Naval Hospital Pensacola Florida part II

After being admitted to Naval Hospital Pensacola Florida on I believe a monday (or maybe tuesday) I spent the next few days in the hospital and was discharged that Saturday.  Now, here’s the salient point. I spent four or five days in the hospital, which given my condition was a long time.  I probably could have been released on Thursday, or Friday at the latest.  During that time I was taught nothing important.  I left not knowing what an a1c test was, and not knowing a good instant check testing strategy, not knowing what good control really was or why it mattered.  I wasn’t given nor have I ever been given, by a medical professional, a good definition of hypoglycemia but left the hospital scared of them.  I wasn’t impressed by their warnings of the consequences of prolonged hyperglycemia.

Of course the nutrition education was worse than worthless.  Granted this was before the findings of the DCCT were released, but the nutrition education I received was the same atrocious “food pyramid” guideline bull fucking shit foisted onto the American people by George McGovern and his Senate Select Committee on Nutrition and Human Needs.

You all probably know, “steaks, eggs, and bacon are bad for you”, “eat lots of bread and fruit” “eat plenty of whole grains and skim milk”.  Why the fuck would anyone tell a diabetic to ever drink skim milk? Why? You may as well drink fucking Coke or Budweiser.  I mean seriously if you’re going to go down why would go down drinking something lame?  At least Coke tastes good and as for Budweiser  not only yummy it has fewer grams of carbohydrate per serving than milk.  Come to think of it, not that it matters, Budweiser is just as fat free as skim milk and it gives you a buzz. Why?

It was that same fucking bullshit that you probably learned from Mrs. Crabapple too. I wasn’t taught what a macronutrient was.  I left the hospital not knowing what fats, proteins, or carbohydrates, were let alone why those distinction are absolutely critical to exercising any control.  And now that I think about it how could have I left high school with a diploma without demonstrating a knowledge of the difference between fats, proteins, and carbohydrates?  I was taught nothing objective so I could make my own conclusions, just bald naked assertions, empirically wrong conclusions, and political opinions from some pansy poetry writing socialist Senator.  I wasn’t taught how to read a nutritional label.  I wasn’t told to count carbohydrates let alone to restrict carbohydrates which really is the key to truly tight control.

(Much more on this subject is coming soon in the diet section.  Why the fuck would you drink puke, and eat shit, take myriad unnecessary medications of dubious safety, all so you could fail miserably to control your blood sugar levels while setting yourself up to die one of the most brutal, expensive, humiliating deaths imaginable when all you have to do is stop eating fucking carbohydrates? Seriously why? If you happen to be a medical professional, registered nurse, diabetes educator or dietician (shills and tools), primary care physician, endocrinologist, podiatrist, opthamologist whatever I’m asking you and I want a fucking answer.  I think I’m entitled.  I want the truth.

For four or five days I sat in the hospital punching my clown and learned nothing.  Finally, I was discharged from the hospital on a Saturday, after having been given no meaningful instruction, when the hospital’s pharmacy was closed without any insulin. Seriously that’s a true story.  They kept me a day or two longer than necessary only to discharge me without insulin on the day the base hospital’s pharmacy was closed,  not know how to get it, or even a script for it.  So I went to a pharmacy out in town and bought some of my own.

That was my first clue that something was wrong with what I was being told.  I mean how could you possibly not think a little ahead and make sure a recently diagnosed teenaged insulin dependent diabetic goes home with insulin?  It reminds of the time in boot camp when I did something blatantly stupid and Drill Instructor Sergeant Austin tossed me over my footlocker.  I could see the pain, anger, and confusion in his face when he, as he was standing over me holding on to my lapel, asked the simple yet eternally poignant question. “Why boy? ” This Recruit had been instructed but he did not know.  Was that their reason? (If you’ve been instructed and you recall being instructed, how could you not know?)

Interestingly enough this is how I discovered you don’t need a prescription to get nph insulin.  You just go to the buildings where they have stuff and the people in those buildings will give you stuff you want or need if you have money to give them.  Looking back it seems kind of naive to think it logical that governing authorities would not erect artificial barriers to obtaining something that you really do need to live.  On this rare occasion my naivete and trust in those in authority was vindicated.

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About roguediabetic

I am a Type 1 diabetic diagnosed in August of 93 while serving in the United States Marine Corps. After over eighteen years of poor blood sugar control and early complications including a left big toe amputation I finally figured out how to control my blood sugar. What I finally learned about blood sugar control ultimately had little to do with what I was told.
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