Dr. Hottie

Forever in my diabetes-thriving heart

Tears. When I got the email two weeks ago, my heart broke into pieces. We had been together for 21 years. I had chosen this man, picked him specifically from a lot of others. He was perfect in every way that my 18-year-old self desired. He had an American accent. He had a welcoming smile, a fit body – oh, those legs – a firm, warming handshake, and a delectably nerdy side too. He had me at bow-tie. We had grown comfortable over the years, familiar. There was a warmth between us. The awkwardness of new was long gone. Our conversations were easy, filled with laughter, and respect, dare I even say knowing twinkles in our eyes. I yearned to impress him. When not in his presence, I counted down the minutes until I next was. I always dressed the part, making sure my face, hair, clothes were as close to perfection …

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Dr. Hottie report: straight A’s

Today I had an appointment with Dr. Hottie. I was nervous. Like really nervous. Like, the kind of nerves I had when I used to walk into his office with a logbook full of made up numbers because I didn’t like the real numbers. You see, I’ve been struggling with my blood sugars a lot since going back to work three months ago. The pressures of the work, the stresses of the deadlines, the commute, my gawd, the commute, has had me in what has seemed to be a continuous BG roller coaster mode. NOTE: stress = adrenaline = high blood sugars = what goes up must come down = crash! Then add to that the never-ending sickness of Big Ring and Little Ring since daycare and Dear Diabetes seems to have been put on the back burner. But those worries were for naught. Today’s appointment had me once again …

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