Prelude to D-Day

I had a growing sense that there was something wrong with me.  But it hadn't reached a critical mass for me to feel like I needed to see a doctor.

I'm 36 years old, and I weigh about 160 pounds.  I'm a technology professional, and I live a fairly sedentary life.  I don't have a family history of diabetes to speak of.  (There are some qualifications there, but suffice it to say that it wasn't really on my radar.)

Of course my wife could tell there was something wrong with me.  She had been after me since March to get myself checked out.

I knew I'd been losing weight.  Being in the state I was in, I hadn't been watching my weight very closely.  I figured I normally weigh around 170.  I'd been eating tons of ice cream and other sugary stuff, and drinking close to a gallon of water a day.  I'd been urinating at night, but not thinking much of it.  Diabetes is a disease of older and heavier people, right?

An opportunity came up for me to take a life insurance paramedical exam at the end of August, which I did.  I figured if there was anything seriously wrong with me, the blood test would show it.

...and did it ever.

My blood glucose was 370, and my A1C was 13.0.  I didn't know exactly what that meant, but the insurance agent called me and told me quite directly, "You need to see a doctor.  Today, if possible."

I could tell she was serious.

I was busy teaching a class the week the results came in.  My wife was happy to set an appointment up for me with our GP (since she'd been trying to convince me to do it for a few months.)

I figured that it was just a fluke, since the blood test was done after a regular gaming session, which inolves the consumption of lots of Mt. Dew and pizza - the sorts of things that tend to drive up blood sugars.

So I still wasn't worried.

On Friday, Oct. 2, 2009, I went in for my appointment and had the blood work done to confirm or refute what I learned from the insurance exam.