It's The Little Things That Count

When I was first diagnosed with diabetes in 2008, I was 5 foot 6 inches tall and weighed 168 pounds. I was put on oral medications. I started counting carbohydrate grams like my life depended on it (because I was convinced that it did). I started hitting the gym regularly. And six months later, I weighed 118. The weight had just melted off.

Nobody was more surprised than me. I went from a size 14 to a size 2. I was rocking long form-fitting sweaters and skinny jeans. And I was almost glad I was diabetic. But the diabetic nurse educators took one look at my tiny body and told me I was borderline underweight, not good at my age. And I stayed that way for five years.

Then, in 2013, an endocrinologist switched my diagnosis from Type 2 to Type 1.5 (called Latent Autoimmune Diabetes in Adults or LADA for short) and I walked out of his office on insulin. My first reaction was panic, which is not uncommon. It's a lot to figure out right at first. And by the time I got my insulin dosage right, I was up eleven pounds and out of all my clothes.

Rather than going into overdrive to lose the weight again, though, I hit Goodwill for some new duds, took a look in the mirror and decided I liked what I saw. In fact, I liked it so much I let myself gain some more until -- at 138 -- I was in a size 6/8. Still small. Still in my appropriate Body Mass Index range. But looking "healthier" and a little fuller in the face (not a bad thing at 70).

The thing is: insulin gives you some play in the wheel. Once you get your brain around using it, the insulin -- which is a bit of a bother and admittedly less than fun -- gives you the ability to control your glucose in a new way. But that can encourage you to take eating risks, ultimately making your weight creep up.

The other day, I noticed my jeans were a little tight. So I got on my scale, and -- sure enough -- I had packed on five new pounds. I was not thrilled. I can't afford different clothes right now (even at Goodwill). And that five pounds put me dangerously close to the top edge of my BMI range.

So I stepped up my physical activity commitment. I pinched back the size of the portions on my plate. I brought home some celery to snack on with peanut butter or cheese. And I marched past the items at the grocery that I knew weren't doing me any good.

They bake a coconut pecan cookie at my favorite grocery store, for example, and I had developed an affection for having one with my coffee after the big salad I often eat for lunch. I've now replaced it with three ginger snaps (at 4 grams of carb each and a tasty, satisfying crunch).

Another practice I've embraced since becoming diabetic is eating a Greek yogurt at bedtime to keep myself from crashing during the night. But, if I ate my dinner a little later than usual or didn't work out that day, I may not need it. So I make sure to check my glucose now before eating the yogurt and sometimes discover I should leave it in the fridge. In other words, that one little habit can not only affect my glucose, it can affect my weight. Not good for my waistline. Not good for my heart. Not good for my emotional well-being.

Because I watch what I eat pretty carefully and I stay active, there aren't a lot of ways I can cut down my food intake and still get the nutrients I need. But instead of this being a problem, it actually makes it easier to know exactly what to do when the scale gives me a heads-up. In life, little things can make a big, big difference. When I follow through, that is.