The sky was grey. The air was chill. The winds were howling. The rain had been falling, intermittently. It must have been the coldest day of the year. I was sitting in front of the TV, whilst keeping an eye on the clock.
I got up at around 2.20pm, and checked my blood sugar. I opened my wardrobe, before deciding against it. They had told me 3 o’clock, after all. I sat back down, anxiously awaiting the clock to shift closer to three.
I wondered where I might find myself today.
I had looked at my average blood sugar in the Diasend report over the weekend, and had loosely translated that to an a1c. That average blood sugar was actually quite a good looking number, yet I still couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed in it. I began thinking through some of the problem spots I’d encountered in recent weeks, and where I could have done better.
What if you hadn’t been so lazy and kept putting off your work day morning basal test?
What if you’d been a bit more diligent with your snacking when you get home in the afternoons?
What if your overnight numbers had been a little more consistent than they have been?
Part of me had tried to talk myself out of getting an a1c done until I could get that average looking a bit better. Thankfully, the rational side of me won out.
As the clock approached closer to three, I got changed, jumped in my car and headed down the road to collect my Pathology reports. I mentally prepared myself for what I might find. I knew I would see a decent a1c result. I knew that it would be better than my last one in January. But I wasn’t expecting anything life changing.
I got out of my car, walked up the stairs and tapped on the window of the demountable ‘D’ block, peering sideways to see if anyone was in there.
I stood there, feverishly, as the nurse looked my name up on the computer to see if all of my labwork had been done. She printed my results out, placed them in an envelope and sealed it with a slice of tape.
I thanked her and stepped back out into the blustery, grey carpark. I ripped open the envelope, mentally prepared to flick through each of the five sheets in there – but there was no need. The number was there, on the first page, staring me in the face.
That number was better than anything I was expecting. I had chalked up a new personal best. My face exploded into this massive grin, and my right arm shot up into the air in victory.
It was more than just seeing that number on the piece of paper. It was about all of that hard work I had put in. The hard work, that up until now, I hadn’t given myself a lot of credit for.
Even though I was rewarded with a very attractive number yesterday, my self worth as someone with diabetes shouldn’t be tied to one.
I need to be kinder to myself. I need to give myself a pat on the back for the things I am doing well. I need to stop beating myself up over the things aren’t working so much, because I can always work on it tomorrow.
For the next few days at least, I think I’ll have a hard time wiping that grin off my face.