Scared straight: A junk food junkie sees the lite
Joe Stumpo
Online Editor
On July 15, 2015, “a day that will live in infamy,” my family members, a few close friends and a couple of co-workers wondered if I had a death wish. I learned what happens when I put work, personal problems, the college newspaper and classes, among other things, before controlling my diabetes through diet and exercise.
As a result of not taking my medications on a daily basis for several months and not checking my blood sugar level, thinking I was immortal and eating whatever I liked, I enjoyed a rapid 5 to 10-pound a week weight loss without actually doing anything to properly lose the weight. As a result, I spent three days in the hospital in July.
Lying in bed that night with an IV attached to my right hand, I wondered if “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” was the reason the man upstairs ignored my “knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door.” My late grandparents, Joe and Rose Stumpo, who most likely were watching my every move from above, must have decided it was time for a rude awakening.
“God loves you,” a night nurse told me when she came to do my blood work at 2 a.m., remarking how much better I looked after being admitted to the hospital. I no longer resembled a cross between zombies and prisoners liberated from Nazi concentration camps.
She told me how I was a celebrity among the nursing staff on the floor. There was talk about how I was barely able to walk or think straight. My eyes looked like they were deep inside the sockets. I guess I am the only Type 2 diabetic in the country who doesn’t put their health first, or maybe local emergency rooms just don’t get many patients with a blood sugar level over 1,200 who live to tell about it.
Seeing the nurses come to draw blood, check my blood sugar level and replace the IV every few hours made me think how political correctness exists today in the hospitals. There was a time when typical nurses wore white dresses a little below the knees, nylons and white penny loafers. Today’s nurses dress in brightly colored scrubs and gym shoes. It is the medical equivalent of what is called in the IT departments today business casual (blue jeans and button-down shirts for those on the night shift).
Perhaps the reason for the nurses’attire today is that they want patients like me to pay attention when they explain how to inject yourself with insulin and what dosage to take during the day based on the insulin sliding scale as opposed to letting one’s dirty mind wander.
I still don’t know, however, if the hospital food is as bad as everyone says since I couldn’t eat it due to the sore throat I had. Diabetes attacks everything when your sugars are out of control.
Speaking of sore throats, I realize that today’s doctors are only there to cure the symptom and not the disease (that’s Obamacare for you). It would have been nice, however, when I told the doctor assigned to me that I had a sore throat if he would have actually looked in my mouth as opposed to standing on the opposite side of the room from me to say, “ It’s a yeast infection,” without even looking at my throat.
I know some, if not all of you reading this, especially those with diabetes, are saying to yourselves now that I am officially on insulin shots four to six times a day that I am on it for life.
Taking insulin is not the end of the world. I knew long before that it was only a matter of time before I’d have to take it anyway. I just sped up the process. You may find my belief system to be nothing more than a pipe dream, but I don’t believe being on insulin now is permanent. At the very least, with me doing the treadmill at work every few days and paying more attention to what I eat, I may be able to lower the dosage over time. Truth is, I feel better now than I did since being diagnosed with diabetes nine years ago.
I haven’t had a Coke since a couple days before going to the ER due to rapid dehydration. The last time I drank a Diet Coke was July 25 and I didn’t even finish it. The only thing I drink now that has sugar in it is lime Gatorade, along with coffee (which brings down your blood sugar level), an occasional glass of milk and water. I am now to that point I won’t even drink sweet iced tea.
I know now that when checking my blood sugar level and it’s over 200, to ask myself what made it that high. Then I remember those mashed potatoes and corn I had at Boston Market when I should have gotten green beans and mixed vegetables. On the opposite end, when the sugars get down to 80 and my patience starts wearing thin it means I better eat something before that Italian temper of mine kicks in.
I no longer eat at Subway, McDonalds,Cici’s, Pizza Hut and Papa Johns. I don’t have the money to eat out anyway. I hate doing it but I’m slowly getting into grocery shopping and bringing my food to work. When it comes to garbage food, if I am going to ruin my health I am going to make it worth my while. I will drive to Addison for an Italian beef sandwich at Al’s Italian Beef to get that rare taste of Chicago that, up until recently, I could only get when I was in the “Windy City.”
Yes, I admit I still have cravings for junk food. Name me one person who doesn’t! The fact is now when co-workers remark how good I look because of the 120-pound weight loss (which wasn’t healthy weight loss) and ask me if I feel good, I won’t have to lie when I say “yes.”