The Things They Don’t Talk About at Parties

It’s bad enough to be diagnosed with a chronic or autoimmune condition. After the initial rush of fear, anger, and anxiety about what it means, there’s a period of adjustment during which you learn your disease. You get your prescriptions, your devices, the plan your doctors recommend, and then you have to ratchet it into your life. There’s a lot of trial and error. And if it doesn’t work, you start playing with what you’ve got.

For me, that manifested itself in something called diabulimia, an eating disorder where you don’t take enough insulin to cover your food intake and basically end up starving yourself because your body doesn’t have the tools to absorb what you are eating. One article I read years ago compared the damage done to your kidneys to putting an entire turkey – not a chicken – down your garbage disposal every day. Like any eating disorder, your body will start to shut down if it doesn’t get what it needs, but the damage is accelerated because of the already-impaired immune system.

Into the woods

I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes when I was 14, a very vulnerable age for girls and boys. I had never been thin (it’s just not my genetic build), but before my diagnosis I weighed about 90 pounds. It was just when women’s clothes were vanity sized into size 0, and even that was a little loose. Everyone – teachers, friends -- told me how good I looked. Funny how my parents never did. They must have been worried to see me eating about 5000 calories a day and still be that thin.

When we finally figured out it was diabetes, doctors put me on a 2500 calorie diet and wouldn’t take me off. I gained 60 pounds in six months, started associating insulin with weight gain, and hello, eating disorder. It lasted six years and almost cost me my vision (retinopathy) and my mobility (neuropathy), and did cost me at least 40% of my kidney function.

Out of the woods

I was lucky. We had a family friend whose wife was diabetic. When I started getting retinopathy, he arranged to send me to the Joslin Clinic, which is the gold standard for diabetes research and treatment. They helped pull me out of it.  I was 20 by then. If I had continued, I would have killed myself eventually.

Apparently, diabulimia is a fairly well-known phenomenon, although it is not recognized as a complication of diabetes either in the United States or the United Kingdom. I never heard a medical provider mention it until long after I’d been scared straight. Granted, my first endocrinologist was an egotistical jerk, but even as I pulled myself out of that very bad place, no one ever named it and told me that I wasn’t the only one.

There’s a danger in this lack of discussion. I suspect that teenagers aren’t the only diabetics vulnerable to diabulimia, and I suspect that other chronic and autoimmune conditions have equally dangerous potential when we stray from medical advice – I’m looking at you, opioid addiction.

Don’t get me wrong. Being able to understand your body and manipulate your treatment can be vital to living your best life, but there are many paths you can take and not all of them are healthy. If your mind isn’t healthy and you are suddenly handed a tool you can use to get you what you think you want, like an “ideal” body weight, it’s just so easy to take the unhealthy path.

A good provider and a good therapist may have been able to keep me from that path, or at least shorten the duration. If we had known the danger, if we had been able to put a name to it to understand it, we would have been able to see the path out of the woods. It’s a lot harder to remain in a dark place when you can see a path toward the light.

Broken-Field Running

Yesterday, I went to see my doctor for my quarterly check-in. Every time I go, I hold my breath until I hear three numbers: hemoglobin A1c (long term blood sugar average) for Type 1 diabetes, and creatinine (long term kidney function) and eGFR (short term kidney function) for chronic kidney disease. Those are the three that have to be in range for me to breathe easy.

This time it was like waiting for the axe to fall. I had been in tight control for years until a really bad work situation knocked me off my routine. The hours and commute were awful, with no flexibility, and I was told that it was a hostile work environment before I even started, but I didn't have a choice about taking a project. In the way of government contracting, I'd been without a project for too long, and I was in danger of being laid off (and losing my health insurance).

It was gradual, but I eventually dropped both my meal plan and exercise routine. Without this, I end up yo-yoing (blood sugar bounces out of control). This makes me tired, which makes me less active, feeds high blood sugar, you see how it goes. I’ve been struggling for over six months. That’s three rounds of blood tests. Every quarter, the monster that is my conditions grows another centimeter.

The kidney numbers have the biggest impact. A couple of years ago, my doctor actually upgraded me a stage of my kidney disease, from stage three to stage two (stage 1 is considered normal/healthy). I’d been convinced that I would need a transplant eventually, and I felt like I’d been given a reprieve from, well, something. It’s the deterioration of those numbers that scares me the most. When the doctor told me that my creatinine and eGFR were the same as last quarter, I thought I’d escaped serious consequences for another three months.

My subconscious knew better. I had been doing better, picking up more cardio and putting limits on my food intake. But, it wasn’t enough to make up for months of ignoring my regimen. I knew I was still out of control because I still felt out of control. I wasn’t surprised when my doctor told me that my A1c was just past the line that marks where you’re safe from complications. More like resigned. Maybe a little disappointed, or a lot disappointed. It had taken a lot of work to maintain my regimen. I had lost a considerable amount of progress, not just in following the regimen, but also in the execution of the regimen. I’d lost strength, energy, my appetite had grown, I’d gained weight.

I want so badly to get back to where I had been, but my motivation is dragging. It’s like having a second job. No, third, with the blog. And I’m just so tired. But without good diabetes control, I won’t be able to do everything I want to.

I know I can’t pick up where I left off. The pain in my shins tells me I will have to work up to my previous running speed. I expect there will be starts, stops, changes of direction, like broken-field running in football. You take the best path you can find, even if it's not a straight line. So I’m going to start small. Task 1: No more skipping cardio. Even if it’s walking, I have to move before work. Oddly, that starts with Task 2: going to sleep on time. (Sleep on time = awake on time = energy to exercise.) Two tasks is enough for now.

Each chronic or autoimmune condition comes with a different capacity for control. I’m pretty lucky. I can control many aspects of my conditions. Not all, but more than most, I think. And the better we get to know our conditions, the more we can exert whatever control we do have.

So, the question(s) of the week: how well do you know your monster? As well as you would like? Well enough to know what kind of control you can exercise? And when you do falter for a short time or a long time, how do you gain your feet again? Do you have a plan?

So, Why Yet Another Blog? And Why This Blog?

Because if you have an autoimmune or chronic condition, the likelihood is that I have been where you are. 

When you were diagnosed, were you scared? Bewildered? Confused? Angry? Numb? Did you feel helpless or stupid? I was too young to understand completely, but I remember clearly how angry I was. Very angry. Furious. I didn't know then that it was a defense to cover helplessness. It was so big. DIABETES (it always seemed weird that it's never capitalized in print). I didn't know what it was, how it worked, or what it meant for the rest of my life. Everything was changing. I thought, what do I do now?

There was other stuff, too -- subconscious stuff. I didn't realize it until recently, but I also felt a deep sense of betrayal. It makes sense. What's worse than when you betray yourself? And what else can you call it when your body turns on you and literally attacks itself? You are supposed to be able to trust yourself more than anyone else on the planet, right? But you can't. Nothing works like it's supposed to anymore. 

My situation was made even worse by the fact that I thought I had already paid my medical "dues." You know those commercials for the meningitis vaccine? I had that. Eight years before my diabetes diagnosis, I got B strep meningitis. I was the only kid who survived it that year, and even then I ended up in a wheelchair for 18 months. It was only through my family's support and sacrifices that I won that vicious, ugly war.

It was a real slap in the face to realize that wasn’t the end of it, that instead of winning a war, it had just been the opening salvo, a mere battle in a conflict that would last the length of my life.

Decades later, it makes me sad sometimes to think about who I might have been if I had been healthy. Then I think about how far I've come. Yes, my conditions (I have several now) are hard. Inconvenient. Time-consuming. But I like the life I have and the person I have become. I am proud of the strength that came from the crucible of my medical issues. I am grateful for the relationships I have, every one of which is worthwhile and valuable (you tend not to waste time on superficiality when your time and energy are limited). And maybe, just maybe, I have learned enough to trust myself again.

So, why this blog? I want to use my experience and contacts to arm you with the tools you will need to navigate both your condition and our ridiculously complicated healthcare system. I figure that if I can help just one person avoid my mistakes or come through the low points better than I did, I can consider this a successful venture.