Insurance Card, Please
A few days before
Christmas of 2016, I stopped by an urgent care health clinic, so I could
attempt to get some clarity on what was going on with my legs and hands. I learned that the tingles in my lower
legs—which I was now feeling in my left hand—was a result of diabetic
neuropathy. The nerve endings in my
extremities were now becoming damaged, and it was leaving a permanent state of
“edginess” in my feet and hands.
Worse—after a fashion—I was now finding that my driving foot would start
falling asleep when I would drive, sometimes mere minutes after I got started
with a trip. For well over a year at
that point I was wearing these stockings that reportedly help manage
circulation better. Only it wasn’t
really getting better.
I made the choice that I
needed to get healthier. Part of that
was going to involve exercise. Back in
2013, a Planet Fitness workout center opened up in a shopping plaza near Eight
Mile and Woodward Avenue in Detroit. I
had occasionally thought about joining a gym, but I was reluctant based on the
idea that it might be expensive, plus, there are scarcely any workout gyms
located in Detroit proper. I finally
made the choice to go to this Planet Fitness and sign up. I then began going to the gym on a recurring
basis. It was tough at first, because I
hadn’t regularly exercised in years. I
remember at one point only being able to use a stair-walking machine at a low
setting for 15 minutes. I also was using
some weight machines at low settings.
In the meanwhile, I was
also adjusting my diet. Somewhat
abruptly, I stopped drinking soda pop. I
had already only been drinking diet pop for years now, but I was told that diet
pop had much of the same chemicals as regular pop to affect your weight. I started drinking mostly unsweetened tea and
diet non-carbonated beverages. Oh, and I
drank lots more water as well. I stopped
eating ice cream as well as candy. I
started buying less red meat and more fruits and vegetables. I began to look at apples as near-lifesaving. Something was still happening to me that was
unpleasant, however.
Liza asked me to help her
husband to the airport. That day, I had
worked the morning shift. I arrived home
around 3 p.m. and got off work at 2:30 in the afternoon. I hadn’t eaten breakfast (since I began
working at the police station, I head rarely eaten before I left out), and to
my memory, when I got home I prepared something for myself like macaroni and
cheese with some green peas added to it.
I think Liza’s husband’s
flight was to be around 10 p.m., so he had to be dropped off at the airport by
9 p.m. at the latest. I had to drive to
the east side of town to pick up Liza and her husband. From there, I got on the I-94 highway heading
to Detroit Metro Airport. By the time we
arrived at the airport, I was feeling uneasy.
Even though I had eaten a perfunctory meal in the afternoon, I hadn’t
eaten dinner yet. Driving back to
Detroit from the airport, I was now increasingly agitated internally. By the
time we got back to the east side of town, I started going through convulsions
while I was driving. I had to pull off
the road into a gas station. I then
exited the car and began walking into the convenience store area. I bought a
bag of popcorn and a soft drink. My
hands and feet were clenching together, and my stomach was increasingly
tightening. It was a severe challenge to
get my money out of my wallet. I could
feel my mouth and jaw muscles clenching.
I told Liza she would
have to drive. She took the driver’s
seat and began driving me to a nearby hospital on the east side of town, a
Beaumont facility in Grosse Pointe. When
we finally arrived, I could barely talk.
My hands were almost completely clenched and I could feel the same way
in my toes. When I was finally
stabilized, it was a relief, though not by much. I couldn’t help but think about how my mother
would react, as she was out of town in Dallas, visiting family.
I ended up being
admitted, and stayed for three days. In
the meanwhile, I was given an altered diet of lower-calorie, lower-sugar
foods. I was given a diagnosis of
‘myalgia’, which, if I’m understanding it correctly, has to do with fatigue
poisons being built up in one’s musculature, leading to—some of the symptoms
that happened to me.
Even after being
discharged, I was now severely depressed on my new physical reality: now I was
going to be “forced” to eat something (substantive) at regular intervals or
face my own body’s internal wrath at being deprived. It was absolutely dismal. I continued with going to a gym to exercise
on a recurring basis. I soon was
relegated to an afternoon shift as my permanent work shift, which meant that
most of my mornings were free. I had
long been in the habit of skipping breakfast.
Now I was eating something for breakfast every day. Usually a breakfast cereal of some kind, and
occasionally supplemented by fruit.
Lunchtime was another matter. If
I had errands to run (either on my own behalf or with my mom) then I’d often
wait until I was out until I came back home to eat something at home. I began eating fast food less,
generally. I dearly loved the Southwest
cuisine ‘themed’ places (e.g., Taco Bell, Del Taco--- not that either of them
are remotely authentic in their offerings.)
A year later, I’ve lost
well over 80 pounds. I don’t regret
getting into a habit of exercising regularly, I just wish I had done this years
earlier. I’m still dealing with the
neuropathy, though I’m taking medicines that keep it somewhat at a minimal
level. In the meanwhile, I’ve given away
much of the clothing I’d accumulated over the years. For sentimental reasons I’ve kept many of the
t-shirts I’ve acquired. I’ve had to buy
entirely new sets of pants, however. I’m
still not fully on-board with the “skinny jeans” trend.
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