Here's the promised update on the diabetic clinic yesterday afternoon.
Nearly an hour's wait. Not too bad, then! A nurse came specifically to tell me I would be next in to see the principle diabetic and endocrinology consultant Dr M.
I was the most compliant and least disgruntled patient in the impatient waiting area. As usual. Others were getting sarcastic and restive. As usual. So why she bothered to come to me to do any special pleading I have no idea. Perhaps she was disarmed by my wry smile of understanding I flashed at her as she beetled in and out of the blood pressure office laden with files and test results. I wasn't even next one in, either, as it turned out.
I could see from the boards that the other two registrars, Dr V and Dr H, the female doc I'd seen the last two times, were also seeing patients. I had seen the male registrar pop his head out the door while I was in the "weeing and weighing" curtained-off area while I was being checked in, standing on the scales with my sample bottle held in one hand.
I managed to balance without my walking stick for the duration of the short session behind the curtain. I leaned on the wall in between the weighing and measuring shenanigans. Not during, or I might have appeared to have taken off several stone in weight, or, possibly, to have smuggled in stones in my pockets. It has happened in the past, I'm sure, considering the hard time diabetics are often given, whether under or over the prescribed BMI. I'm fortunate since carb counting began to be well within the limits, even erring on too thin if I don't watch it. "You haven't got a bum at all, have you?" Unquote.
Blood pressure was a bit up, but not alarmingly. White coat syndrome, or just the strain of negotiating a draining walk and bus-ride to the hospital, already using up most of my precious M.E. energy "spoons" for the day. The overhead lights in the Outpatients Clinic are like lasers beaming mercilessly down into your eyeballs. Speaking as an ME patient. I wished I'd worn my shades. The floor was already feeling like a cakewalk by the time I was finally summoned in to Dr M's office.
He acted delighted to see me. Apparently I haven't actually seen the head honcho since 2004. He remembered me fondly. And vice versa. He's a cheerful, professional doc you can trust and also have a laugh with. He remembers me pre-M.E. diagnosis in 2006, but unlike his colleague, Dr V, he knows my GP and knows from my history that I have M.E. now complicating my Type 1 so didn't ask "Why do you use a stick?" or wonder if it was diabetic neuropathy-related.
Yesterday, for once, there was no pricking-your-feet-to-make-sure-you-can-still-feel-them or inspecting the bruised and atrophied lumpy injection sites. No stripping at all, yesterday.
It was almost a full pat-on-the-head, the lass done good day, this time, to my immense relief.
Last September, last check-up, my HbA1c result (the "lie detector" actual three month snapshot of average blood glucose control) was a perfect 6.9%.
Yesterday it was an even more delightful 6.1%, a drop of .8, which had us both beaming. I'd felt that I'm probably not quite so exact now with all the carb measuring and lo-carbing as I was then, so I certainly must be getting it.
"You certainly HAVE cracked it," smiled Doc M.
From other things he confided, I guess I'm in a minority of those who take carb counting principles seriously on board and make them work for their diabetes. It has so transformed my diabetic control, I'm quite evangelical about it still. I know others don't find it so helpful, and the take-up for the carb counting courses and D.A.F.N.E. training, by the way Dr M spoke, seems to be very low still. Sadly. I wonder how long the Diabetic Education and Resource Centre will last in the current economic cuts?
He wants to check me in another 6 months for liver function, as this can be damaged over time by the Ibuprofen I am regularly forced to take to combat nerve and muscle pain from the M.E. Not that they really help, and not that I have ever once taken any tablet more than I feel is absolutely vital.
I confessed I had even discontinued the lunchtime Metformin dose as I'm hypo so often. Taking less insulin, while keeping it enough to cover my needs, when my sugars suddenly take on a life of their own when I'm ME crashed or sick, is always a challenge.
The frequent hypos they have tried every which way to tackle, remain. The hypo warning symptoms they struggled for over a year of experimenting to give me back, are still stubbornly absent, until I fall as low as 1.9! Most folk, as Dr M admitted, would have been comatose before they got to that figure, or rushed off to A&E under a blanket with a glucose drip in their arm.
My retinal screening improvements delighted Dr M. If it wasn't now for the M.E., I'm a model Type 1 in many ways. A success story for the department, as they are for me, after so many idiotic diabetic clinics over the 27 years since my pancreas turned up its toes. The M.E., however, can still demolish my best efforts at good diabetic control in a second. For hours. Or days. Or months at a time.
The only cloud on the horizon, albeit a predictable one, is my cholesterol. It had been perfect all the years I was taking Simvastatin. But the same drug, as for so many others, particularly M.E. patients, seemed a suspect in so many of my side effects that, on the advice of a nurse and Dr H, I tried to go without it. It's a few months now that I've not been taking my statins. No surprise, then, that my cholesterol had climbed unchecked above the acceptable 4 into the 6 range again.
Dr M empathises, and isn't sure how it'll work, but is now trying me on the lowest dose (10mg) of Atorvastatin (Lipitor). We'll see how it goes. If that doesn't work, we'll need to think again whether the cholesterol is such an issue, balanced against the M.E. side-effects. As ever, I'm totally willing to try anything. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, if only in depth of experience!
