Many stones

I've been hiding out for a little bit. I'm having trouble adjusting to the idea that I have neuropathy. It brings up all sorts of nasty feelings.

Did I do enough to control my diabetes the past eight years?

Did I do this to myself? Is all this pain my fault?

My HbA1cs have been fairly good, but I'm sure I have swings into highs that create the possibility of damage to my nerves and blood vessels, while the blood is overloaded with glucose.

Is this foot pain a physical manifestation of my thoughts? My negative emotions? Is it a punishment?

You know what I mean, I think. And yet these thoughts are lies. Because I haven't abused myself. I didn't wish this on myself. My faith is not weak. God's grace abounds, even to me.

I had my follow up visit with the NP at the Pain Clinic today. The MRI did not show any actionable flaws. It did show a little bit of degenerative joint disease in my great toe, but only on the left foot.

They recommended that I visit the psychologist for 8 sessions. He'll apparently teach me some coping techniques and tools that often prove helpful for folks with chronic pain. (And no, seeing the psychologist does not mean that they think the pain is all in my head. It means that I want to use my mind effectively in this battle.)

I haven't gotten past the (competent, highly effective, polite but immoveable) scheduler in the Neurology department, so I have to follow up with that. The NP assures me that the neurologist should be able to figure out whether the pain originates from a nerve injury (such as Joplin's neuroma) or from neuropathy. I'm hoping that the neurologist may have some sort of prediction of the course of the condition.

We tweaked the meds a little. I do feel like the pain is diminished, but I don't feel like it's conquered. I like the direction of the trend. I feel I can walk more. I don't feel like I have to ration my steps or my standing time. I'm still in my clunky unfashionable shoes.

Life is good. I think I can live with this pain. I think that it is not a punishment. And I don't think that it's OK for me to throw stones at myself, figuratively, thinking that I didn't do a good enough job at managing my diabetes.

Maybe I could have done better, eaten fewer bites of this, chosen that more often, but it's in the past. I have to deal with what is. No second-guessing, unless I can gain wisdom for the next set of choices.

Life is good.

Things are cooking!

Dr. Parts and the boys from work are off for the weekend camping. Here he is pre-cooking various foods which I promised I would not disclose on the blog, because they are, in the wife's opinion, not terribly healthful for human consumption, diabetes or non-diabetes. (It's Uncle Dave's Famous Beans. If you write your address on a five-dollar bill and send it to him, he'll send you the recipe. It is wonderfully high in fiber.)

This photo is informative, because, believe it or not, even with Big Dave in the shot, you can see about half of the kitchen. Between the camera and him is the sink. At his left hip is the one and only functional drawer in the kitchen.

A ONE-drawer kitchen! If women ran the world, that would be illegal.

I had my psychological consult Wednesday morning. He talked about my pain a little and took a basic history, made sure I was safe, etc.

Besides my family history of diabetes, I also come from a family with a history of depression. So I don't know if it's in the genes or if it's in the behavior patterns that I've learned or what. I live with depression close at hand. The level of depression varies from day to day, season to season.

So when they ask me to fill out a depression inventory to hand to the psychologist when I see him, and I'm filling it out, trying to be honest but not skewed, either way, and I'm close to crying, just from the inventory, I know that's a bad sign.

I hate going to therapy. It is exhausting. And I hate feeling this depressed when I'm on two antidepressant medications. I hate crying through the hour-long session about things that I don't usually think about at all. It's all background. It's part of the landscape of my life. It is baggage. Old baggage, that I thought I had gone through, sorted out and repacked neatly. It's not supposed to make me cry again now.

So, because I was weepy, he's probably going to recommend more counseling. And he's probably right. I just don't want to say so out loud.

I had taken the whole day off, personal time. I was glad I had, since I was still weepy for a while. I took a little shopping therapy mid-day.

Then in the afternoon, they did an MRI of my feet. That was fine. It was noisy, but the tech was kind, and since only my lower limbs had to go inside the machine, I did not feel claustrophobic. I'm not optimistic that it will show anything. I'm hopeful, but not optimistic. I still haven't gotten the appointment with the neurologist. Becca, the helpful scheduler, is still working on it. She has been helpful and told me where I was in the process. I'm sure she's a joy to her department. Maybe I'll nominate her for an employee recognition award....hmmm.

I have been testing regularly, at least my AM readings. They've been high this week. This morning? 207. The culprit was late night chocolate cake. And I probably should have stopped at a half of the store's portion size.

I've also started taking alpha lipoic acid as part of my supplement regimin. My feet do feel better. I forgot about an acupuncture appointment this evening. Uh-oh. I'll have to make up with my Ac, somehow.

And I also feel silly for complaining about my life and my circumstances, when I frequently hear stories about other people's lives, lives into which I would not willingly step. A twelve-year old, diagnosed with a fast-acting cancer, probably only weeks from diagnosis to release. A 31-year-old diabetic man with vision loss and on kidney dialysis. A woman newly diagnosed with ALS. I go through these papers on my desk, knowing that they represent people, lives, struggles and losses. I pray for them.

And I pray that the tide of my depression will recede soon. It will be nice to have the house to myself for the weekend. Dr. Parts took the dog out into the woods for the camping trip. They'll be back Sunday night. I'm missing them both already.