Well, that might be a slight exaggeration….
I took my repeat GTT (glucose tolerance test) Saturday morning, because what better way to spend your weekend mornings than at the lab for 2.5 hours drinking a syrupy orangey uncarbonated soda type drink and getting poked for blood every 1/2 hour?
Yeah, I could think of a million other things I’d rather be doing.
The test itself is horrible. HORRIBLE. In fact, it could be used as some form of torture when trying to get the truth out of a suspect in a crime. It’s THAT bad. Add on to that, the lab tech who tried (tried being the key word) to draw my blood… then prompted to rip the tape off my arm each time before she had to draw my blood again. I wanted to punch her square in the face.
So the weekend was filled with stress eating, more stress eating, some crying, and yes, more stress eating.
Then Monday came (insert dramatic music here), and I had to face my endo… when she walked in the door, I braced myself for the worst.
But what I got instead was….
You’re not diabetic.
Angels sang. The weight of 5000 donuts was lifted off my shoulders. The sea of Starbucks coffee parted. I saw a light.
Then I realized I was staring at the flourescent lights in the ceiling…
But I passed! Barely.
My saving grace in this whole ordeal is my A1C levels. It’s holding steady at a 5.2, which is great. My numbers on the GTT were slightly elevated, but not enough to put me in Type2 range. So I’m technically labeled as ‘glucose intolerant’ or ‘fasting impaired’. Potayto. Potahto.
But now, with that stressor gone and I no longer have to contemplate “Will this spike my blood sugar?” on an hourly basis, I can focus all my attention to weight loss. Which, in turn, will help my BS overall.
So I am kind of superhuman. But for everyone’s sake, I’ll wear my underroos under my pants.
The Fatass Diaries 