The results are in. Blood sugar fasting: 201. A1C: 9.5. For context, normal blood sugar is in the range of 100 - 120. And anything over a 6 on the A1C essentially means, translated: you're screwed.So, it's time to get those numbers down; time to start taking (yet another) medication. And probably, as well, time to get myself one of those damn sugar meters so I can look forward to bloody fingertips and the end of my guitar-playing days (not that I ever really learned.). Forgive me. I'm basically just whining at this point.
I can't even get an appointment with the diabeasties doctor until September, which may or may not be a bad thing. I am hoping that through Weight Watchers, diligent exercise, and some sort of fracking miracle, I can rid myself of this nonsense and get on with my life.
This is kind of sucky. Traditionally, four days out of the year, on the Andi calendar, are supposed to be somewhat better days because those are the ones on which the four Beatles were born. I gotta say, the fact that it's Ringo's birthday is not really helping me out here. Is it because he wasn't one of the originals? Maybe I should be looking to Pete Best for help here. Or even Andy White, who recorded the single for Love Me Do because George Martin didn't think Ringo had the chops.
Sometimes I can't even figure out why my brain takes these detours. But I would put money on it having something to do with not really wanting to face reality at the moment.
I am, however, digging the Lilias! Yoga and You font of today's image. I guess if I've gotta have some stupid disease, I can still try to be as groovy as possible about it.
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