Low carb, or why did we have those stupid tests done?

Rich & I took advantage of the good part of the Affordable Healthcare Act, and had physicals done last month. It had been quite a while, and we were both a little apprehensive about the results. Mine weren’t too bad; nothing that can’t be resolved by getting some exercise. His numbers, though, were a little more disturbing. His AC1 number was in the diabetic range. So he started getting daily exercise and eating low carb. Which means that I suddenly started cooking low carb.

He’s been very, very good. He’s faithful about walking for an hour a day, and he’s cut out the ice cream he loves, except for one ice cream sammich on the weekend. He’s stopped snacking on three or four mandarins a day, and grabbing a few cookies every time he goes past the kitchen. He still adds a little orange juice to his diet ginger ale, but it’s Tropicana Premium, not from concentrate with no added sugar, and that’s within acceptable limits.

But it’s been an adjustment for me. I crave carbs, myself, and I can have them, within reason…but not at home. And it’s kind of hard to not think, “Oh, this dish has some carbs, but not that many. It’s okay.” And think it about the next dish, and the next one, and…suddenly dinner is loaded with carbs, and I’m thinking, “Well, maybe if I make him a really big salad…!”

I met my former breakfast friends (we stopped getting together weekly a while ago) this week, and I — who normally can’t face anything sweet first thing in the morning — had pancakes. With tons of syrup. And ate every last bite.

They were bacon pancakes from the Original Pancake House, and they were delicious!

Ah! Carbs!

It’s an adjustment.

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