This post is composed of unrelated, random stories, so I won't even pretend to tie them together.
Back in February when I had my appointment, my doctor wanted to run some blood work to have concrete, post- insulin- resistance- diagnosis numbers. Physically, it was clear that I’d found a balance because at that point I’d lost 20 pounds, but he wanted to see the same tests from November run again to make sure the numbers reflected my outward success.
A couple weeks back, I had a message from my doctor that my results had come in and everything was “much improved,” end of call. That wasn’t satisfactory at all, so I called back the next day to hear specifics. I was floored. My cholesterol, already under 200 in November, dropped 72 points. My insulin level, which should be under 10, went from 8.8 to 1.8. My fasting glucose went from 112 to 91. And on and on. It was very gratifying to learn of those results and to have another marker that things were progressing very positively.
Along with being strict about my dietary restrictions (I only deviate for communion and, last Friday, for a lone strawberry someone offered – the latter sure made me feel guilty!), I’m continuing with knitting and sewing projects. One of my friends had created a cute little bag pattern, and I purchased it from her. I’ve now made four bags, and a couple of them are holding small knitting projects. They’re quick to whip up and they help organize the small projects that I’m simultaneously working on. Now it’s just a matter of which bag to grab rather than constantly throwing individual projects in and out as my whims change.
My nieces and nephews are all growing up, and on my side, it’s getting to the point that I can understand my sister’s oldest, and sometimes the two oldest, over the phone. Plus, Big Sister has now sent me an email and a text message, which both amuse me to no end. I get a huge grin whenever I see I have an incoming message from her.
I thought I’d share a cute story.
I was speaking with my father a couple weeks back. Since my sister is often at work by her children’s bedtime, my father tucks them in.
Every night before bed they like to pray. From oldest to youngest, they tend to stick to their familiar recitals.
K, the timid second-grader, often prays the following: “Dear God, please don’t give me scary dreams tonight, just good dreams."
Then comes R, not far from starting school: “Please make Mommy be okay, and Daddy, and Chloe [former dog], and Grandpa, and let us see Chloe again, and…”
Finally, the youngest, C, closes with his unintelligible mumbling. He would happily pray all night, but one of two things tends to happen; either Grandpa is forced to eventually cut in with a gentle word of, “That’s enough – God’s ready to hang up now!”, or R suddenly exclaims, “Christian, don’t pray for cookies!"