...but I had a bit of a health event this weekend.
I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes about four years ago. I have been doing a marginal job of managing it and this week I paid the price for it.
I got a cut on my left calf. By Wednesday, my calf had swelled to a steer. I think to myself, "Self, I need to see the doctor." I actually saw the nurse practitioner. I decided to get ahead of things and confessed my sins of not managing my condition.
As her assistant was cleaning and bandaging my wound, she checked my blood sugar. This is where I got yelled at, because my blood sugar level was leading the American League in hitting.
She wanted to send me to the hospital, I sad I was in no need for that, so I signed a CYA document stating that if I dropped dead it wasn't her fault. I left with antibiotics and the diabetic medicine known as metiform. (Which I should have been talking all along.)
I'm doing much better. My calf is a calf again. I'm not peeing as much (the non-monitor sign of lowered blood sugar.) I can't screw around anymore - I'm going to be fifty in a year and a half.
I must live at least until August 5. Or maybe longer - I refuse to die in New Jersey.