Living in health and happiness: My life experience

Ten years ago, when December arrived it brought in a yawning vacancy in my life. The year, until then, had gone swimmingly by. And I was looking forward to embracing another fresh year with the zest and vigor that comes naturally to a man in the prime of his life. But around the Ides of December, I felt the seams of life come apart. The mellow winter sunshine, the dappled green of the park in the rectangular centre of the cluster of houses in our neighborhood, the maelstrom of sights, sounds and smells of streets, the roistering humanity in the bazaars...everything began to lose their carnival-like feel. Nothing seemed to any longer release the endorphins that once hit my pleasure senses with a force-nine gale.

It started with a diffuse sense of enervation and fatigue. In about a week, getting out of bed in the morning became a struggle. And for the remainder of day, my room became my hibernation pod where I was resigned to let the crumpled flag of my energy fly. How did this come about? For as long as I could remember, I had remained a morning person. I relished taking in the cool morning air by the lung-fuls on my everyday perambulations. I looked to reaching back home, picking up the newspapers in the doorway, getting hold of a steamy cup of Joe and settling down with my nose in the pages of newspapers. It was a much cherished and prized morning ritual that I had held aloft for years.

And now this sudden unraveling, which was beyond comprehension! What was going wrong? The strength to leap out of the bed at the crack of dawn had simply vaporized into thin air. Whereas I had once felt like a brisk lamb of spring at that hour, I now felt leaden and languid. No more did the desire to go out and commune with Nature stir my lethargic body and spirits. At times, even though I was able to summon the will, the body felt all too weak and unwilling. I had lost the power to feel the adrenaline high of a fresh dawn, a new day.   

Convinced that something within my system was out of whack, I dragged myself to the nearest hospital by a deathly volition of will. In the presence of that unimpeachable steward of public health – the doctor – I endured the preliminary round of interrogation, and a few tests later, was told to come back a day later by when my test results would be in. I remember leaving with a shivery anticipation and a prayer on my lips. Hoping it would all come out well. That night turned out to be the longest night in my memory. I longed for a heavy slumber to seal my eyes. Instead, I tossed and turned around in the bed, my mind constantly wandering off to the dreaded possibilities I feared to otherwise imagine and contemplate.

Next day, at the appointed hour, I made the rendezvous to the hospital for my come-to-Jesus moment before the doctor. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach, and somehow felt closer to the Lord than I’ve ever been in my life. What was in store? With a cursory glance, the doctor shuffled the sheaf of papers entwined inside the ominous looking cardboard file, ran his fingers along the tidy columns and rows of printed letters, stiffened his back a bit and deadpanned: Very elevated sugar level, HbA1c is 9.4.

Even before the words could drift off, a surge of relief washed over me. "Thank God, it's not anything worse." Peering closer, the doctor – with earnest furrowings of the brow – delivered a solemn pronunciamento staccato voce: You should immediately get hospitalized and stay under medical observation until the sugar level comes down.

Never one to humor the notion that hospital care can offer any quantum of solace, and relieved to have dodged grimmer medical crucifixion, I suddenly felt a blowtorch of confidence shine through my vapid bearings. "I will be fine at home doctor. Don't worry. Will follow the regimen you prescribe," I lobbed back. "Mr Kumar, you need to take my advice seriously. Your health parameters are a way above normal and a few days of hospitalization will be good for you," intoned the doctor. "Umm, I really appreciate your concern doctor but I assure you I will be better off at home and I will take good care of my myself," I sputtered with all the faux confidence I could muster into my voice.

Noticing my recalcitrance and perhaps realizing that I was determined to subvert his will, the doctor decided to give ground. "Well, I have given my opinion and now it's your decision to make." Happy at my deliverance from hospital purgatory, I made an effort to dial up my saccharine diplomacy, seeking the doctor's counsel on how to live the rest of the life with impaired glucose metabolism.

No, I admit, I did not like what he had to say. The sting of discipline in the matter of food choices was hard to accept. The holy triad of rice, wheat and corn has ruled plates around the world since mankind mastered the art of cultivation. And here I was being told to eat them only sparingly. Humans consume calories in the form of three macronutrients: carbohydrates, protein, and fat. But while protein consumption and that too plant-based was decreed kosher, indulgence of carbohydrates and fat was strictly verboten. I like a drink as much as the next man…but this spirituous entertainment must now to be enjoyed only in homeopathic doses.

Today, ten years after I was diagnosed with diabetes mellitus, I am thankful to God for helping me to still find a way to keep life exciting. To be honest, it had seemed like the unkindest cut – having to live with a debilitating disease that keeps ticking away like a Damoclean time bomb and capable of ripping life asunder if not managed well. But instead of letting life come un-tethered from its romance and reality, I braced myself to sit tight on the Ferris wheel of experience and enjoy the ride as much as I was allowed to. I became a believer of high-bran, high fibre diet. Oats, wholegrain cereals, lentils, beans, fruits are now my chow-down favorites. Foods with high glycemic index have gone out the kitchen shelves. Morning meals have become more plant-forward. More vegetables have moved to the center of the plate at lunch and dinner. On days and occasions when my taste buds scream to go to seventh heaven, I beef up my meal bowls with leaner proteins like fish.

Sometimes, when my brain's opiate receptors get very hungry, I allow myself a glass of whisky for that calming effect on a relaxing evening. And at parties, I refuse to go for another drink, careful about not squandering away my hard-earned sobriety chips. Once in a while, I don't mind drawing up on narcotic firepower but again being careful that the payload is small and limited to a few puffs of smoke. It's taken me a while to get my head around this restrained style of indulgence but years of scrupulous adherence to this lifestyle has made me almost evangelical about its benefits. With a bit of self-discipline, I have been able to adjust and better identify the boundaries between work, life and leisure. There is more time for reflection, which helps me feel more centered and in touch with my inner feelings. At a time when another New Year beckons, I look to spending the year more fully ‘optimizing’ myself physically, morally, mentally and spiritually.