I was recently tested for type-II diabetes. For a number of events, recent happenings (my eyes, odd blood sugar readings), my Dr. requested that I get tested.
Last Friday, I spent a few hours in a hospital, and frankly, I was concerned. Nay, freaking out. I know that as I have been working out lately, that I have had problems maintaining a level blood sugar, and on and on.
On Monday, I got a call from my doctor’s office, requesting that I called them back. As I was in Calgary, I didn’t. I didn’t want to know, I couldn’t deal with the consequences of having it. I couldn’t figure out how to fit something like diabetes into my life. Would it propel me to stop fucking around and start taking better care of myself? Or would I ignore the consequences and continue my gradual self-destruction?
Finally, on my very dull drive back to Lethbridge this morning, I was bored enough to call. I was told “you don’t have diabetes” on the phone.
So, great! I don’t have diabetes.
Yet, as has been happening a lot this year, I feel really stupid. Perhaps silly is the right word? Which is strange, because you would think that I would feel releif? Sure, there was relief. Yet, mostly I felt stupid. For not calling back on Monday, for making this into (perhaps?) a bigger deal than it was (at least in my own head). For thinking that, in a way, it would work perfect if I had the disease because it would focus my research for my dissertation…. All of these things.