Absolut Not

It must be the shorter days and cooler evenings that have got me back to thinking about blogging. Having the opera and symphony to write about has helped as well. It is a good exercise for the mind, and certainly more productive than listening to the drivel that is on TV or radio these days. So look for some semi-regular updates.

One thing you may be hearing about is a new battle I am undertaking. No, not the eradication of stupidity, I have given up on that and will let the loons drive the final nails into the coffin of the US Empire. This is a more personal battle.

Life is killing me. A few years ago, I was confirmed as one of the growing number of people with fat-ass disease, aka diabetes. I have never seen a disease where its victims are villified as much as diabetics. It is automatically assumed that you are an ice cream glorping, sugar-charged, snack-attacking fattie if you have type 2 diabetes. Only the type 1 (usually childhood onset) diabetics are the real victims that need to be supported. Type 2s.. lose weight and buck up.

Do we segregate cancer victims? No. Heart disease caused by diet and lack of exercise? No.

Anyway, I now poke my finger religiously, record my blood glucose levels, watch what I eat, swim regularly, take my growing pile of medication like a good boy and it just keeps climbing. Diabetes runs in the family (grandfather on mom side, uncle and cousins on dad's, sister... who knows who else) so I was rather doomed from the beginning.

Now the added nightmare that my love of and frequent indulgence in "adult beverages" is taking its toll. Yep. Tried to deny it, joked about it.. but it has come to bite me in the ass, well, liver actually.

One thing about being a diabetic, you get used to shedding blood. Every 3 months, the same surly phlebotomist takes vials of my blood for the lab techs to study. For the most part I do not hear anything. This last time was different.

My June test showed elevated liver enzymes. The Dr cautioned me and sent me on my way. But the new numbers must have been really bad. They called me and said, in essence, that I am either a roaring alcoholic or have hepatitis. I need to come in on Monday and get a work up for Hepatitis and some more specific liver tests. "How high?", I asked. "Way higher than June", came the HIPPA-inspired non answer. "Meanwhile, severely limit alcohol consumption immediately. Have you knowingly been exposed to Hepatitis?" "Yes sir, no sir," came my annoyed reply.

So since about 8PM on Tuesday 10/5/10, I have been without my beloved vodka or scotch. Doing so and not going berserk means I am not an AA destined alcoholic, I hope. You see I enjoy my vodka, scotch and other brews and essences because I like them. I can taste the difference between Popov and Stoli, or Absolut and Grey Goose. Each scotch has a story to tell. A fine Flor de Cana rum from Nicaragua, smooth as a brandy, is a work of liquid art. I want one. But I can live with out it and won't resort to shoplifting a bottle of hooch from the local Shell station to satisfy a need.

I am not an alcoholic am I? Hope not... I hate meetings. What is next??? My coffee likely. If that is the case, there is no hope.

Stay tuned.