Book Review: The Thyroid Solution Diet

The Thyroid Solution DietFirst off: Don’t let the title throw you. This book is not just about the thyroid or those who suffer from thyroid related issues. Second: Anyone interested in extending their life should read it.

I have for years, since well before Lia’s diagnosis with Type 1 diabetes, been interested in the connection between food, exercise and physical health and this book, which falls along the same lines of Gary Taubes’ Why We Get Fat: And What to Do About ItDr. Bernstein’s Diabetes Solution: The Complete Guide to Achieving Normal Blood Sugars and anything by Michael Pollen, does a wonderful job explaining it using both science and a keen ability to speak in terms any layperson serious about their health should be able to understand.

Though the book does not speak directly to people with diabetes (and where it does it is doesn’t differentiate from type 2), it says volumes about insulin and maintaining healthy blood sugars. It is, in short, the hard stuff I wish our endocrinologist was either trained or knowledgeable enough to discuss with us. But Franca and I learned early on that taking care of diabetes meant TAKING CARE of diabetes. Not signing that task off to someone else.

But back to the book. I was much more interested in the first two-thirds in which Arem goes into fabulous detail about sugar, fat and how these foods breakdown and based on various factors combine with the body’s multitude of hormones (but especially insulin and leptin) to regulate/affect/and in many cases generally muck up the body’s natural metabolism (i.e. Garbage in. Garbage out, which reminded me a great deal of Alejandro Junger’s, Clean: The Revolutionary Program to Restore the Body’s Natural Ability to Heal Itself, which I also highly recommend from personal experience). The last third spells out specific recipes, which I may or may not use, but offers to those not interested in coming up with their own menus, excellent examples of not only what to eat, but when to eat it. Great information to anyone, regardless of what state their personal health is in, in terms of converting food to fuel as opposed to fat.

While I don’t agree 100% with what he says—for instance, I don’t follow the low-fat-is-better-for-you theories on health—rarely have I found a food book that speaks so clearly in terms of sugar, fat, hormones, and exercise, and also of aging, stress, sleep, and detoxification and the affect these have on not just our pant size but our mood especially. And that (the mood, not the pant size) is something we all can relate.

Bardolatry

Then there are the books I should have read but didn’t, or did with so little regard for what was in them. I read them—or not as the case often was—for assignment, for a grade, because somebody said that I should. I didn’t read them for pleasure, not usually. Nor for what they said about the world and about human nature. Not for the mysteries they exposed about life.

That’s not to say I didn’t read. I loved reading and have teachers and good parents to thank that my passion for books became strong and long lasting. But given the choice what I chose to read back then did not ask too much of the reader, not with language, tone or content. They had more to do with nightmares, international espionage, occasionally a dragon, certainly a cowboy or two, than with complex multi-layered works that wrestled with universal dilemmas. Not that both can’t deliver a rousing good story, I just tended to stick to the formulaic ones that fell within certain central themes and avoided the more thought-provoking taxonomies of the human condition (nor did I ever talk like that).

George Bernard Shaw—a playwright I never read but probably should’ve—once said, “Youth is a wonderful thing. What a shame to waste it on children.” I’ve found myself thinking about that a lot as I turn the page on another year, with the next chapter a few pages back just sitting there looming alongside my future membership card to the AARP. I think about where the time went and those books I should have read and I wonder how in the world did so many words slip past me. Words once belonging to such a long, storied list of authors I’d fail just mentioning a handful.

There is another famous saying though (un-attributable, but backed up by science nonetheless): You’re only as old as you feel, and with that sentiment in mind I’ve made a New Year’s Resolution to re-visit what should have served as my formative discover-myself-in-literature years. For the next year, starting with January, once a month I plan to read a work from one of the greatest writers ever known—or not if you believe in those identity theories—the Bard of Avon himself, William Shakespeare.

(Oddly enough, Shaw himself, apparently, would have thought such a commitment ludicrous, at least in terms of following down that path in pursuit of a serious observation into social problems, as he disapproved of Shakespeare as a thinker and philosopher and to show it coined the term bardolatry.)

That said, it might be too late for Shaw to change his tune, but it’s not too late for me. Besides, with Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour having given up the ghost, I need something to fill their esteemed place.

Here’s my list of books and the month I’ll be reading them. If you’re interested in tagging along and sharing your own thoughts, I’d love the company. Think of it as an invitation to the D-Bard Book Club.

  • January              Hamlet
  • February            Romeo and Juliet, of course
  • March                  Much Ado About Nothing
  • April                     Macbeth
  • May                       Henry V
  • June                     The Sonnets
  • July                       A Midsummer’s Night Dream
  • August                 Othello
  • September         King Lear
  • October               The Tempest
  • November          Julius Caesar
  • December          The Winter’s Tale and Twelfth Night

 

 

Back to D-Wild

In honor of our upcoming 2nd Annual Into D-Wild Backpacking Adventure, I’d like to share the post Franca wrote about last year’s family trip. We’re taking what lessons we learned and  heading back into the woods, this time hiking longer (4 days) and further (27 miles)—but with hopefully less gear. We’ll follow up with a fresh story in a few days of diabetes and the great outdoors.

Click here to read Into D-Wild, published October 9, 2011, by Franca.

Logic, Strength and Love

One of the great things the internet has brought is the ability to reach out and make a difference in the lives of people we’ve never met. I’ve been a part of that phenomena for almost three years now, since starting this blog about raising a child with type 1 diabetes to live life to the fullest. To me, helping others is essential to fulfilling that goal. I might even argue, it’s the entire goal.

Last summer, I was thrilled to discover & support my good friend, Dan Masucci, as he was just starting his loving and exceptional short film about a family coping with diabetes called, DxOne. If you’ve somehow never heard of it, well, get ready, it’s about to take the diabetes community by storm. Dan’s a fantabulous director, an excellent writer and the film is a true to this world depiction of what life is like for a child with diabetes.

Now comes another film about diabetes I’m pleased to support. Give a listen to Jason’s video intro.

“Logic, strength and love”. That sums up just about everyday with diabetes. How could you not support that?

If you’re a parent of a kid with diabetes, have diabetes yourself, or just interested in doing something good today, don’t wait. There’s only a few hours left for Jason to hit his funding target of $7,000. The good news is he doesn’t have far to go. So click on over to kickstarter, here, and give your pledge.

Good luck, Jason

A Lesson on Atoms
(or Letting Go)

When it was early summer vacation and close enough to the end of the school year for Lia to still be considered an elementary student and not a rising sixth grader Franca and I weren’t sure what changes we’d make to her diabetes care plan to meet whatever new challenges arrived with middle school. Other than a few frustrating moments—a teacher withholding candy for some asinine reason, the immaturity and arrogance of young boys, chaos around the lunch bolus—school and her diabetes for the most part had gotten along. At least there were no panicked drives across town or phone calls that made us question why in hell we weren’t home schooling (not that had to do with diabetes anyway).

In fact, Lia’s school does a pretty good job of making us both feel like we’re not wasting our time sharing with them—sometimes more than once—facts about highs and lows, helpful tips for teachers of students with diabetes, unique details of Lia’s own treatment and management of her disease. They appear interested, concerned. They ask questions for clarification, offer personal testimony and eye witness to Lia’s strong character, her stoicism, her quietude and composure. By their words, or mostly with just their silence, they acknowledge this one true thing: In terms of diabetes, Lia is in charge.

It’s a question of independence and one that her mother and I were, and still are and will be for many years to come, struggling with as we sat down and talked about the upcoming school year. To understand why you must first have a child and then that child must get sick and be diagnosed with an illness for which is there no cure. Only then will you understand a parent’s worry of letting go. There is no other training for this, no software simulation that will help you understand. And, as I’ve alluded, children with diabetes make taking care of it look like a breeze. Poke. Test. And Bolus. Move on. Next lesson, please.

I’d like that to (but it won’t) help you appreciate our routine for the past couple of years which has been for Lia to call from a phone in the classroom, or the office, if necessary, and talk with one of us about her blood sugar before she does any bolusing. Same with lows. Call, then correct, or correct if you have to but give us a call right after. Because there is no school nurse, it’s just what we had to do. It’s what made us feel safe, because we were in charge, not Lia.

With age comes change however. Like atoms, of which humans are made up of many (about 7,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000), diabetes is not something that can be divided. We cannot take some, say just the parts of it that keep her safe and sound, and leave the rest for Lia (those parts that let her cut in line if she has to pee, or drink juice during English class). As she gets older she’ll gradually assume more and more of the whole until there is nothing but worry and hope that is left for her mother and father. I don’t like it and would do anything to change it, but it is what it is. I can’t fight it. But what we give up we give up in the smallest of increments.

Already Lia is showing signs of her readiness—wrong word. Surrender, perhaps is more fitting—to take on more. So for middle school we’re giving her a new tool to help her succeed, but at the same time still keep us informed. With a cellphone, she’ll no longer have to endure phone calls standing in the doorway next to the hall, where kids are pushing and shoving past, jockeying in the way kids do, while trying to share with with me her blood sugar number. She’ll no longer have to take time out of her measly lunch period fielding questions from me that usually start with: So, how’s it going? As if I forgot she’s at school, and not a sleepover at Grandma’s.

Now—she’s been back to school for four weeks—she texts us from her seat. Before or after she eats, sometimes not at all, but those rare occasions we remind her of our expectations. She texts us, too, if she goes low and has to correct. She texts us other things as well—”Can BB (her friend) come over.”—but mostly she keeps her messages on topic, so she can get back to the things that a middle schooler finds important, like how in the world did anyone ever arrive at a number with twenty-seven zeroes. Okay, maybe that’s not exactly important, but it is, at least momentarily, a bit mind-boggling. Which will likely for her and most others pretty much sum up middle school.

Inspiration: For When You Need It Most

A Moveable Feast

I don’t even own this book, but for some reason it is always there on my mind or in the back of my mind or otherwise someplace near to it. When I check it out of the library, I usually keep it through the maximum amount of renewals (9 I think) and thumb through it almost daily, reading bits and pieces of it here and there, discovering something new every time, and not just about Paris, or Hem, or that era, but amount myself and how I choose to view the world. Having written that just now, it sounds heavy, I know, but trust me it’s not. It’s actually quite simple and down-to-earth.

I can’t remember what drew me to A Moveable Feast the first time I read it—it was probably at my wife’s suggestion, but I do know it was on my writing desk the day my daughter was diagnosed with the autoimmune disorder, type 1 diabetes. Obviously there was no connection to Hemingway’s Paris and this affair—we live in the American south and there was no drinking, no horse racing, no boxing or famous people involved—but I found nonetheless something buoyant about the writing itself that helped me come to grips with this, our own life-changing event.

Shortly after the diagnosis, I began writing this blog and what Hemingway’s writing of Paris, and his other, fictional work, too, of course, but Paris was real, what it taught me was to identify the emotion, find it in whatever action or person that gave it to you and write it down in such a way that it’s honest and clear so that if any one else reads it they will see and experience the same emotion too. It set a perfect example for a father who was facing what is and will probably be one of the saddest, most painful situations in his life, if only because of how unprepared and little I knew about it. For as Hemingway once wrote himself: The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places —A Farewell to Arms, so too had the world, it seemed, broken me and those I loved, but through writing about it I felt stronger. You can’t ask much more from a book or its author.

 

Originally posted on my Goodreads Q&A

Fix. It.

Not quite related to diabetes care, management, complaints of, progress in, fed up with, tears over, yada yada yada….but I think this relates to my recent post Hulk Smash, in which I reflected on my inability to fix things.

Annie Leonard’s project The Story of Stuff has always counted Franca and I as two of their biggest fans—we love the idea of Reduce, Reuse, Recycle and now this, her latest venture in responsible consumerism: Repair. Give a listen as she talk to the folks at Ifixit.org and instructables.com and maybe it will invigorate you, too, to think about how you fix something when it breaks BEFORE you buy it, or going when step further, how to make it yourself.

The Good Stuff — Episode 4: Fix it, don’t nix it!

 

You Should Know

Day 5 of Diabetes Blog Week. The topic: What is one thing you would tell someone who doesn’t have diabetes about living with diabetes?

 

This is a hard one for me. But it shouldn’t be. If you’ve followed my writing at all, you know with what vigor, emotion and honesty I’ve sought to unearth and define for myself—and for others—so many of the deep, troubling aspects of living with diabetes. I’m talking beyond the mechanics of blood sugar checks and carb counting, beyond IVs and Christmases spent in the hospital. Beyond shots and bruises and tender, hurt feelings.

These are things I never understood about myself or about life or creed or my family and the people I love. Tiny outlooks. Perceptions. Conclusions. Sentiments both large and small that arrived not at the end of some long and incredible journey as perhaps I once eluded, but which sank in slowly, over time, in the face of a mountain of resistance and struggles against them, turning them away, begging them leave us—leave her—alone. At some point there is nothing left to do but embrace them because they are all there is in this world and all there ever will be until such time as things change. And they will, one day.

Life is a revolving door. Attitudes come, attitudes go. We, too, change. We learn. We grow. We rise to the call. And I suppose if there is but one thing I would say to someone about what it is like to life with diabetes it would be that. It is a vocation, a duty, an occupation that knows no end, no weekend, no holidays, no worry-free golden years. From others it beseeches consideration, understanding, and for some: devotion, loyalty and a faithfulness that anything in life is possible with love.

Say No More

Today’s topic on Diabetes Blog Week is to write about our Fantasy Diabetes Device. The one item we’d love to see developed to make the care and treatment of diabetes better, easier, simpler, less painful. You name it. The sky’s the limit. Here is my fanciful wish:

 

Say no more

 

Say no more,
Say no more.

These are pretty neat things,
I would say if I’m asked,
And the things that they do
Well…they seem up to the task.

But if I had my way,
I would tell you this much,
I would toss out those names
In one alphabet bunch.

I’d start over from scratch, with every last one.
I’d make it my job… dare I say, my mission
That every last one of those needful devices,
Would get a new name…a kinder edition.

Take Test Strip for instance…just for example,
After a spin through the Name Fixer-Upper,
The word it spits out so cheerfully better.
Now call it a Bodiddly Beandip Whopper?

Or look at this meter and alcohol swab,
Down the word chute they go… now up on the lever
The names that pop up on this dandy Name Namer
Could be Bartle or Bob and a Cootie-free Cleaner.

And who ever heard of an infusion set,
Who didn’t think first and foremost about it,
That an object of such animosity
Would serve us much better if we just called it Mit.

Finally there’s a thing called an Animas Ping—
Wait a minute just now… that’s not really so bad.
But pairing it up with the surname One Touch?
How about we lighten it up with Do-dad.

I hope you see now, it all makes perfect sense,
A machine that names names without any offense.
There is one more item I feel is amiss
Instead of a painfully sharp pointy prick,
I wish lancets would render a butterfly kiss.