Exercise. It's important. I know it is.
When I exercise regularly, my fasting numbers are lower and my post-meal numbers don't appear to go as high and come down faster.
Exercise is good for, well, everything.
I saw a headline on a podcast the other day (I haven't listened to it, yet) about how exercise may help prevent Alzheimer's disease. My dad has Alzheimer's disease.
I walk to and from work essentially every weekday. That forms a basis of about 25 minutes a day of moderate walking.
But more than that? Well, crud.
1960 -- I, and my eyebrows, are born. Hordes of researchers have failed to produce any contemporary notice of my eyebrows whatsoever. We must then assume that they differed in no way from the eyebrows one would expect on an infant that resembled Winston Churchill.
1960-1995 -- My eyebrows show no expansionist tendencies. They lie waiting. And plotting.
1995 -- I mention to my sister that I am on my way to get my haircut. She suggests I ask to have my eyebrows trimmed. I shrug it off, deeming it ridiculous. When I arrive for my haircut, I am asked if I would like my eyebrows trimmed.
2000 -- I begin trimming my own hair, doing so roughly monthly. I trim my eyebrows first occasionally, then about every other time, then almost every time.
2010 -- Circa May 9 of this year, it becomes clear to me that my eyebrows require trimming, although my hair does not.
Where is this going? Are my eyebrows in on Siah Sausage's plot for world domination? I have fear.
I'm seeing a new doctor on Monday, one I've never seen before.
Throughout my time in Kansas City, I've always gotten my medical care at Family Practice clinics, where I would be seen by interns. They'd assign the same intern to see me every time, but after a year or two the intern would go on to the rest of their career. Some of these folks I've liked, some I haven't.
So, on Monday, I'm taking my care to a new clinic, one so near my workplace that I don't technically go outside if I don't want to.
And, I'm feeling some anxiety. So, I thought I'd summarize what I want from my new doctor:
- I want her to have experience with Type 2, but not the sort that leads her to think that we're hopeless.
- I want her to be receptive, though not necessarily agree, when I ask about Byetta sometime in the next couple of appointments.
- If she needs to explain risks I face, she needn't phrase those risks as threats. ("If you don't lose weight, I'm going to raise your dosage.")
- I want her to be kind.
- I want her to be efficient but unrushed. I want to not have the feeling that her most important patient is the next one.
- I want her to check my feet. They don't NEED checking, especially, but I need her to be attentive to the basics. In the two years since diagnosis, my feet have never been checked, despite all appointments having taken place in rooms with posters reading "Diabetics - Show Us Your Feet!"
- Finally, if I like her, if she's what I need, I want her to be available to me for a long time.