This week I dragged my overweight husband and son to their respective doctors offices, because I am tired of being the one to have to care for all their symptoms with nothing but whatever I've managed to cobble together.
I've been telling my husband that he has unregulated diabetes for the past two years, but he has refused to entertain the thought that he might have to change his crappy diet and stop swilling beer and learn to exercise. It took a glucose tolerance test and a whole day with his doctor explaining to him that a fasting blood sugar of 279, followed by a glucose intolerant 459 and 600 are proof positive that he's deeply into the throes of this cruel disease. He still didn't want to hear it, but he had to, and now I am having to argue with him every day about what he can and cannot eat, trying to keep him away from the beer aisle at the store, and making sure that I cook nutritious meals for the whole family that aren't riddled with carbohydrates, but balanced in portion size and with something from the main food groups.
Meanwhile, Nick has had to get a steroid/albuterol inhalor and start on Singulair to keep his asthma and allergy symptoms under control. We still have to give him Claritin and Benedryl regularly, because he can't seem to keep away from animal dander, which he's highly allergic to (so am I, but I don't have to live with a guinea pig in my classroom at school for 6 hours a day). We're supposed to take Nick into Childrens Hospital for tests of his fine motor skills, because his handwriting is so poor, and we're supposed to take him to the NW Asthma and Allergy Center near Childrens for allergy scratch tests ASAP.
Unfortunately, we don't have insurance and its an hour and a half drive to these places, so we've not made an appointment yet. And speaking of insurance, we found out this week that since last year when we were without insurance, my Pentasa (one of the three meds I take for Crohns Disease) has doubled in price, from 240 to 500 for a months supply! Of course, this comes at a time when we are barely able to put food on the table and pay the mortgage.
At any rate, now I have to watch out for Jim and Nicks upholstered bellies in addition to my own. I find myself wondering how I got into this position. I told myself when I was a teenager that I would NOT marry anyone like my older brother, the type 1 diabetic who just wanted people to wait on him and take care of him all day, every day when he was perfectly capable of caring for himself, at least initially (he eventually died of the complications of diabetes at age 33) nor would I marry someone like my father, the type 2 diabetic who was selfish, immature and who also felt that women existed to care for him. I wanted to live the life of a traveling journalist with endless adventures and a large stack of books to be read. Sigh.
So I'm now officially in the market for a stationary bike or an eliptical machine that I can install in the livingroom this winter so my husband has no excuses for not getting off his rump and working off some of the calories he's consuming. I still plan on working out 6 times a week, but I am going to add some mandatory walks to my regimen so I can drag Jim and Nick out into the lovely fall air and get them to move.
My Crohns flares have slowed considerably, while my heart palpitations and insomnia has increased to nearly every night.
Jim's invitation to his 30th high school reunion came to my email inbox instead of his, so I was reminded that I don't have long before I should reach my goal (of being fit by my 30th high school reunion), and I still have that 60 pounds around my middle that won't budge. Though I haven't given up, I feel like I have to concentrate on others goals now instead of focusing on my own.
