When I'm sitting down to eat...

I am not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.  I have had Type 1 for over 15 years and I have had my share of food police and then some.

Well, the other day I sat down to some turkey soup.  It really didn't have that much turkey for protein, so I picked some ham out of the freezer and thawed it to increase my protein.  I also set down my food scale to weigh my items.  And it quite literally went like this:

"What's that?"

"A food scale." 

"Why are you using it?" 

"To weigh my food." 

"Have you done this for a while?"

"It's fairly recent." 

"Where'd you get the ham?"

"The freezer."

"Why did you get the ham?" 

"To add protein to my food." 

"Are you on some kind of diet?"

"Sortove." 

"Then why would you eat more meat? ...educate me."

At this point, I gave him the "death stare," as in-- ask me one more question about my food and I will kill you with my laser beam eyes.

Things like this make me utterly pissed off because of the loaded guilt and feeling of being scrutinized for every God damned food choice you make.  It's a feeling that I'm sure most diabetics have experienced in their life--  and it's not a one-time deal.  

I almost feel like making a stop sign to have at the dinner table:  "Diabetic Police Banned" or "Mind your own food."

I don't mind answering questions about diabetes and food choices, but I do mind when I'm trying to enjoy dinner--- give me a break.  I think about diabetes 24/7.  I deserve to have a moment of peace after I've counted my exchanges and weighed my food.

Day In the Life

Wake up.  Test Blood.... fuck.  Too much snack last night to fix low blood sugar.

Finish eating.

Decide to do a bike ride.

But you can't do a bike ride unless you use your yellow theraband to warm up because otherwise the pain will be bad.

After stretches, it's time to wrap:

Finish bike ride.  Left leg is always more swollen then right.  Remove ace.

I mark my stretches and exercise on a gigantic list of physical therapy exercises I have to do... because the Diabetic Police teamed up with the Physical Therapy Police for a good laugh...

Lunch.  Test Blood Again.  Better...

Go out to store.
Come back.

Test again...  feeling pangs of hunger...

Feel a LOW coming on.
Chocolate soy milk.
Uncounted number of pretzels + peanut butter.

Dinner... Test again... over treat yet again...

Followed by a dinner ending with: "Why didn't you eat any salad... you haven't eaten salad in several days... blah blah blah blah....."

"I'm FULL," I snap... resentment building because I know for a damn fact that I've had salad other nights--- but no, if I don't eat salad one night it's the end of the fucking universe. "I've had salad other nights and I don't need it all the time!"  At which the rest of her argument just sounds like mumbling because I'm too damn angry to even care at that point.

Diabetic Food Police strike again.

Go into the computer room, shut the door.
Consider making a giant card board box with a sign that says "Diabetes Police Free Zone" to wear over my head and torso for meals.

Practice some anger management...

Wish there was someone to help fight the battles with....

Blog about it.