasn’t until the finality of the glucose test that it was objectively defined.

In January my fasting blood glucose (BG) was 123. (official diagnosis = 125 or over) So that’s where I got the idea it was “pre-.”  In February I had it down to 110 and I was feeling pretty damn good. So now it’s April. My fasting BG was a spectacular 101 (yay!) but that’s where the good news ended. My “postprandial” BG was 272 after 1 hour post-glucose.  (normal is 90-150) It was only a little bit lower after 2 hours. Which explains exactly WHY I felt so deathly awful. It was for real.

I know that millions of people live happily (?) and healthily with diabetes. I know it’s a lot better than other diagnoses one could get. But still, I didn’t want this. I tried so hard to prevent it from happening.

I didn’t much like it when she tested my feet and gave me a prescription to go to an opthamologist and called it a “progressive disease.” I hate the sound of that.

I started crying in the doctor’s office, and then sat in the car and cried for an hour (see my tearful Twitters) and then drove around mournfully for the rest of the morning. I cancelled my visit with my friend because I was just too glum to be able to cheer someone ELSE up. Now I’m going to take a nap. I do feel like I will eventually recover from this, hopefully as early as tomorrow, but today I feel sad and shitty and like rolling up in a little ball and whimpering “It’s not fair.” Which it isn’t, but nothing really is.

I hereby proclaim today Official Day of Wallowing, and tomorrow I get up and carry on.

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