It’s a great tabloid headline, mainly because it plays fast and loose with the truth. The kernel of fact in it, though, shows the danger of being prediabetic – and having no clue.
The vacation part is true; my physician (who’ll remain nameless, mainly to spare embarrassment) went away for a few weeks last August at the time I called in for an annual checkup. I asked the office if I could get blood work done in the meantime, so I’d be ready as soon as the doctor returned.
As noted in my Welcome, I wasn’t the picture of health at that point. Overweight? Yep. And, well, I was sure I could be better overall, but I wasn’t losing any other body functions. My main concern was the PSA screening, since both of my older brothers went through bouts of prostate cancer.
My family’s health history showed a few other warning signs – high blood pressure and colon cancer – but nothing pointing to diabetes. My doctor ran lipid panels on my blood, but nothing on glucose.
Last August, the test lineup changed as another physician in the office OK’d a full workup, including A1C and fasting glucose. I didn’t know that at the time; the only difference came with the nice lab attendant taking another vial of blood. (I only saw that as I left; I can’t stand the sight of the draw.)
Two weeks later, I went in for my office visit with my regular physician. After discussing my weight – a regular part of my annual visit – we got to the matter of the blood tests. The doc didn’t mince words; my numbers showed that I was prediabetic.
Looking back, I can see that the physician put it a bit too kindly. With a 6.6 A1C, I crossed the line into diabetes territory. My doc counseled that we could get that number down, depending on how I serious I wanted to get on treatment.
I don’t like anyone to get rosy about health, and mine in particular. I’ve always said that when it gets time to get the bad news, I wanted it straight, as in “how long have I got, doc?”
This wasn’t the ticket to the Big Adios, but diabetes didn’t seem like anything that needed a half-hearted approach. “Ok,” I said, “what’s serious?”
The light approach, according to the physician, would be to watch diet and weight and see if I could reduce the numbers. Going serious would mean daily glucose monitoring, daily medication and some hard work on diet and exercise. My medical plan also offered a class with a dietician to educate me on my diet.
“Then let’s go serious,” I said. “When do we start?”
“Today. I’ll send the orders to the pharmacy. And good luck.”
With that, I walked out of the office, a new entry in the growing crowd of millions nationwide suffering from a diabetic condition. Outside of some literature, a scrip and a phone number for a dietician, I had little clue on how to proceed.
Actually, I didn’t feel like I was suffering anything … but that’s the problem with prediabetes. The only thing I could credit for the diagnosis was my doc choosing late August to get out of town.
Life is full of memorable days. And, if you’re reading this, you’ve probably experienced the same sort of memorable day my husband, Emerson, and I went through more than a year ago. My name is K. Schipper, and I certainly wasn’t thinking of anything quite as upending to our lives as prediabetes when he headed out the door for his annual checkup.