They say that you don’t appreciate something until it’s gone. 

When it comes to one’s health, they are right. 

Up until the age of 44, I was a sedentary, emotional eater. I figured I got my work in during my 12 hour shifts, where I’d walk in excess of 10k steps in a day, lift patients much larger than me, and move my body every which way to accommodate what was happening. 

Oh, and I drank water. Lots of icy cold cups of water. 

At the age of 44, I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. I got off the couch and began walking. Then, running. I ate better. I tried to stop going to ice cream and pastry when I was down. 

Whoops, at age 50 it turns out I’m really type 1 diabetic.  I found an endocrinologist, got an insulin pump and a continuous glucose monitor, and kept running. 

Oh, now I have shoulder pain from lifting the legs of pushing, epiduralized, 300 lb labor patients. Now I have a torn rotator cuff due to a bone spur – and add an impinged deltoid. After some PT and steroids, that’s on hold. 

Next comes breast cancer – not in my gene pool at all. I’m the one in eight who will get it anyway. Lumpectomy, sentinel node biopsy, radiation, recovery. Cancer free for 19 months. 

But wait, there’s more. Monthly shots and meds that slammed me into instant menopause, which is not an enjoyable way to start that. It keeps my hormone positive cancer at bay, so they tell me. 

So today when I went to a routine appointment and got more potentially bad news, I went straight for the ice cream. 

I’ll be back on the spinach shakes tomorrow.

There’s only so much I can handle.