So I went to the doctor today.My kingdom for a doctor who believes that polycystic ovarian syndrome is something more than a nuisance problem, a cosmetic symdrome. The research has been done--PCOS is part and parcel of insulin resistance, another thing that no doctor has ever believed I had. There are drugs to treat this now, and I'd really hoped to get put on one or two of them.
But instead I came away with a precription for an anti-hirsuitism drug that didn't work on me five years ago and probably won't work on me now, an attempt at a prescription for the Pill (I said, "It makes me suicidal. Don't."), and an appointment for an ovarian ultrasound.
Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat.
The drugs and the miracles of modern medicine are the easy way. (oh, how I'd love to be able to take a pill every day and correct the shit that's wrong with me!)
The hard way is, of course, diet and exercise.
A strict low-carbohydrate diet and approximately 1 1/2 to 2 hours a day of exercise, that is.
Tears pooled in my eyes as I rode on the bus home. I'd really hoped that this doctor would be the one to go against traditional thinking, to realize the fact that between the insulin resistance, my weight, and my family history, I'll be diabetic in five years is something's not done *now*.
I am informed about my illnesses. I am proactive about my health care. I *try*, damnit. I *know* when I'm sliding into depression and my neck starts feeling funny that it's time to change my thyroid hormone dose. I know that I'd probably benefit a lot from addition of some T3 into my T4-only drug regimen.
I make all this effort and I still feel like I'm getting nowhere. Is it my job to make sure my doctor is informed about the latest research on my stuff? I feel like I should start bringing studies to appointments.
But I feel like nothing I said today was listened to. I remember now why I go to doctors as little as possible. They seem to have an idea of what's wrong with me before I walk in, and have a set treatment in mind even before I open my mouth.
Again, it's obvious to me that I have to do this myself. And it's going to be neither easy nor fun.
But I don't want to be diabetic when i'm 30 or dead of a heart attack when I'm 50. So we do this the hard way.
I'm committing to a year of this. At the end of the year, I'll see where i'm at and how i'm feeling.
Because, ye gods, I feel bad enough at the moment that *something* has to change.
And I was glad for my mirrored shades today, when on the bus a few wayward tears slid out of the corners of my eyes. I am tired of being marginalized, dismissed as a complainer by someone who listens to me talk about having insomnia and then doesn't ask if I ever wake up feeling rested. (I don't.)
So what, you may ask, am I doing for diet?A modified version of a low-carbohydrate diet called Protien Power.
Basically, it's modified for the fact that I'm lactose intolerant and like to eat as low-fat as I can. (cardiovascular problems loom in my future. low fat is good.)
What it means, in practice, is that I can't have any of the foods I like.
No breads, no sugar, no potatoes, no carrots, no peas. Only a few kinda of fruit--mostly berries. (Strawberries and blackberries are one of the few things I like that I can eat.) No pasta. A lot of big fat looming "no"s.
What I do eat: lean beef. Chicken breasts. Fish. Lots of vegetables like broccoli and sprouts. (stuff that's high in fiber is good.) Certian high-fiber cereals. Unsweetened soy milk. Tofu. Beef jerkey. Certian brands of protien bars.
I can't have caffiene (oh, how I *miss* a good cup of java in the morning!) so no diet cola. I drink at least four liters of water a day. I take potassium, a good multivitamin, and i'll be starting on calcium supplements soon.
Hell of a way to live, innit?
And the bad thing about all of this is that food is one of my chief pleasures. I'm a foodie and have been ever since I was a sprout and discovered that food tasted good. I have *never* been a picky eater; to this day, the only thing I steadfastly refuse to eat is bell peppers.This "eating to live, not living to eat" business takes all of the fun out of food. All of a sudden, if i'm hungry, I can't just eat whatever I'm hungry for. Nope, I have to think hard about what I want and see how what I can eat fits into what I want.
A good meal can put me in seventh heaven, and many of my friends are foodies (and some of them are damn fine cooks). I won't be eating with much of anyone while I'm doing this. Some of my best memories are of fine meals shared with friends; the memories torment me, reminding me that only in weakness will I ever share that with them again.
Discipline. I need a will of iron, to resist myself. I *need* to do this.
I just wish it wasn't so hard.
*** Message (#129) from (G) at 2:38 AM *** >I love you >no matter what happens >just remember thatAnd at the same time that I think "Thanks!" I'm worried. Out of the blue, with a "no matter what happens, believe this..."
Love you, too, G. Always have. Always will.
This is the first day of a new volume.I'm calling it "independently happy" for reasons that may or may not be obvious.
