So I worked hard on my bloodsugar control. Tested pretty constantly. Blew through about a bottle of strips every two days or so.
And I went to the gym. Nothing outrageous and I am by no means a certified professional (as exhibited by my wardrobe’s lack of pink sweatpants), but I went. And went consistently, save for the car accident fiasco.
I saw my doctor, too, and determined that my blood pressure is just too high for a diabetic. And since I’m not overweight and still relatively young, medication was deemed the appropriate treatment method. Altace 2.5 mg became a part of my daily routine.
And I talked about it. I told you guys. I told my patient and ever-supportive boyfriend. I talked about it with my mom. My friends learned alongside me. Talking helped to alleviate my fear. Conversations confirmed that I wasn’t alone and I never would be.
Now I can happily report that, after my eye exam and full dilation yesterday afternoon, that my eyesight is better than 20/20 and that little bastard of a cotton wool spot is gone. I’m back to “IDDM, Uncomplicated.”
Tomorrow marks nineteen years that I’ve been a diabetic.
An uncomplicated one.
Sometimes you just can’t win.
And sometimes … you can.