Point? Oh yes, I had a POINT to my story. Right.

To the ten of you reading this thing, apologies. Christmas happened. Moving on.

March of 2009 rolled around, and I had finally gotten over the last of my sicknesses, because it seemed like every few weeks, I would get an infection of some kind and be out for a few days. Every time I got near someone with a blood pressure cuff, they would tell me that my blood pressure was out of whack, and it was, because it was usually in the neighborhood of 140 over 90. I started a diet plan in earnest, but it was hard, because I really had no idea what to eat or how to eat it. I had never spent time reading labels and dissecting the nutritional content of what I so mindlessly ate. I was concerned with convenience, price, or taste. I had never really considered the nutritional value of anything. (And yes, obviously, I know that is bad NOW.)

But then, that fateful morning in March, everything changed. There was a health fair at my employer, and given all of the warnings I had gotten about blood pressure, I figured that it wouldn't be bad to have them take a look and check out my blood pressure. So, I signed up to get screened. Once I was there, I was told that I had to do all of the screenings, so I got a cholesterol and blood sugar test as well.

For breakfast that day, I had fixed instant oatmeal, and I also had a can of regular coke to go with it. The nurses that did the testing were sweet and friendly Southern women, who all looked at me with abject, silent horror in their eyes as each of my readings came back. My waist measurement was something in the neighborhood of 40 inches. My blood pressure, hypertensive range. My blood sugar? 209. All I had had of my breakfast that morning was three bites of my oatmeal and less than half of my drink. I was 28 years old. If you looked at me, you could tell that I was overweight, but I never looked like I was morbidly obese. I'm five foot six, with a medium sized frame, and I "carried" weight well. The numbers were the kind that you'd expect to see after about 15 more years of me not taking care of myself. Not what you'd see out of someone in their twenties.

A quick primer on blood sugar readings, for those who aren't in the know. A normal, healthy blood sugar reading can be anywhere from 82 mg/dl to 110 mg/dl. Anything below 82 is considered hypoglycemic. Above 140 (and this means directly after eating, too) is considered pre-diabetic. Over 200 is diabetic. There's no other way to interpret that, cause trust me, I tried.

I called my parents, horrified. My paternal grandmother and two of my uncles were diabetic. My maternal grandfather was diabetic. My Mom handed the phone to my Dad, and Dad said, "We are going to find out the name of an endocrinologist for you, TODAY, and you need to get an appointment. TODAY, Miranda. You can't put this off."

I promised that I would, and I quietly hung up the phone. I stared into space with tears in my eyes. The thing that I had always dreaded but didn't figure would ever REALLY happen to me was happening. Now what?

To Be Continued.

"Your blood pressure is awfully high..."

Last January, I was shopping around for a primary care physician, for my yearly checkup. I had waited too long to make an appointment, so I was trying at the last minute to make an appointment with anyone who would take me in in a few weeks, as opposed to in a few months. The person that I picked was a bad idea from the beginning. She was able to take me in quickly, but as I walked into her office, I could tell it was a wrong move. She had crosses hanging on the wall, and religious pamplets on the table. Don't get me wrong, religion is great, but if you are a DOCTOR, you need to check that stuff at the door and concentrate on providing good care for your patients and not pushing an agenda.

In retrospect, I should have walked out right then, but I had already made the appointment, so I kept it. The doctor (who I'm not going to name) performed the examination, but when she took my blood pressure, she thought the reading was out of whack. I explained to her that I was really nervous, and that was probably why it wasn't where it needed to be. She told me that I needed to lose weight, which I obviously knew already. I left the office, and figured that was the end of it.

However, that just wasn't in the cards. Just a few weeks later, I was back at her office (since she was the only PCP that I had gone to recently) because I thought I had bronchitis. As she was taking my blood pressure reading again, again, she said that it was high.

"But I'm sick. Isn't your blood pressure higher when you're sick?"
"Well, if it is not normal next time, I will put you on medicine for your blood pressure."

I didn't say anything at the time, but as I drove home in a black fury, I decided I was NOT going to go on blood pressure medicine at the age of 28. A few weeks later, I got a throat infection that silenced me for a few weeks. I was determined to not go back to that quack, so I went to a local urgent care, instead. The doctor there looked kind, and not too much older than me. I explained my situation as he put the cuff on my arm. Another high reading.

"But I'm sick," I squeaked pitifully. "Isn't your blood pressure higher when you're sick?"
"Yes, that's true. Just keep an eye on it."

....

to be continued.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blogging to bring you the following...

I will get back on track with my story, in order, next week.

But until then, two happy bits of news I must share:

1. Thanksgiving. The biggest social eating holiday of the year, that centers totally around food. I was at Andrew's grandmother's, I ate what I wanted to, and I stayed perfectly within my target glucose range, if somewhat on the high side. Score.

2. At Old Navy's Black Friday sale, I bought a pair of size 10 jeans, that I was FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY able to fit into. Just as a point of reference, I probably haven't been a size ten since at least 1998.

Introduction

Hi. I'm Miranda. I'm just your average 28 year old girl. I spend too much money on coffee, and too much time immersing myself in pop culture, sci-fi, and obscure bands. If you've seen one of my nerdy type, really, you've seen us all. I do have one thing that makes me stand out from the other nerdy 28-year-olds, and sadly, it's becoming entirely too common. I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes in July of 2009.

To be completely honest, it's been a frightening and frustrating time. But I am going to write about my experience here, so that someone else who is in my situation can find this blog, and maybe feel a little less alone. Type 2 diabetes isn't just for the grey-hairs anymore.

This blog will backtrack and document my journey as I went through it. Dates will be put in where I can remember them, but mostly, it's an account of what I went through and what I've learned from it, not a detailed chronicle full of dates and numbers.

When you're diagnosed with a chronic disease at such a young age, there's a choice to do one of two things: 1) Succumb to an endless depression, where you pout about the changes that you have to make and then stubbornly refuse to make them, or 2) Fight.

I chose to fight.
And this is my story.