briped
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 946
- Type of diabetes
- Type 2
- Treatment type
- Non-insulin injectable medication (incretin mimetics)
In November 2005 I saw my GP for a bad knee, but came home with a T2 diagnosis and metformin.
By the summer of 2006 I'd lost 36kgs. That's 5,67 st. for you imperials according to google. I'd also lost my metformin. Yay.
By March 2015 I'd gained it all back, and found it increasingly difficult to breathe, but it was probably just a virus, right? A so-called cold pneumonia, perhaps? It would pass, I was sure. I didn't want any pesky doctors taking a closer look at me because I knew what they'd find, namely my deeply buried, but not quite forgotten, T2.
After a couple of weeks I could no longer climb the stairs between two of my 3 floors without taking a 15 minute break halfway up. I had to catch my breath. No good if you live on the 4th, 5th and 6th floor without a lift, which I do, so I caved in and called my GP the next morning. She tried to make me go see her, but I knew that climbing the stairs to her 1st floor practice would be a no-go. I wasn't even able to speak in full sentences without gasping for breath, so she admitted me to hospital on suspicion of blood clots in my lungs without even seeing me.
At the A&E they decided I was a keeper, and threw a couple of other interesting diagnosis in my bag too. One of them my old 'friend' T2. I was prescribed insulin and victoza at the same time, apart from metformin and a 6 month course of the blood thinner called xarelto.
Come autumn 2015 I'd lost 20kgs or 3,15st. My BS was much better, and my new endocrinologist was exceedingly happy, but outraged that I'd been prescribed 2 new drugs simultaneously, the insulin and the victoza. He took the insulin away. Thanks Dr.
February 2016. My mother passed away, and I was left in a dark place of loss and nobody to talk to. Feeling utterly sorry for myself I couldn't care less for my health than I did. I never checked my BS, and I became increasingly fatigued, but didn't care. I needed to pee frequently. Sometimes I couldn't even make it to the toilet, and I hated myself whenever that happened, but not enough to do anything sensible about it. I suddenly found that I loved plain water, and drank at least 2 litres per day. I did turn up for my doctors' appointments, and they increased my dosage and added another tablet to my repertoire. Jardiance. I'd gained back the 20kgs and then some. Still I didn't care.
March 22nd 2018. Another appointment. My A1C had risen to 13.4, and now the doctor uttered the I-word. That was yet another wake-up call. No way was I going to go on insulin. Especially not when I knew how to avoid it. Instead she doubled my dosis of Jardiance, but looked worried.
March 23rd. I cut out all bread (apart from 30g of ryebread/day, Danish staple), all potatoes, rice and pasta and decided to eat sensibly. I came across this forum, and started taking an even closer look at LCHF while being a very thorough lurker swallowing so many wise and encouraging carb-free words.
April 28th, today. My estimated A1C is down to 5,7%. I try to eat by the meter, and I've lost 6kg or a bit less than 1st as a bonus.
I'm lucky, because it seems as if I could be worse off after all those years of self-neglect and denial. My eyes are fine, so're my kidneys. My feet have lost sensitivity, but nothing serious yet.
I'm so glad I found this forum. It's so encouraging to be able to nod 'yes' to what many of you lot write. Even to find that periods of hitting the wall is not uncommon at all. I was sure that only I was stupid and spineless enough to experience that, and then to find out that perhaps I shouldn't blame myself ... Thanks for that!
I hope that I can stay in this frame of mind for the rest of my life, even when I've reached my goal, which is to get off at least the Jardiance and the Victoza. I hope you don't mind a Danish forum member. The Danish approach to diabetes is so gloomy and biased. Danish noir.
By the summer of 2006 I'd lost 36kgs. That's 5,67 st. for you imperials according to google. I'd also lost my metformin. Yay.
By March 2015 I'd gained it all back, and found it increasingly difficult to breathe, but it was probably just a virus, right? A so-called cold pneumonia, perhaps? It would pass, I was sure. I didn't want any pesky doctors taking a closer look at me because I knew what they'd find, namely my deeply buried, but not quite forgotten, T2.
After a couple of weeks I could no longer climb the stairs between two of my 3 floors without taking a 15 minute break halfway up. I had to catch my breath. No good if you live on the 4th, 5th and 6th floor without a lift, which I do, so I caved in and called my GP the next morning. She tried to make me go see her, but I knew that climbing the stairs to her 1st floor practice would be a no-go. I wasn't even able to speak in full sentences without gasping for breath, so she admitted me to hospital on suspicion of blood clots in my lungs without even seeing me.
At the A&E they decided I was a keeper, and threw a couple of other interesting diagnosis in my bag too. One of them my old 'friend' T2. I was prescribed insulin and victoza at the same time, apart from metformin and a 6 month course of the blood thinner called xarelto.
Come autumn 2015 I'd lost 20kgs or 3,15st. My BS was much better, and my new endocrinologist was exceedingly happy, but outraged that I'd been prescribed 2 new drugs simultaneously, the insulin and the victoza. He took the insulin away. Thanks Dr.
February 2016. My mother passed away, and I was left in a dark place of loss and nobody to talk to. Feeling utterly sorry for myself I couldn't care less for my health than I did. I never checked my BS, and I became increasingly fatigued, but didn't care. I needed to pee frequently. Sometimes I couldn't even make it to the toilet, and I hated myself whenever that happened, but not enough to do anything sensible about it. I suddenly found that I loved plain water, and drank at least 2 litres per day. I did turn up for my doctors' appointments, and they increased my dosage and added another tablet to my repertoire. Jardiance. I'd gained back the 20kgs and then some. Still I didn't care.
March 22nd 2018. Another appointment. My A1C had risen to 13.4, and now the doctor uttered the I-word. That was yet another wake-up call. No way was I going to go on insulin. Especially not when I knew how to avoid it. Instead she doubled my dosis of Jardiance, but looked worried.
March 23rd. I cut out all bread (apart from 30g of ryebread/day, Danish staple), all potatoes, rice and pasta and decided to eat sensibly. I came across this forum, and started taking an even closer look at LCHF while being a very thorough lurker swallowing so many wise and encouraging carb-free words.
April 28th, today. My estimated A1C is down to 5,7%. I try to eat by the meter, and I've lost 6kg or a bit less than 1st as a bonus.
I'm lucky, because it seems as if I could be worse off after all those years of self-neglect and denial. My eyes are fine, so're my kidneys. My feet have lost sensitivity, but nothing serious yet.
I'm so glad I found this forum. It's so encouraging to be able to nod 'yes' to what many of you lot write. Even to find that periods of hitting the wall is not uncommon at all. I was sure that only I was stupid and spineless enough to experience that, and then to find out that perhaps I shouldn't blame myself ... Thanks for that!
I hope that I can stay in this frame of mind for the rest of my life, even when I've reached my goal, which is to get off at least the Jardiance and the Victoza. I hope you don't mind a Danish forum member. The Danish approach to diabetes is so gloomy and biased. Danish noir.