Innocence Lost

She was in the third grade and for the first time she found herself alone, doing the daily trip to and from school. A thirteen mile trip each way, with poor transportation system and no money most of the time, she relied on the kindness of strangers who will stop to give her a ride to cover part of her journey the other parts done on foot. She knew this day would come when her older brother will complete primary school and move on; she had worried about it in silence since the first grade. She quickly learned to fill the silence with stories she made up about the people she passed on her way, the houses along her route come alive as she made up stories in her head about the life’s of those that live in them. She always pictured a kid just like her living in those houses the better the kids life the better she felt as if for that moment she was living a parallel life, in her stories those kids are her.

One Friday afternoon half way through third grade, she was making the final part of her long way home on foot with about two and a half miles to go when an off white two door Datsun come to a stop about five hundred meters ahead of her. The story in her head drifted she wondered if the poor vehicle was out of gas or maybe water except, the car started reversing towards her coming to a stop again next to her. The driver she gathered by looking at him was an old, soft-spoken man. He leaned across the passenger seat rolling down the window, a gush of cool air from the air-conditioning escaped through the window gently brushing against her skin temporarily soothing her from the hot African sun. After learning that they were both headed in the same direction the driver offered her a ride she sat in the passenger seat with her book bag on her lap grateful for the extra time the ride has just afforded her. Time she needed to complete her math homework and to study for the spelling quiz she had the next morning, she wished she could start studying in the car but as customary the driver had a million questions for her. Her school uniform always gave her away her good “Samaritans” always curious as to why she was so far away from her school and intrigued by the fact that she was sent to attend school so far from home.

The driver slowed down with the road narrowing in the semi rural area in the outskirts of Accra heading eastward, he extended one hand towards her and in a swift movement moved her book bag to the back seat. You should be more comfortable he said, no need still carrying your load while sitting in a car. His hand returned onto her lap, his fingers making their way underneath her uniform, she cried trying to understand what was happening, he screamed at her “don’t be a baby” His fingers fighting to get past her panties while keeping his eyes on the road slowing to a crawl. She pleads to get out of the car praying for help, cars coming the opposite direction zipping past without a clue cars from behind overtake them. She twists her legs together as tightly as she can, he fights back with his fingernails, and She can feel the blood, fingernails cutting into her flesh. He swerved as the road curved scaring them both and coming to a stop. The little girl managers to get the door open and jump out of the car, the rural road lined only with forest she runs along it as fast as her legs can move crying. She hears a loud thump her book bag thrown out the window and the driver speeds off. The little girl gatheres her books and makes her way home rinsing off the blood stained uniform and panties never breathing a word about it to anyone.

I still accepted rides from strangers always saying a pray before hand, I convinced myself I could sense the bad strangers from the good ones. On Saturday morning during our run, I thought about this incidence curiously asking my younger sister if she was ever told not to talk to or go anywhere with strangers. How could we have been told that since we often depended on the “kindness” of strangers?

Conned About Cholesterol?

I have had a few doctors raised an eyebrow as to how low my cholesterol levels are at times, their reactions use to bug me and I have often asked if it will be helpful to throw in a few egg yolks a day to try and bring it up a bit. I have wondered if having low cholesterol is bad for me but no doctor has been able or has been willing to answer my question. This was all years before the cholesterol commercials overtook the airways. You know - the distinguish older guy or beautiful skinny woman getting out of a swimming pool with 0% body fat and fit only to fall because of high cholesterol levels. I often think since I did not inherit normal cholesterol levels from Uncle Fred maybe I should try normalizing it with some Fettuccine Alfredo but that rigged havoc on my blood glucose reading.
My personal favourite was how they worked it into TV shows; I still remember an episode of Boston Public were a heavy set teacher, Marla Hendricks, played by Loretta Devine felt she was being discriminated against because of her size. Only for the skinny teacher, Marilyn Sudor, played by Sharon Leal to disclose to her that it is her own insecurities that are pushing her to behave in that manner. Because she has high cholesterol, for which she is taking medication. I am not quite sure if she mentions the name of the medication.
Wow sounds like all I do is watch TV -- hmmmmmmmmmmmm… But apparently I do read too even if it is on a TV like screen so, imagine my intrigued when I saw this -Have we been conned about cholesterol?
Conventional medical wisdom about cholesterol — and the role of statins — is now being challenged by a small, but growing number of health professionals. Among them is Dr Malcolm Kendrick. A GP for 25 years, he has also worked with the European Society of Cardiology, and writes for leading medical magazines.
When it comes to heart disease, we have been sold a pup. A rather large pup. Actually, it's more of a full-grown blue whale. We've all been conned.
Say What? I do not know what to make of this article I am so confused this will teach me to be a little more skeptical.

Forgive me father, for I am sick

I am sick and hating every minute of it, I feel like I have been run over by a truck my body aches and I have a fever. This is a vase improvement from the way I felt last week my body ached, touch made it worse and I was constantly having weird dreams.

One particular dream was about my insulin pump. I dreamt I was at a Diabetes Expo and there was a pump spa booth, I stopped at the booth for some TLC for pumcy. I thought it was the least I could do for such a hard working pump, the lady at the booth took pumcy through the pump spa routine and handed it over back to me. Although identical in every way, I could just tell that it was not pumcy, it did not feel like pumcy I started crying begging the lady to give me back my real pump. She tried consoling me while telling me that was my real pump, reasoning with me, “you were standing here the whole time watching me, that is your pump” But I knew it was not my beloved pumcy, basal rates and insulin to carb ratios were all the same but it still was not pumcy and I could not stop crying. I looked around to get someone to help but it did not look like an Expo anymore it was just the lady and I, I woke up anxiously reaching for my pump. Crazy huh!

I got up Saturday morning and went for a run; yes I did, while sick. Why? Because I needed to get out of the apartment and secondly walking would have taken too long and I just wanted to be back in bed as soon as possible. Lastly, I could hear my mom’s voice telling me “you need to get up and get some vigorous physical activity or you will never get better” These are words I heard growing up. Mom believes you are allowed a day or at most two days sick after which you need to get back to your normal level of activity this she use to tell me is the last piece of the healing process, it what your body needs to help the medication and nutrients kill what ills you. I am still not 100% and my body ache is now not intensifying by touch.

Typing this reminded me of the day my Mom explained her healing theory to me. I was in grade one, a month before my older brother and I had survived being caught in a cross fire of a violent coup d’état (mini civil war). Mom used the coup as an education moment each fraction representing either medication, nutrition or exercise together bring an outcome. The violence of a civil war she said is the same as the fight happening in the body the symptoms of illness she said was the excuses given to justify the evil that is the sickness. The strangest thing is it all made sense to me back then.

Doctor’s Appointment

I had an endocrinologist appointment yesterday and it was successful my A1C is 6.2 a step in the right direction. Earlier in my diabetic life, I did very little however I was able to maintain a A1C’s in the 5’s, back then managing diabetes was easy. Although I understood the frustrations, others talked about I thought they were making a big deal about the annoyance that diabetes is.

My doctor back then told me I was her “star” patient and wished all her patients would be just like me. I rather she had prepared me by letting me know it was not always going to be easy. When the honeymoon ended, reality took over and I did not understand why I had to work hard for the same blood glucose control. I felt like a failure, my perfect reflection was shattered or there was something seriously wrong with my mirror, control did not come as easy. I went into denial not testing or caring, after all, I will have to test in other to see a high number and I will have to see a high number in other to worry.

I am grateful I pulled through believing taking control is my only option. Yesterday I left the doctor’s office with an appointment to return in six months and slips to test A1C every two months a copy of the results, will be mailed to me and if needed, or if the A1C results dictate I can request an emergency appointment. Dr B and I also went over my strategy for running with a pump, he did agree with me that I needed a pre-run bolus and we set some guidelines for managing post-run lows. Thanks to Kevin (parenthetic (diabetic)) I had detailed beautiful records I shared with Dr B.