I'm Breaking Up with Little Debbie

Many of you who know me or have been following this blog have an idea (by now) of my affinity for sugar.  As a matter of fact, my exploits into Sugarland are legendary.  One venture into my version of Sugarland can turn an entire pro football team into raging diabetics.  Moderation?  Moderation??  What's that?  Moderation has never been part of my vocabulary.

I don't eat sugar all day.  I don't wake up and consume a box of Trix for breakfast, nor do I eat a basket of bear claws.  I don't even have a doughnut for breakfast because I don't eat breakfast.  I drink it, just like I used to.  Only now it's usually about three cups of black coffee instead of a half dozen vodka and lemonades.

I don't have a Snickers Bar for lunch, nor do I have a milkshake cause I pretty much don't eat lunch either.  Still not hungry.  I mean, I may get enough of a hunger pang so that I devour an entire apple.  Or an orange.  Have a handful of trail mix.  But that's about it.

I do eat a sensible, nutritious meal at dinner.  And then I would venture into Sugarland, population me.  There was NOTHING sensible or nutritious about my excursions into Sugarland.  Every.  Single.  Night.  I think I wrote in great detail about my sugar affliction with Doughnut Delirium. 

To recap, instead of just, like, you know, having one doughnut for dessert, I would usually have an apple fritter, maple bar, then one or two old fashioned's.  Maybe a bear claw.  Then I'd top that off with a bowl of ice cream, cause, like, it's there.  And it's ice cream.

Hell, I would have an entire philharmonic orchestra playing Souza marches through my veins, every single night.  No wonder I wasn't hungry until late afternoon the following day.  My system was still blazing from all the sugar shenanigans consumed the night before.

So I recently went to the Doc for my every other year annual check-up.  Because one year in my life is like six months anymore.

One of the primary components of the check-up is to see what's going on in the blood stream.  I mean, that's like 95% of the deal, right?

The results came back and everything's fine, except I have a bit of an elevated fasting blood sugar level.  It was like 120, with the optimum range being 70-99.  So it's up there, but just a little bit.  It hasn't really changed in the last couple years either, but the Doc says he'd like to see that number go down. 

And so, knowing what you do about my confection for Sugarland, and knowing the wanton sweet gluttony I have so brazenly confessed to all across the universe via this inter web thingy, I hope you are smiling when I say I then asked the Doc, "So, do you think me having four or five portions of dessert every single night might have anything to do with it?"

To which he responded, somewhat aghast and quite emphatically, "Uh, yeah."

So, the ball was placed squarely in my court.  It's up to me. Diabetes or Little Debbie?  You know Little Debbie.  That smiling, sultry sweet purveyor of all sorts of sugary delights. 

What's it gonna be? Make some dietary changes, feel better and stay off medications?  Or the Highway to Hostess Twinkie Hell?

Well, if you know me or have read Late Night Letters to the Moon, you'll know I've already endured a couple little challenges on this walk upon the planet.  Will it be possible for me to cut down on my sugar, maybe just have one dessert a night instead of five?  Can I possibly survive such an ordeal?

It's been about three weeks now.  Instead of two pieces of cake, a few cookies, a bowl of ice cream and some pudding I had one piece of cake.  Instead of a half dozen cookies, some pie and a candy bar I had two cookies.  And so on.  It's actually been pretty easy.

I've also lost five pounds, bam!  That's a good thing cause the slacks I slid into Easter Sunday were a bit tight around the waist.  Hadn't been tucked into them for about a year.

Bloody hell.

Next stop: London