To quote Professor Hubert Farnsworth, “Good news, everyone!”
I had my fasting blood drawn this morning and after several stabs…
(That’s four, four painful sticks of a needle. I’m a nightmare draw.)
…my blood was drawn. And this afternoon I got the result of my A1C (and of my chem 14, but I wasn’t nearly as anxious about that result).
At the end of December, my A1C was 10.2. That was the A1C that got my surgery cancelled. The A1C that legit scared me.
I’m pleased to report that as of this morning, my A1C is down.
It’s not 9.5.
It’s not 8.5.
Wait for it…
You have no idea how excited I was to see that number. Especially since I know I didn’t apply myself nearly as much to the getting healthy process as I should’ve. But, as much as I blame the flu for me falling off the wagon of eating right and logging of food & blood sugar numbers, I’m thinking the flu actually deserves my thanks. See, I spent almost all of February sleeping, and when I ate, it wasn’t tons.
Now, I just have to try even harder to be good.
The only bad news? I’ve lost no weight. Zero. So, I’m sure that’s not going to thrill my doctor, but she should be happy about that 2.4 point (really hoping my mental math is right) drop of my A1C, right? Hopefully, this’ll keep me from having to go on insulin. Plus, since I’m below 8.0 my ob-gyn is going to be willing to consider doing my surgery again!!!!
I was going to write this whole post about how frustrated I am that I can’t maintain a “normal” body temperature, and constantly run on the cold end of the thermometer. However, I was boring myself as I was writing it. Which means all you lovely people would be equally bored. So, I’m gonna set that post aside for awhile. It’s kind of funny, but it’s taking too long to get to the funny.
Instead, I’m going to take a moment to assure the world at large that as of right now I am NOT pregnant, and not adopting either. Maybe someday. Apparently, a previous post from a few weeks ago was a bit misleading, since I mentioned that there were some changes ahead in my life. Said changes are more of the “I’m trying to figure out what I want ro be when I grow up” variety.
There’s this thing about being married. You have to take the other person’s needs and wants into account. This isn’t always the easiest, especially when I spent the first twenty-nine years of my life being very single, and my choices really only affected me. Having the flu and then bronchitis and now bronchitis again (it’s not officially been diagnosed this time, but this is not my first bronchitis rodeo) has provided me with a ridiculous amount of time to think. There are things that I know the boy would like of me (his top love language is Acts of Service). They aren’t difficult things, and certainly nothing that is wrong of him to expect and want. I’ve come to realize that those things are far more important to me than so many other things. I know I’m being a bit cryptic, but that’s cause things are still kind of in flux. I just know that I want to be a good wife (especially since he’s such an amazing husband). I want to have the boy want to come home at the end of the week. I want to get healthy.
And my chest is really hurting, so maybe I should go to the doctor and get this bronchitis officially diagnosed…
If I ever don’t work in the world of healthcare, the one thing I will never EVER miss is working on the days immediately before, on, and directly following a full moon.
Full moons suck.
The boy honestly believes I’m just superstitious. I think he wouldn’t think that if he’d seen the weirdness that I’ve seen.
When I worked in the vet clinic, a full moon guaranteed that the worst, most bat-crap crazy pet owners and their even more insane pets would descend like a cloud of locusts. (Cloud? Herd? Flock? I can’t remember the right of term right now.) On top of that, downright weird stuff would happen. Awful phone calls, and things that were mind-blowing bizarre. It didn’t just happen once. I could depend on it happening Every. Single. Month. I would intentionally use vacation time, just so I didn’t have to work on full moon days. Looking back, my coworkers might have wondered if I was a werewolf.
Today, it was just reinforced to me how truly awful full moons can be. I can’t actually write about it A. Because I wasn’t directly involved, and more importantly B. I’m not willing to violate HIPAA just for a blog post. Let’s just leave it that it was sad and I was reminded, yet again, that I work with some amazingly strong, smart, wonderful humans.