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This elevator is headed down

I could just wrap my arms around Katy, my women’s health provider.

Which is a sentence that looked different a second ago before I decided I probably shouldn’t say “lady parts doctor.”

Besides, Katy takes care of much more of me. Katy lets me cry and laugh and whine and get saucy when I need to.

 

Which is a lot right now, let me tell you. My life is brimming with awesome sauce.

 

(Hagar children, feel free to roll your eyes where I CANNOT SEE YOU)

 

So I needed a little blood work done and took advantage of one poke to get a whole tube for a blood panel work up, or whatever the jargon is for “tests.”

 

Katy called me today with the results.

 

Thirteen months ago I would have been cringing at this point, vowing to begin getting healthier RIGHT THIS MINUTE. I would have bought rice cakes on the way home.

 

But 13 months ago I began a series of columns, going through a prediabetes education curriculum and living the diabetic lifestyle. Everything I learned, I regurgitated for readers. I kept up the column for three months in the Union-Bulletin’s weekly Health and Fitness tab.

 

I got a lot of great feedback from you all. You said your doctor had never told you this stuff. You told me you hadn’t been able/ready/willing to absorb it. You said you could finally understand it through my journey.

 

It was heady stuff, imagining I was having a tiny impact on public health (my secret fantasy is to finish growing up and work in public health).

 

Turns out I was having quite the impact on my own health, Katy said today.

 

You see, I started practicing what I was preaching in my health columns. While writing those, of course, but in all the months that have followed. I found myself feeling so much better — losing weight, gaining muscle, seeing my energy level rise faster than the mercury on a July day — that I got addicted to feeling good.

 

I mean, for goodness sake, I felt lean, all the way back in sweaty August. My poor knees and I reconnected (not on Facebook, however).

 

Today I learned it wasn’t all in my head.

 

Let’s start with my triglycerides. I think of these as little blobs of fat riding along like bums in railroad cars in my bloodstream. For heart health, these blobs should not equal more that 150 milligrams per deciliter of blood, whatever that means. And 100 is really more the ideal. Today, it’s 40, down from 179. FORTY, people! And that is a year of eating all the Tillamook cheese, sour cream and full-fat yogurt I wanted. Along with the B word … bacon. And butter, real, true butter. BAM!

 

And my good cholesterol is well up and my bad cholesterol is headed down. KAPOW!

 

My blood glucose is 21 points lower than it was last time. Like, I would have to actively work to become diabetic at this point. SHAZAM!

 

Yeah, this feels really good. If you haven’t tried it, I would invite you to do so, at least for three months. You can do anything for three months. If you want to learn what I learned, put “diabetes” into the search bar on this blog.

 

Let me know how it feels.

While looking out at a world of ice

I decided I needed a treat. But the dog ate the last of my darker-that-dark chocolate (off the ottoman and he’s not dead yet, but he’s been severely scolded. Stealing off the furniture is new behavior for the Cap’n).

I worked from home today which like taking everything you do on a normal day and doing it inside a washing machine, inside a broom closet, while the world marches by, beating a set of drums. In other words, not very fun, leaving one wondering why we all claim it’s so nice to work from home.

A breaking story threw me off schedule, so I typed while my family ate spaghetti and left the table to act like a family.

I needed chocolate. Lacking that, I put together an impromptu dessert. Two heaping tablespoons of plain Greek yogurt, shredded-but-not-sweetened coconut and topped with sugar-free vanilla syrup for lattes.

Less than 10 carbs.

It was delicious and I’m much better now. All I need is tea. I just thought you’d want to know.

 

Emptying out the odd-and-ends drawer

Today I am offering a completely unstructured array of items I want to tell you, but in no way merit a whole blog alone. Kind of a cleaning out before the new year, if you will. Are you ready for this? Let’s go.

Gilligan — Despite my trepidation that my little fishie friend would not make it through Christmas, he continues to swim around. Eating sometimes but not always. I’m now considering the possibility that Gilligan suffers from SAD, or Seasonal Affect Disorder. He did that last year, too. At any rate, I’m always relieves to see his little blue beta head come up to greet me every morning.

Can I Just Say Something? — I went to a party last night and browsed through an impressive library. When I came upon my little book of newspaper columns slotted in with hundreds of books belonging to people who obviously love to read, I had a moment of being stunned. Then I smiled, slow and wide, and thought about how much I love being a columnist and how lucky I am that my editors believe in me. Especially the guy who originally took a chance that I might prove to be a good bet for readers. Thanks, Alax.

Camo Man — You have no idea how much I love that you folks love Camo Man. You do realize, I hope, that I think a lot about you when I talk about him. You’re important to me and I cannot live without him, so how nice is it that you’ve embraced this new love AND his nickname. However, that does bring me to the next item….

Unhappy readers — I heard from a few of you these past few months, expressing your unhappiness at my happiness. Which is altogether too much “ness.” One man told me he is not going to continue reading my work. While I was treading water in a sea of grief, my sadness matched his own perfectly. Now that I’ve climbed onto dry land and can run once again, he cannot bear to hear about it.

Please, whenever you can, reach out to someone you know who is in a rough emotional situation. Their level of despair is almost always deeper than what they allow others to see. And you might be the only one to give the extra effort which shows the face of compassion to those suffering. I pray my reader can someday find his way out of his own choppy waters and then I hope he can let me know.

My health — A number of you followed my diabetes education series earlier this year. The feedback I got was humbling as I heard over and over how the three-month series in our Health and Fitness tab was offering information in a way that could be readily absorbed. I’ve put all those columns here on the blog, which you can find by typing “diabetes” in the search bar.

While the series ended in the spring, I’ve continued to walk the walk. The low-carb lifestyle has changed a great deal for me. I’ve lost the equivalent of a 10 year-old girl who is closing in on 11. My knees and I are friends for the first time in decades and I am still eating bacon. And cheese and veggies and steaks so tender they fall off my fork. My jean size is a number I might have worn when I was 8. If ever. All I know is whenever I spot them in the laundry hamper, I momentarily forget these little pants belong to me.

I feel healthy and I apparently look it, according to the comments I get. I know all of that sounds terribly braggy, but it’s not me, honest. I manage to maintain my imperfections quite well, I promise. I just happen to be feeding myself thin.

The Great Kitchen Renovation — I know! I still haven’t posted photos. And now it really is all the way done, if you don’t count window treatments. It’s just that I never seem to think about photography when the room is nice and sparkly clean. Therefore, you haven’t seen the cool subway tile and creative cabinet choices. Nor have you laid eyes on my sweet kitchen office area or witnessed that floor that is smooth enough to sleep on — which I did with some regularity when I first started dating Camo Man and stayed up much too late almost every night. Meaning as soon as I crawled in my house after work, I had to lay down for a 20-minute nap as Miss Tallandblond and Martha Stewart, Jr. prepared dinner above my head.

OK, that’s it — my goal is to get those pictures taken and up on this blog before I get married. WHICH…

The wedding — I am still overwhelmed. I don’t have a dress, we haven’t chosen a cake, we haven’t sent out those “Save the date” cards that people assure us are vital. Really? Don’t people either accept the invitation or don’t? Can’t it be that simple?

You see? I’m a mess. And, frankly, I’m so deeply in love that I still can’t focus for beans. But I have to remember there are far more involved than just Camo Man and me. Yesterday I asked Miss Tallandblond if it would be fine if we simply got married by a judge and had a family party. By her face, I could see I had suggested the equivalent of getting your high school diploma in the mail and eating a cupcake by yourself to celebrate.  Scratch that and return to freaking out.

David — Yes, I still grieve my darling husband. And Camo Man mourns his losses. We talk for hours about our previous lives and marriages. We visit his wife and daughter’s graves. My first love continues to live in a box on the sitting room bookshelf. However, I’m preparing room in my heart and home for when the time comes that I’m ready to acknowledge — fully — that life is for the living. Love is eternal, but our minutes on Earth are numbered and I want to spend those moments really living whenever possible.

But I will always be ever so grateful to my David for a happy marriage. The more I grow into this new relationship, the more I realize that it’s because of that solid foundation I am able to trust and love and delight in the company of a man who adores me. My husband left me an inheritance one can only dream of — a heart that knows the sweet music of love and can sing the tune once again.

Malcolm — Well, all right, my soon-to-come grandboy will merit a zillion columns and blogs, I’m pretty sure. But his cooking days are coming to a close and we just cannot wait to get a taste of little Macalicious. His mommy’s pregnancy has gone beautifully, mostly, despite the challenge of getting it started. His cozy Portland nest is fully feathered and his parents are supposed to be working on deciding on Malcolm’s middle name. In the meantime, we’ve marveled over modern imaging technology (Look! he has his dad’s chin)  and the wonders (and sheer silliness in some cases) of baby products.

Six more weeks, give or take, and we’ll get to kiss that little chin. I’ll have the supreme update then, you can count on it.

Cap’n Jack — Oh, that dog! He’s having quite the life, learning about camping and game and running free on dirt roads in the hills. Jack is becoming a real dog…Camo Man even taught him to roll over. If you’ve never seen a standard dachshund roll over, you’ve missed some wonderful laughs. And Jack is awfully proud of himself these days, riding around in the Man Truck with his soon-to-be sister, Daphne. Chewing on elk and deer bones and barking just because he’s king. Of course, he feels that he is now entitled to snuggle on the couch and be Boss of the Doorbell, so there’s some retraining to do. We’ll get around to it, just like those “Save the date” cards.

“Dad” — My kiddos at home are experimenting with the title, rolling it out every so often to see if it settles well on the tongue. Camo Man just smiles when he hears it. No pushing, no discussion, except that we’ve all agreed we loathe the “step” in any family name. So it’s never going to be on the table. And using “Dad” in no way demotes their late father — indeed, it says  that my daughters so loved him that to bestow it on another is a precious gift. To Camo Man and themselves.

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I hope you all have a wonderful New Year. Laugh a lot, love even more and live like this life counts. Call me, write me, stop by and say hello. You’re the reason I get paid for having this much fun.

Sheila

 

Good vs. too good

 

It started on Monday. I had returned from a run to Portland and noticed the trip had really taken a toll. I was exhausted in that way you are when you’ve shoved a Volkswagen Beetle up a hill with the emergency brake on. 

By noon I was crabby and ready to drop under my desk for a nap. Plus my stomach had its knickers in a knot.

When I walked anywhere it felt like my head was trailing 24 inches behind my feet and I couldn’t remember where I was walking or why.

But the truly alarming symptom was that my heart seemed to have developed another lobe or ventricle or something that was causing an extra thumping every few minutes.

Did I mention I was cranky?

I knew I had counted carbs all weekend, even with an amazing “bacavo” — yes, that is short for “bacon avocado” — omelet at the St. Johns Cafe, so I wasn’t worried about a blood sugar surge making me wonky.

On Tuesday I was feeling like I might have to fall over for a few minutes on my way to the bathroom from my desk. People were starting to ask if I was feeling OK. My friend Marsha told me that evening she didn’t like the looks of me.

In a mothering sort of way, not like Marshal Matt Dillon chasing the bad guy out of Dodge City.

By Wednesday I knew something was up besides the strain of trying to work on my kitchen remodeling every evening. I was eating low-carb and exercising and getting nowhere.

A light bulb clicked on. My diabetes educator had recently mentioned not feeling so hot because of a low blood sugar day (she’s a Type 1 diabetic and uses an insulin pump). At the time I wondered what that felt like and now I decided to diagnose with Google.

Aye, there it was, on the Mayo Clinic website: Your brain needs a steady supply of sugar (glucose), for it neither stores nor manufactures its own energy supply. If glucose levels become too low, as occurs with hypoglycemia, it can have these effects on your brain:

Confusion, abnormal behavior or both, such as the inability to complete routine tasks; visual disturbances, such as double vision and blurred vision; seizures, though uncommon; loss of consciousness, though uncommon.

Hypoglycemia may also cause these other signs and symptoms: Heart palpitations; tremor; anxiety; sweating; hunger.

The National Institutes of Health agreed, adding weakness and “feeling tired, irritable, or confused after waking up.” Which explains why I couldn’t remember Tuesday was Tuesday on Tuesday when the alarm jangled.

Avoiding hypoglycemia can be a real balancing act for diabetics taking certain diabetes medications. There are also some seriously scary underlying causes like tumors, liver and kidney disease and endocrine deficiencies.

I read that my symptoms can be linked to other health issues, as well, but hypoglycemia seemed the easy target — my daily carb count has steadily dropped and the remodeling was eating (sorry!) away my evenings. Basically, I had been forgetting to consume enough food, most likely carbohydrates.

Which, please note, is the first time in recorded history I just didn’t think about food or eating or flavor or the way chocolate soothes your soul.

This has been coming, however. As I have removed the behavior-dictating bonds of carbohydrates, I have found myself to so rarely be seeking food that when I am, it’s noteworthy. As in, “Would you look at that? I’m actually hungry!”

My low blood sugar didn’t seem like something worth bothering my own Dr. Mike with, so Dr. Google at the Mayo Clinic stepped in again.

“The initial treatment depends on your symptoms. Early symptoms can usually be treated by consuming sugar, such as eating candy, drinking fruit juice or taking glucose tablets to raise your blood sugar level. If your symptoms are more severe, impairing your ability to take sugar by mouth, you may need intravenous glucose or an injection of glucagon. If you’re prone to severe episodes of hypoglycemia, ask your doctor if a home glucagon kit might be appropriate for you.”

I figured I would just go out to the U-B’s coffee service area and wrap my lips around a plastic spoonful of sugar — five grams of carbs, much less than chugging some orange juice (with more than 35 grams of carbs) from the vending machine.

Within 15 minutes I was beginning to feel like my brain was still attached to my skull. In an hour, I was almost able to stay awake in a reporter’s meeting.

Now, of course, I have homework. The lovely Maria Lizotte, a Walla Walla-area diabetes educator, has commanded me to take my little poky blood meter monitor everywhere I go and take a reading the next time I feel like I’m orbiting the sun without a rocket. And I have to record what I ate prior to the experience.

Mostly, however, I am just going to be better about what I do at night. Dinner first, remodeling second.

Sheila Hagar can be reached at sheilahagar@wwub.com or 526-8322.

Fiber In, fiber out, along with the carbs

As you know, I’m writing about prediabetes education and experiences from a personal perspective in a series of columns, of which today’s is No. 9. This series will not contain every fact about diabetes, nor should it replace medical advice from your diabetes professional. Nonetheless, it rocks, according to me. 

We’re going to talk about poo today and there is no way around it. In a sort of magical setting, yes, but still. Consider yourself warned.

So some of you have mentioned to me that this fiber thing is a mystery. We know it’s cool because every other food product screams the word on its label. And, of course, fiber is important because the government says so. But we don’t really know why.

I’ll do my best here, but you may also want to talk it over with your doctor or nurse.

For people following an eating plan to prevent or reverse diabetes, fiber appears to be an extraordinary secret weapon, according to my sources.

Fiber is actually a carbohydrate, says Amy Campbell, who writes a blog for the “Diabetes Self Management” publication. “But unlike sugars and starches, we can’t digest it very well.”

Basically, fiber has a natural superglue that not even stomach acid can dissolve, so it stays intact through the gut (did you know that is the technical name for … um, your gut?). Once it reaches the large intestine, Amy says, our own juice can turn fiber into energy. Which, it has to be said, can sometimes be expressed through, er, “gassiness.”

Yet some of it goes right through, becoming poo (I told you this was coming).

Here’s how it’s been explained to me — let’s say you have carton of Trader Joe’s Latin-style black bean soup in the pantry, which you happen to love, especially with some salsa stirred in. The soup’s carbohydrate count is 12 grams per cup and the fiber count is four grams. Take the 12 grams of carbs, subtract the four grams of fiber for a total of eight net carbs. That means you can safely consume two delicious cups of soup for 16 grams of carbs, adding in another two grams of carbs or so for the salsa. If you want to add a dollop of sour cream? Add another half a gram.

The whole yummy thing is less than 20 grams of carbs, but you just ingested eight grams of fiber.

I should tell you there is soluble fiber and insoluble fiber, which is our body’s best friend. Amy says insoluble fiber — or roughage — is referred to as “nature’s broom.” It does what you can picture, moving things along your digestive system. You get this fiber from nuts, whole grains, popcorn, leafy veggies and the peel on apples and pears, among other foods.

Soluble fiber (say it fast five times) is found in oats, beans, some fruits (citrus, apple and pear) and vegetables (mushrooms, carrots, sweet potatoes) and psyllium. This fiber soaks up water and forms a gel. “Diabetes researchers believe that consuming large amounts of soluble fiber may help control blood glucose levels after meals  by slowing the rate of carbohydrate absorption in the intestine. Soluble fiber has also been shown to lower blood cholesterol and triglyceride levels by binding to cholesterol and helping to pass it out of the body,” according to the Diabetes Self Management article.

They avoided that poo word, I noticed.

Really, does it get any better? We eat too much of the wrong foods, we get disease. We eat the food with fiber, we get swept clean, so to speak. There are additional fibers to learn about on Amy’s blog at www.diabetesselfmanagement.com. The author is a registered dietitian, diabetes educator and has written profusely about nutrition.

Most Americans don’t get the recommended number of grams of fiber, which averages out to be about 25 grams for women and 38 grams for men per day. You’re adults and I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I do want to leave you with a few Hagar fiber tips.

My family buys raw nuts to roast at home. It’s cheap(er) and delicious. Sometimes we bathe them in a little Worcestershire sauce, spread them on the cookie sheet and toss a little sea salt on top. We usually combine pumpkin seeds, sunflower kernels, slivered almonds and add in whatever is on sale that week. Other favorite additions are garlic, chili or onion powder.

I keep them in my desk, send them with school lunches, take them along on trips.

We like to steam cauliflower in curry water, then mash it with some butter and maybe cheese. One cup of this cooked vegetable has just over 5 grams of carbs and more than three grams of fiber, meaning a total of less than two grams of carbs per cup.

I also buy these amazing tortillas, made by either Don Panho or La Tortilla Factory. Net carbs for these babies is about six grams, once you subtract the fiber. That means I can layer in all kinds of deliciousness and roll it up into a meal. I use leftover meat and salad, artichoke or olive tapenade, pepper strips, beans, whatever. Best. Lunch. Ever.

I have also made tortilla chips from these beauties when I have to answer my inner nacho woman. I brush on a little olive oil (zero carbs) and pan roast (baking produced one soggier side) the tortillas I sliced up with the pizza cutter. Then it’s under the broiler with shredded cheese (zero to two carbs), onions and some olives.

Just like that, I’m transported back to the old days.

That said, I don’t want to ever return to the carbohydrate consumption habit of back then.

One more. I asked a friend to help me find a really good energy bar that I could feel good about feeding my kids. Margot-the-research-queen found a company called Gnu Foods. It’s based in New York and it makes fiber bars. Incredible fiber bars. They are made with six whole grains and sweetened with fruit juice, “no artificial anything,” vegan, etc. They have about 130 calories, 30 carbs, depending on the flavor, and 12 grams of fiber. Thus your breakfast might be as low as 18 carbs because these lovelies are filling.

Even better, they are delicious. We love the cinnamon raisin (like a cookie), the peanut butter and the banana walnut. And the espresso chip, the chocolate brownie the orange cranberry … you get it. We order online, they arrive in a few days and then we take them everywhere. There’s one in my purse right now, in case of a hunger emergency.

There you go. Now you know as much as I do about fiber and its by-product, poo. If you have more fiber tips, send them in and I’ll post them online on the Walla Walla Union-Bulletin’s Facebook page.

Sheila Hagar can be reached at sheilahagar@wwub.com or 526-8322.