Yeah, have you ever felt like a person on death row penalty about to be executed next day? That life, as you know it, is going to end tomorrow? All the things that you take for granted today are no longer going to be possible tomorrow? I have been there and believe me, it is not a very heart warming feeling! Here's how it all unfolded last week.
I had taken a simple Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT) for Diabetes and was pronounced 'borderline'. So, as any diligent doctor would advise, I was told to undergo a more rigorous GTT - one that involved fasting for 10-12 hours prior to first blood draw (fasting blood) and then blood draws every hour for 3 hours with nothing to eat in between. I heard about this test, and my first thought was, "What? 13-15 hours of starvation!That is crazy. There is no way I am going to survive it."
Well, the obedient patient that I am, I went ahead and scheduled the test. Monday morning - 7:30am. Calculating 10 hrs backwards (it is clearly bad judgement to fast for 12, when the mandate clearly stated anywhere from 10-12 hrs), I had to stop consuming food on Sunday evening, 9:30pm. That does seem a reasonable time to finish dinner and wake up the next morning, 7:30am for breakfast. But remember the catch - no food for additional 3 hours after that? That's when it gets downright unacceptable for my tummy - no food (or even the thought of it!) till 10:30am in the morning. Sigh!
Sunday dawned. Hearty, healthy breakfast. Hearty, healthy lunch. All hunky dory. Then starts this sinking feeling that my GTT results are gonna be positive i.e. I may be declared diabetic. That would mean an end to my sweet tooth cravings, my love for all-things-potato, or even the occasional indulgence of fried nothings. Hmm, not a good prospect at all. But hey, wait! Dont I have another meal to go before the test and all that inhuman diabolic fasting?
My mind went into an overdrive. What will be my last meal, if tomorrow (and every day, every meal thereafter) is going to be a low-carb-high-protein-high-fibre diet? It was going to be my very own version of The Last Supper. And I have to make the most of it. That's when I started feeling like a death row inmate. Think big, think bad. Think super-size meals laden with lard. Sitting there, in front of the TV, all those tantalizing extra cheese pizza and inviting food commericals began to beckon me.
The 'Big Bang Theory' couldnt hold my attention any longer. Of course, I had more pressing and momentous plans to make. Plans that will have a long-standing effect on my psyche; decisions that will alter the course of my life if I am diagnosed with diabetes. The time had come. Tonight.
I promptly started getting visuals (and in some cases, even heightened sensory perceptions) of my favourite sinful foods that I can have for one last time before I leave my tad-imperfect-somewhat-transgressive-mostly-lusty foodie alter ego behind for good.
Well, I could go on and pour my then unstable emotions into words here, but sanity prevailed (no prizes for guessing that it wasnt me; all thanks are due to my level-headed husband) and all I had for my very own Last Supper was regular home-made food, with a little special to boost my plummeting morale - half a serving of the most delicious vanilla, strawberry banana split ice-cream, complete with rich chocolate sauce, roasted pistachios and walnut topping. Culinary H-e-a-v-e-n, if you ask me!
Also, to cut the long story short, I did show up at my scheduled appointment having religiously fasted for 10 full hours, starved myself for a good 3 more hours post that (and survived to tell this tale!) and gave 4 vials of my blood for a noble cause - to determine whether I'm at risk of the monster called Diabetes. And in the end, it was all for good because I am diagnosed with temporary diabetes and need to keep my edible desires in check for 3-4 months to come.
So, lettuce-cucumber-cherry tomatoes-spinach-salad, anyone?
I had taken a simple Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT) for Diabetes and was pronounced 'borderline'. So, as any diligent doctor would advise, I was told to undergo a more rigorous GTT - one that involved fasting for 10-12 hours prior to first blood draw (fasting blood) and then blood draws every hour for 3 hours with nothing to eat in between. I heard about this test, and my first thought was, "What? 13-15 hours of starvation!That is crazy. There is no way I am going to survive it."
Well, the obedient patient that I am, I went ahead and scheduled the test. Monday morning - 7:30am. Calculating 10 hrs backwards (it is clearly bad judgement to fast for 12, when the mandate clearly stated anywhere from 10-12 hrs), I had to stop consuming food on Sunday evening, 9:30pm. That does seem a reasonable time to finish dinner and wake up the next morning, 7:30am for breakfast. But remember the catch - no food for additional 3 hours after that? That's when it gets downright unacceptable for my tummy - no food (or even the thought of it!) till 10:30am in the morning. Sigh!
Sunday dawned. Hearty, healthy breakfast. Hearty, healthy lunch. All hunky dory. Then starts this sinking feeling that my GTT results are gonna be positive i.e. I may be declared diabetic. That would mean an end to my sweet tooth cravings, my love for all-things-potato, or even the occasional indulgence of fried nothings. Hmm, not a good prospect at all. But hey, wait! Dont I have another meal to go before the test and all that inhuman diabolic fasting?
My mind went into an overdrive. What will be my last meal, if tomorrow (and every day, every meal thereafter) is going to be a low-carb-high-protein-high-fibre diet? It was going to be my very own version of The Last Supper. And I have to make the most of it. That's when I started feeling like a death row inmate. Think big, think bad. Think super-size meals laden with lard. Sitting there, in front of the TV, all those tantalizing extra cheese pizza and inviting food commericals began to beckon me.
The 'Big Bang Theory' couldnt hold my attention any longer. Of course, I had more pressing and momentous plans to make. Plans that will have a long-standing effect on my psyche; decisions that will alter the course of my life if I am diagnosed with diabetes. The time had come. Tonight.
I promptly started getting visuals (and in some cases, even heightened sensory perceptions) of my favourite sinful foods that I can have for one last time before I leave my tad-imperfect-somewhat-transgressive-mostly-lusty foodie alter ego behind for good.
Well, I could go on and pour my then unstable emotions into words here, but sanity prevailed (no prizes for guessing that it wasnt me; all thanks are due to my level-headed husband) and all I had for my very own Last Supper was regular home-made food, with a little special to boost my plummeting morale - half a serving of the most delicious vanilla, strawberry banana split ice-cream, complete with rich chocolate sauce, roasted pistachios and walnut topping. Culinary H-e-a-v-e-n, if you ask me!
Also, to cut the long story short, I did show up at my scheduled appointment having religiously fasted for 10 full hours, starved myself for a good 3 more hours post that (and survived to tell this tale!) and gave 4 vials of my blood for a noble cause - to determine whether I'm at risk of the monster called Diabetes. And in the end, it was all for good because I am diagnosed with temporary diabetes and need to keep my edible desires in check for 3-4 months to come.
So, lettuce-cucumber-cherry tomatoes-spinach-salad, anyone?
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