If you’ve ever read my blog over the last couple or three years, you know I’ve been fighting my weight issues. I thought I was taking it seriously, but apparently I wasn’t as serious as I thought.
I just spent the last week, roughly, in the hospital, being treated for diabetic wound issues and cellulitis. You’ve heard of “Scared Straight”? The program where they take kids into prison and scare them into realizing what it’s really like “inside”? Well, I’ve just been “inside” and now have a clear understanding of what my life might be like if I don’t get my act together and get rid of the sugar. And I’m scared.
This all just kind of came up out of the blue, so to speak. I thought I was dealing with gout (which is bad enough) but after about a week of things not really improving, my husband talked me into an ER trip. I, in turn, twisted his arm into stopping and getting some books to take with me — as you know, if you’ve ever had to deal with a trip to the ER, it can literally take hours.
To my immense surprise (and concern), I was in registration, triage, a room and admitted to the hospital in about a half-hour, with brief stops for an x-ray, a shot of morphine (which left me feeling like Curly Bill Brocius in “Tombstone” after his trip to the opium tent) and an IV full of antibiotics.
Making a long story short — it was brought home to me in a way I couldn’t ignore that I am not immune from the side-effects of bad decisions, and at 51, I’m not going to magically be younger and able to heal in moments the way I used to. There’s still a chance that a bone in my foot is infected and that’s scary because the word “amputation” was bandied around — and I’m attached to my toe (and foot), thankyouverymuch.
So I appreciate the UHHS folks for giving me a headstart on the changes that are going to have to happen in my life. I lost 6 pounds in the course of my hospital stay, hard though that is to believe (some of it is no doubt water weight) and I’m finding it a lot easier to turn my back on temptation. It’s not a matter of aesthetics any more — it’s a matter of what’s more important: some kind of sweet that will give me very temporary pleasure, or the continued existence of my limbs as permanent parts of my body.
So, yeah. I heard the bell, Mr. Donne, and it’s most certainly tolling for me. And believe me, I got the message loud and clear.