Just When I Thought This Was Winding Down..

No matter what I happen to think sometimes, I am always forced back to the reality that what I write in this blog, at least for my own survival, is absolutely necessary and correct and I cannot escape from it or find another way to go. Let me interject here that I really hate this blogspot thing of not letting me put spaces where I want or separate paragraphs. Is there a setting I don't know about? To continue, I have been doing really well the last several days and I need to post a couple of key 'secrets' (my wife can't stand 'secrets') that aren't really new but of which I have a very new understanding. They are definitely key and have been a couple of the last thresholds for me breaking through to becoming a superstar patient from a pretty good patient. Notice I am not even trying to paragraph here. Or maybe it looks the same if I do. The basic big monster for me has been unlearning overeating from a lifetime of 1-2 hour dinners at home and see who's the biggest man by see who can stuff the most pizza parties. In spite of all I have written, my performance has been that of a chronic or an addict; even when i am doing good, I still have a tendency to approach dinner time as I would a party. When my women people make something tasty in the evening, I seldom seem to even try to resist at least a taste of it. Usually, I eat more than I need to eat, having a mindset against waste and a mindset that it's time to relax and enjoy and that I need to make sure i do not miss out on anything as long as it tastes terribly delicious (and don't stop till it doesn't) and make sure I get enough so I am not hungry later, heaven forbid. So it's really all about making dinner no different from breakfast and lunch. Therefore, I have been focusing on my two key action points, making each and every meal require no more than 4 (actually 5 sometimes)units of humalog, even if I have an extra meal later on, and on not eating after the six o' clock meal, no matter how hungry or late I am going to bed. I have been approaching it with a couple of things in mind, to learn to eat dinner the way every single other member of my current family does (they all take about 10 minutes, +/- 7), and that it's okay to stop at any point at which I suspect I have had sufficient because hey - this isn't my last meal! Then I go about the rest of my evening with energy and I end up not using another 15 units of insulin in addition to the 4. Zero additional, in fact. Just think, had I been able to always do this since I was diagnosed - no, let's just count from 2003 when I started shooting insulin: I would have had the 10 years x 365 days x 5 hours = 18,250 hours I lost to languishing in a sluggish supping stupor most of those evenings. I'll just add a note about my doctor, she expressed some concern and said make sure you eat because last visit I had dropped a little weight since I was back to normal whereas the first time or two I had seen her, I was just coming off a sustained time of poor performance. Since doctors have book-learned that Scott Scoville is thin, I hear about it when I am at my normal weight. My normal weight has gone up since having adequate insulin. Prior, it was 140, having dropped from my youthful maximum of 165, but more often, 150. Between having not quite enough insulin and riding my bike everywhere I went, I dropped to 140 when I was in my 30s and 40s. Upon taking my first insulin, I went up to 185 or so within 3 weeks and then over the years since, tapered down to I don't know maybe 150 or so, depending on whether I have my belly. I was never able to acquire a belly before insulin. So when I lose the belly and drop a few pounds, the doctors always get concerned because their book says at 6 feet tall I should weigh closer to 200 lb or whatever. Especially in this day and age of GNC sucking musclemen running everywhere. When I was a kid, there were precious few of them, now they're a dime a 3 dozen; most men back then looked about like me. Hmm..just like diabetes and seliac, etc. By the way, when I first got told I was diabetic, I refused to believe it, then I went into shock, my next thought was I should be able to get over it the same way I got over everything else (which I still do not know to be untrue). In this blog, I think, I stated that having diabetes really sucked. But man, how would I like to have celiac? Or cancer? Or something besides a perfect heart and blood pressure? Et cetera. How would I like to have Type I diabetes and celiac both, like my little girlfriend Haley has? Or how about some brain illness? I stopped crying for myself some time ago. Now I am going to attempt a new paragraph: Never overeat.