Let me explain something about being double the weight you should be – it is not fun going to see a new doctor. Any time I know I’m going to be seeing a new doctor, that date looms in front of me like a grim specter, filling me with dread. Seeing a new doctor is just another opportunity to be treated like garbage. It is yet another opportunity to be blamed for my condition. I could feel The Speech coming on, and I can just never get in the mood for it. To someone that doesn’t know me, I am just a number. A number expressed in pounds.

As grateful as I was to go to an endocrinologist to perhaps get a little closer to an answer, I was still going through my usual nervousness at meeting yet another doctor, and the humiliation that must necessarily entail. I practice my opening lines. I’ll throw in a little humor. Maybe that will make me a little more human. Maybe he might like me just a little bit and then that will delay the inevitable dehumanization that is coming.

The lady at the front desk is not exactly friendly. I almost forgot my practiced lines. Then the nurse comes. She is extremely pregnant. That throws me off my game. I didn’t prepare for this. I’m going to completely mess this up and he will just think I’m a complete loser. The nurse is going through all these routine diabetes questions. Everything here seems to be diabetes geared. My heart starts to sink. All he is going to want to talk about is diabetes. And of course I have to lose this weight to help my diabetes and the weight is all my fault and the weight is causing all my problems. I don’t know why I even bother going to doctors. I already know the answers.

Then the doctor walks in. I nervously use my very practiced opening line. He doesn’t seem to notice. Oh no! This is going very badly. I hand him my list of hormonal triggers with dates in a timeline. He does study that. He doesn’t look like I’m crazy. He looks at my neck, arms and ankles. He leaves so that I can change into an examination gown. Now I really don’t know what to think. What in the world will an endocrinologist be looking for in a physical examination? I don’t even remember to tell the truth of the matter now, but he seemed to spend a lot of time on my liver and was concerned that it was enlarged and swollen.

He said a couple of things during the exam, but he is not a man of many words (and he has not been in my subsequent encounters with him). The only thing I really remember is he pointed out the dark skin on the back of my neck. He explained that is was called acanthosis nigricans and was caused by insulin resistance. That one sentence was more information than I had received in years. I had a little glimmer of hope. He seemed to be taking my condition seriously.

After the exam he sat to mark up the lab sheet for blood work that he wanted done. He said that he was going to test for several things but he suspected I had Cushing’s Disease. I was just stunned. Not because I knew anything about Cushing’s Disease or what that implied or entailed but that he ventured a diagnosis. This was a completely new experience.

He was concerned about my uncontrolled diabetes. He asked if I could do any exercise. No. Don’t I wish. That’s why I was there. I’m totally disabled. I tried not to feel frustrated. He wants me to start insulin. Ugh. My heart sank again. My body was less me and more Big Pharma as the days passed. But he seemed to have a concrete strategy. He wanted me to gradually increase my metformin and take glucose readings twice a day. He had a definite plan. I can certain follow rules.

Next the sweetest nurse that has ever graced the planet took me to a training room to outline a diabetic diet and to show me how to use an insulin pen. I left there with a sack of samples and instructions, and was taken to have my blood drawn before I left.

I didn’t look at the lab sheet so didn’t know what to think. The phlebotomist had already been studying it. She said that she thought I might be breaking a record. The only way she could see to do it was to take NINE VILES of blood. What!?! Wow! He really is taking this seriously. I didn’t care if it took every drop of my blood in my body if it just yielded some answers. Send in Dracula! She also gave me a big plastic jar to collect my urine for 24 hours. I didn’t know what for, but hey, this was some serious scrutiny. Bring it on.