My experience of watching other men deal with their mid life crises had provided me experience than just with my father, who is the type who would probably deny ever having had a mid life crisis. Fathers, bosses, mentors...most ruined things for themselves in one way or another. I sought to avoid that.
I had that "what to do and how to get there" life crisis early, at high school rather than college age. It’s no surprise my mid life crisis came at 36 rather than in my 40’s. It was mild. I developed an uncharacteristic infatuation that I could not make develop. I regretted having little financial savings. I listened to other people who told me I should be taking care of myself better health-wise.
At 43, I am still shunned by the former object of my affections. My main means of savings is still home ownership and equity–always iffy in this economy. And now I am not only disabled but feel like crap.
My diet had never been bad. The sole dietary change I made was switching from real sugar to Equal in my morning coffee. I had developed the sugar habit to boost my sugar in the days when I could not actually afford to eat anything for breakfast. That had changed. The other significant change when I started "taking care of myself better" was following my GP’s guidelines of taking a much higher insulin dose at night. It made sense to me as I knew by feel that overnights were the main time I sugar would rise to uncomfortable levels.
My sugars did lower, although never to the A1C numbers my doctor wanted to see. I was no longer getting up in the night to go pee. Instead, I was not able to sleep because the sugar levels felt too low. Too high, and I don’t get good sleep because I’m off to the bathroom a few times each night. Too low, I just can’t actually fall asleep.
I still seldom find that right balance.
This past spring and summer, I made a renewed effort to get my sugars lower, no matter how I felt. The inflamed Charcot foot had further impeded my circulation enough to cause the quick and massive infection that almost cost me a toe. The night of that hospital admittance also emphasized one particular problem food that raises sugars beyond expectations. (Low fat milk, which I will address in detail before long.) I succeeded, and am feeling so much worse for it.
Here’s how the diabetic things feel these days.
My blood pressure went back to normal levels when the Charcot inflammation subsided. The reduced swelling is probably more of a by product of the prednisone I still must drop into my eye than true healing. The foot is stable, but the Crow boot is a permanent fixture due to the ankle collapse suffered from the reduced circulation. I have frequent vertigo issues, which is probably a combination of the eye maladies and reaction to blood pressure medication meant for a worse situation than I am now in. Any of the four to five eye drop medications may also play into the vertigo.
My eye is a mess and my vision is getting worse. The strobing light exams contribute to this. The eye drops reduce vision at least temporarily when taken. Debris may be built up in the silicone oil that still remains in my eye. Light sensitivity is still blinding, darkness vision is non-existent, and the "retinapathy veil" grows darker. On doctor’s instructions, I had stopped the eye pressure drops when the pressure was good, and it re-rose to scary levels, so those drops are to be continued indefinitely. The prednisone still gives stomach problems, but not as severe as they were last winter.
Long story short, I’m the mess I had sought to avoid ever becoming after re-examining life in middle age. Maybe that "male menopause" just can’t be avoided.
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