They say everything happens for a reason. So for some time now I've been trying to figure out the reason why diabetes runs in my family. I have not been able to fish out anything concrete except mind-boggling readings and everyday a new family member who had or has the dreaded disease. Just to signify the gravity of the situation, I'd like to state for the record that my grandparents till a little time back had their blood glucose levels around the 350-450 mark, a score that would put even a certain Mr. Mathew Hayden to shame.
Everybody in India, of course, knows or rather, should know about diabetes, because in the next five to ten years this country will be playing host to the largest number of diabetics in the world. Well if you have diabetes the operative word is not "Sugar" but "Carbohydrates". The former is one of the two types of the latter, but there existed this notion for quite a while back that consuming anything sweet would lead to diabetes but this of course is not true. Once one is diagnosed with the disease a whole new world is brought into focus; it signifies the dawn of a new era. It's an amazing transformation. Food that was earlier shunned and discarded is now to be worshipped and eaten. And those edible eateries that were popped in without a second thought can now not be popped in so easily because hidden within those seemingly harmless goodies lies waiting a microscopic monster that is going to shoot the glucose level up, up and away, much to the envy of Superman.
I still remember that one glorious morning when my father announced that he was going to the neighborhood diagnostic clinic to get his blood sugar tested. He tells me it was an instinctive thing to do, in all probability it's-high-time-I-got-it-checked kind of a routine, but there must have been telltale signs all along. His appetite had considerably increased- put simply he was turning into a glutton; apart from having his three course meal he was actually munching something or the other all the time; also he wanted dessert after every meal or rather after every snack he had. It was quite frightening when I now think about it and the incessant pain in the calves was like icing on the cake (no pun intended) and that ultimately made the way to the clinic clearer and nearer.
My dad walked in triumphantly after the check-up, smiled mischievously and announced proudly "Now, I'm a sweet man!" The result was expected but still disheartening. My mother geared up big time to take the bulls by its horns. Big plans were drawn out to minimize sugar intake and everybody who's anybody in the family, were not really asked for their respective opinions, but they were given anyway. We all readily agreed to the changes that were now going to take place in the so-called lunches and dinner that were going to be served. With a concordance rate of more than 90% between identical twins, there appeared a more than 100% chance of we three kids developing the disease, so we all decided that there was no harm in starting too early in life. In addition to a well-planned balanced (read fat-free, sugar-free, less-calorie etc) diet, a strict exercise regime was also proposed. Someone great once said 'Ambition is a very important thing'. Well, I'll take it at face value that he/she was great.
Avoid fruits and nuts. You are what you eat. -Jim Davis
Avoid fruits, nuts, potatoes, rice, anything sweet or starchy. You are what your parents are, and what their parents were- Diabetic. -Me
The mornings were to be started off with a long walk, which I think was ardently followed for three days. Breakfast was to be light with either cornflakes or a lightly buttered toast. The morning tea of course was to be taken without sugar and also every subsequent cup of tea after had to follow the same course. Big changes, however, were introduced during the full meal routines. A mix of channa and missi roti ka atta replaced the normal roti ka atta. Yes, it is as cool as it sounds, though I've never really tasted it before but I'm pretty optimistic. I'm, in fact, relying on the verdict given by my father, who on the first day of his new diet plan assured me about the extent to which he was relishing this new stuff. As far as I can recall, I think he had tears in his eyes but those were readily dismissed as an overflow of emotion over the prospect of eating such a wonderful meal for the rest of his life. Potatoes were to be boiled before they could be subjected to any further treatment. Rice was to be de-starched. Most of the fruits were banned except some; the most prominent fruit that survived the onslaught of the war against diabetes and gained its entry on the shelf of the refrigerator, day after day, was papaya. My mother has a very interesting theory, which she never ceases to drill into me whenever I try to shrink away from the sight of the dreadful fruit. She tells me that papaya is the only fruit that will bind your tummy in case you're having an attack of the trots and will loosen the inner contents in case you have constipation. It seems too contradictory and a figment of her imagination so I've always been too scared to experiment when I'm passing through either of the two conditions.
Another very important ingredient that was deemed fit to be included in the revamped diet plan was soy. Since the preparation time is just a few minutes, it seemed all ready to acquire the status of the new kid on the block, the new sensation to hit town, the new rising star on the horizon. A few weeks later, however, I received this forwarded e-mail, a true story to boot, lamenting the use of soy in food and highlighting the dreadful effects it could have on the body, including dangerous diseases like cancer. The box of soy was as a result, duly shown its correct place- the dustbin around the block, the dump at the end of the town- as the drowning star at the horizon.
Lots and lots of home remedies were suggested by lots and lots of people and my mother in her responsibility as a good housewife noted everything in her diary that was aptly labeled 'My Sweet Fight'. Jamun powder, meethi daana, neem leaves, paneer doda are just few of the weird and probable viands that I came across while flipping through the pages of that battered diary; the additional reason behind these being mentioned is that they happened to be the only ones where I could comprehend either the whole or a part of the word. The rest seemed to be in Hebrew.
My parents were also told that if one were to eat the niboli, or the fruit of the neem tree, one would be able to conclusively control the glucose level and thereby get rid of diabetes. But like all good things in life come in ugly packages, there is no exception in this case too. Chewing the niboli is the hardest thing to do, even moving a mountain would prove to be child's play. The problem multiplies when appearances become deceptive. There are quite a number of trees that resemble the sacred Neem, and as a result the fruit of the tree can easily be mistaken for. We were recently informed that the tree under which we had spent a considerable portion of our time collecting the nibolis was not the correct one but some distant relative. With a heavy heart and a squashed spirit, we took it upon ourselves to relay the same to as many people as possible. Much to my mother's dismay an acquaintance refused to believe her and argued that since the brother-tree's fruit was benefiting her she would continue to use the same. This just goes on to prove that it is quite dangerous to suffer from a disease. Not only are the physical aspects compromised, so are the mental faculties threatened.
The most important vegetable that was actually considered to lead the way to a normal healthier better life was bitter gourd (karela). There is something about this particular work of nature that makes one despise it even before it is reaches the mouth. Something also needs to be said about the way karela tastes. It's like multiplying the taste of the niboli by a factor of 100. And I think I'm correct in my observation since a considerable portion of the Indian population tends to hate this particular delicacy. But the first and golden rule to be followed by a diabetic is not to hate any from of food and especially love the food that one has always hated. Therefore it became imperative to consume the most loathsome denizen of the entire vegetable family.
It's been close to eight years now and I won't say that the situation has worsened though it has not changed for the benefit of all either. My mother has diabetes as well. Dad wakes up early in the morning every day and resolves to walk at least for 5 miles, but inadvertently ends up scooped up in the blanket fifty inch deep. We got a Gluco-meter to save the time, blood and energy spent in going to the close by clinic. But a little while later, its ineffectiveness was realized and the concerned doctor suggested a better clinic that is now not so close by. So much so for technology and innovation and their cumulative efforts in making our lives simpler. Ironically enough when my parents' respective sugar levels do turn up near the normal value, my dad suggests that we celebrate by preparing or buying sweets! Both my parents' sugar levels are not actually very high yet are also not in control, so constant efforts are put in to not allow them to exceed beyond dangerous levels. These so-called efforts involve the very challenging task of popping in tablets before and after breakfast and meals, a task, which my father almost always forgets. A recent visit to a renowned endocrinologist was dismissed as unnecessary because the doctor didn't treat patients with such abysmally low sugar levels. Only when the glucose level should touch the 300-350 mark will the doctor consider a patient as an aspiring appetizer.
The moral of the story is life with diabetes is not easy. Also life without food is unimaginable and to an extent impossible. George Bernard Shaw once said, "There is no sincerer love than the love of food", which echoes the sentiments of every human being. The catch therefore lies in balancing the scales to as to achieve a healthier longer life.
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