I took my eye off the target (knowingly, complicit) and my blood sugar control is shot to shit. The orange line is where I was in 2006, the red line last year, and the blue line is now. They’re single day snapshots so not perfect, but they’re good enough to kick me up the ass.
Taking my head out of the sand and taking control is actually a good feeling.
Well, not quite EPIC FAIL but certainly not good. I am on the wagon but I can’t find the path. Bought some healthy pitta bread things yesterday, seeds, bits, wholemeal and had them for breakfast and over three hours later by blood sugar is still well over what it should be. Either it was too high when I got up (and it was under 5 when I went to bed so it shouldn’t have been) or the pitta had more refined flour in them than I thought.
Or maybe I’m still ill and fighting off a cold which can mess with your sugar levels a little. Sounds like an excuse though.
So now I’m sucking down some proven officially low GI bread for lunch, even though it hurts to eat due to the bits getting stuck in the wound left by my tooth extraction, which is why I’ve not really been eating it much since I had the tooth out. Hopefully a few more days of wagon driving will see me back on the path and headed the right way.
It’s okay to treat yourself every now and then, even if you’re type 2 diabetic. It’s ok if you’re feeling unwell or tired or just want to celebrate to eat a little too much or something with more refined sugar than you should, as long as you maintain control and that you stick to what you know works.
It’s not ok, to treat yourself every day because treating yourself every now and then is ok. It’s not ok to pretend you’re not diabetic because you’ve got a stinking cold that means you can barely walk but you have to work anyway because there are issues and no one else is in. It’s not ok to get out of the habbits that you know work and that you know have controlled your sugar in the past just because you’re complacent and think you can get away with it.
Today, I’m am back on the wagon. It’s a pretty shoddy wagon, to be fair, full of bacon cobs, but it’s a wagon none-the-less and I’ll stay in it, dammit, until my next HbA1c test, and then the one after, and the one after that, and the one when I’m 130 years old. I know what works, I can tolerate eating what works, and I know I can survive on the odd treat every now and then.
But not four weeks of abuse. Not four weeks of treating each day in isolation and just treating myself because I’m not feeling well.
I felt shit last night, shit in a way I’ve not felt for a very long time and I don’t like it.