Image via WikipediaI went to the doctor today. I haven't been in months because I kept canceling appointments. Pretty much from June-December I pretended I didn't have diabetes. Now I guess I'm reaping that foolishness. I told the doc, "I'm going to Weight Watchers, I'm back on track, I still believe I can do this on my own."
My doctor, always supportive but frank, said, "What is your goal?" I told him my goal is to lose 50 lbs by this fall.
"That is a good goal, but only you can hold you accountable for it," he said. "You have to have a goal and a plan, but when a plan doesn't work out, you have a Plan B. Plan A is preferable, but if you don't reach your goal with Plan A, you move on to the backup plan. This is not a threat, but it is your second-best option. You have a progressive disease and you have been here since 2008 without much improvement."
My doctor is not gruff or callous. But he is frank. Maybe you can't guess what Plan B is, but I bet most of you can. We'll talk about that another time. For now, the focus is on giving Plan A one last shot, with every form of support in my arsenal: Weight Watchers, nutritionist, therapist, running for a treadmill, weight lifting, medication. Like I told Nick earlier, this is every technique short of moving to the Biggest Loser Ranch. If Plan A doesn't work for me under these circumstances, it doesn't have a chance.
So here we are, answering the phone for the wake-up call. 239 days to lose 54.6 lbs. or else we move ahead with Plan B to save my pancreas, my heart, my nerves, my arteries, my old age.