I got the shock of my life today! By now I thought I knew everything I needed to know. But I was wrong. And wrong in a big way about something that’s very important to me: Sugar.
It all started because of my gallbladder. My gallbladder had flunked a job performance test. Up until then, I didn’t know much about this internal organ, or really any of my internal organs.
They do their job and I appreciate them for doing a good job but I don’t ask questions and I don’t get in their way. Anyway, I knew I had a gallbladder but I didn’t know where it was or what it did. I certainly didn’t know it had stopped working.
There were indications, however. After one fabulous wedding reception, where I enjoyed a bountiful array of appetizers and canapes (which thanks to Suzi I now know is pronounced ka-nuh-peez not can-ah-peas – really, I am having my own Renaissance period whereby I am learning how much I don’t know) after which I began to feel strange, new sensations.
Then I moved on to a luscious wedding dinner that thrilled my tastebuds but caused the rest of me to feel uneasy. My brain realized something was happening and stopped socializing and told me to stop eating and go drink some water for pity sake.
A couple of months later this happened again during a glorious weekend involving an abundance of rich foods ingested in a short period of time. I’m pretty good at willful ignorance, so I again ignored the problem until it went away.
When my annual wellness check rolled around, I actually remembered to tell my primary care doctor that food was not always my friend. What I said to her is, “I think I have diverticulitis.” Nothing thrills a person who has spent years practicing medicine like hearing a diagnosis from someone who doesn’t know where her gallbladder is.
She politely asked me why I thought that was the problem and why I hadn’t considered my gallbladder to be the culprit. I explained, with a straight face, that it was because I knew people with diverticulitis and had heard a lot about it, but I didn’t know anyone who had a faulty gallbladder. Go with what you know, right? (Of course, I am now up to speed on how many friends had their gallbladders removed, had gallstones, and don’t I remember? And, how could I forget?)
So off I went to be tested and even then I still wasn’t on board with what was happening. I’m from the school of thought that “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” and “if it’s broke but you can still move forward, keep going.”
The test took 90 minutes and I had to stay perfectly still while a machine did something called a “nuclear” scan that didn’t cause an international incident but did create detailed images of how my organs *cough gallbladder* were functioning, I left assuring everyone it was nothing more than a routine check.
Two days later my doctor calls me with the results (spoiler alert: uh-oh) and tells me I need to see a bariatric surgeon. Whaaaat? Why?
Evidently, my gallbladder was not doing anything that required immediate attention. It wasn’t misbehaving or looking to cause trouble which was good because I was booked on a cruise with Suzi, (where I lived large, food-wise, and learned how to correctly pronounce names of foods I’ve been mispronouncing for decades), and her friends Karen and Rick.
Thus, I got a bariatric appointment for a month later and boarded the Island Princess. Of course, a cruise ship is not the place to count calories or say no to cravings. And I told my brain to tell my gallbladder that I’d stay away from foods it didn’t like: Mainly fried foods and fatty foods which my taste buds didn’t like either.
The woman who had the medical degree told me dairy products were okay and dairy products laced with sugar were okay, too. Win-win.
So off we went on a cruise ship that had ice cream on demand from early morning until late at night. Even better, Suzi, Karen, and Rick all believe that ice cream is an important part of our food pyramid. And we didn’t limit our intake to just ice cream. When we were in port we took advantage of every gelato shop that crossed our path.
Mind you, I haven’t forgotten and we are getting to the thing that shocked me today. The thing I never knew. The thing I found out when I got back from the cruise and went to see Sir Bariatric.
And by the way, what is it with the doctors I’m getting referred to these days? They don’t look like Marcus Welby anymore. In fact, the one who gave me a new knee looked like Channing Tatum. Not so much that anyone would ask for his autograph, but enough that people would say, “hey, you look like …” And now this guy bears a resemblance to Dermot Mulroney.
So, Dermot met with me for what I thought was going to be a pre-surgery planning meeting whereby he would tell me about the procedure, what a gallbladder is, what it does, and why we humans can get along without it.
Inevitably, the conversation got around to diet and food choices. I already had been told to stay away from carbohydrates, specifically breads and fatty foods. But this guy tells me that (wait for it, wait for it) …
… sugar is also a carb.
Whaaat?
You have got to be kidding me! Who made up that rule?
I wanted to argue with him and tell him to take it back and say it wasn’t so. But he was wearing a white coat paired with a stethoscope, plus his credentials were in frames and hanging on the wall in clear view.
Because I was still in denial, I checked with Glenn to see if he knew about the carb-sugar thing. He said he didn’t, but he’s been a husband for a long time so he probably already knew what to say. I polled a few friends who all seemed surprised that I was surprised about sugar being a carb. (One of them even said, “OMGee, RaMar, really? You didn’t know? Or you didn’t want to know?”)
Sigh. We’ll have to see what comes next. After my appointment I went home sadder but wiser, contemplating an end to taste sensations and a dismal future of vegetables, fruits, protein and balanced meals. Oh, and at some point I have to evict my non-functioning gallbladder from the premises.
The Upstory 