>so how does alcohol affect u?
>well it’s like this weird intolerance bc I have pancreas issues, and like can’t process sugars
– I’ve always been very eloquent –
After the poking, the scans, the sobriety that lead directly to anxiety implosion that was manifested by upright indulgence in nicotine… I was still ill. In May/June 2015, it had been nearly six months since the eloquent “You better not drink” prognosis had come in. Ok, FINE, I’ll —
A life with alcohol was a death sentence, therefore it was easy to say No, thanks, because I Choose Life like Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor) in Trainspotting did before me. I’ll stick to water and Coke Zero, and I brought Marlboro Reds, what are we doing tonight? Gee, look at that, I can’t go a day without nibbling on something sweet, I gotta have a lil’ cookie with my coffee, and…
and, you know, sometimes I’d get bored of that moment when everyone did shots, and I only went out sober to a club ‘till 4 AM once… but I can handle it because, you know, it doesn’t matter if I can’t drink because these are my friends, I know these people… except for that one dude I didn’t know, who was drunk and I was trying to turn his flirting into a conversation. I failed and just, well, stopped speaking to him, and…
and, what is UP with these goddawful headaches?
My migraines would get so bad I’d be asked to leave the office. My hands had a permanent cold and clammy feel to them and my diet, well, it wasn’t too healthy.
My routine tests revealed that minus the alcohol, my pancreas was still crying. It wasn’t until I saw three more doctors and had stayed in a clinic for 5 hours, monitoring my sugar levels, that I was diagnosed with hypoglycemia. And those years of a high carb, low protein vegetarian diet (conceived and practiced in an effort to outweigh the effects of Damn, I love drinking and mixing and regretting how regularly I misplace my dignity) apparently were not good for my pancreas.
Neither was my pathological consumption of gummy bears while growing up.
So I combined my dry year with no desserts, no sweets, no life.
After super helpful visits to my nutritionist, having gone down two bra sizes and with a bonier physique, I started drinking again. It felt ravenous to finally share a glass of wine with my best friend and to mildly flirt over a beer or two, and to wake up the next day feeling fine.
It felt almost too fine, though, because even now it’s hard to kick the habit of saying, Ok, I’ll have just one. It’s hard to say no to stuff I enjoy eating, and after exploring the gamble of a drink or two, I get the courage to have a third serving of whatever makes my lips soft and my eyes hazy.
Sometimes it’s overdoing over Dim Sum, and others it’s because I aimed at having one beer but overshot and also had mezcal and wine. Then come the familiar Pancreas Blues, and I kick myself, because I should know better. I still chase water with Coke Zero, and depend less on my cigarettes… But this whole keeping an eye on what I eat, and looking for habits that counterbalance the embedded low heart rate, this is permanent.