Even Sweeter Piss

On Tuesday of this week, I had a meeting with the Chronic Disease nurse and my doctor, who wanted to talk to me about the diabetes and results of the blood work I had done last week.

So the Chronic Disease Nurse was very helpful and gave me all kinds of interesting and necessary information about what to eat and how much and what to avoid and what will help, etcetera etcetera, and I was feeling all relaxed and comfortable and "Yeah, I can do this! I'm gonna make diabetes my bitch!"

And then she said, "And an important part of all this is checking your blood sugar levels."

Immediately, I was suspicious. Blood sugar levels? Doesn't that involve blood? Which is properly and typically stored in the body? And to test it, don't you need to somehow get it out?

Well, yes, in fact you do. She gave me this machine, which is like carrying around a pocket vampire, and showed me how to inflict a wound on myself so as to check out the sugar levels. NOT IMPRESSED, PEOPLE! When she first brought out the lancing device, I thought, "NO FUCKIN' WAY!" In my mind, this thing took on the proportions of a railway spike, and the way life likes to kick me in the junk every so often, I was convinced I would hit a massive artery in my finger and bleed out in seconds.

Following this disheartening interview, I then progressed to meeting with my doctor. You know, the one who gave me diabetes, fatty liver disease and polycystic ovarian syndrome to start with. Yeah, I wanted to see her like Joan of Arc wanted to see a match. Anyway, she proceeded to tell me that my cholesterol is also high, but she's giving me three months before she prescribes drugs for it. So then I told her that I've been doing some of my own research on PCOS, and I'm pretty sure that's what she gave me (she smirked--a sure sign of guilt), and with regard to treatment, can't we just haul the old things out? After all, it's not like I'm using them.

To which she replied, "Well, that's something you can discuss with the gynacologist."

Gynacologist?

Yeah, because she's sending me for an inter-uterine biopsy. BIOPSY. Isn't that where they take stuff out of you with no intention of putting it back? Well, naturally, my brain went to the darkest, bleakest area available and conjured up images of my hoohoo being probed by some medieval instrument the size of a firehose. J., who went with me to this appointment, started to laugh because she knew exactly what I was thinking, which went something like this:

"AAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"

Lemme sketch it out for you, folks: over the next few weeks/months, I have scheduled two pelvic ultrasounds, one pap smear and internal exam, one abdominal ultrasound and a uterine biopsy. With the very real potential of a hysterectomy. WTF? My pregnant sister doesn't have this many people peering up her cooch! What am I, some kind of finger puppet? By the time I am finished, half of the province will have been in my snatch! I should institute a cover charge.

Anyway, I'm now up to my full daily dose of metformin, started paying more attention to what I eat and started yoga last night. And I'm taking my blood sugar levels regularly; the lancets have decreased in size from a railway spike and are more like a finishing nail, but it is still highly counter-intuitive to draw blood on yourself. Of course, the first night I had it, I wanted to 'hurry up and get used to it" and spent a long time poking myself in various fingers trying to figure out where the best places were to do it and how deep the lancet needed to go, so it was a lot of, "CLICK! OW!CLICK! OW!"

My first set of pelvic ultrasounds are scheduled for Monday. This is the one where they stick the sonar dildo up my cooter.

Wow. Can't wait.