Have you ever had a three cup day turn into a five cup day and you still found yourself doing the Monday morning head bob? My caffeine intake this morning is fast approaching obsessive/compulsive – if it hasn’t long surpassed it – and I’m still having some serious consciousness issues. I’ve even pulled out my big gun: black, dark, extra-bold, and strong enough to dull the glaze on a new mug.

I’ve had enough caffeine to turn an elephant into a four-year-old child with ADHD and an empty bottle of No-doze. But me? Still nothing. I might as well be drinking tap water (fortified with diuretics).

Maybe the google monster has something to say about high blood sugar and caffeine. Maybe I really need to see a nutritionist, like Cheryl’s been saying/nagging/badgering. It’s a good thing words don’t generally do as much harm as heavy objects in my house.

This post has been a while coming. I’ve been freaky tired, but fear not dear readers. Knowing is half the battle and good humor is two thirds, so I’m running a surplus.

Get a load of my visit with the doctor last week. She tells me she wants to go over the good stuff from my labs first. The word ‘first’ was my cue to stop paying attention until she said ‘second.’ The second part was the list of stuff we expected to be off after the chemo last year, and that was my cue to start holding my breath.

Then she went over the results related to metabolism. After presenting the numbers (contrasted with what’s considered normal), followed by a masterful execution of the pregnant pause (something I’m convinced they teach in residency), she asked: “does anyone in your family have diabetes?”

I have this thing I do when I’m surprised. Many of you have seen it, either from me or others trained in the emotive arts: the diameter of my eyes double. (No, I’m not blessed with supernatural powers that change my body shape. My eyeballs and occipital cavities remain unchanged. I just make a whole lot more of them visible with my excellent facial muscle coordination.) Sensing that I was mixing surprise with alarm (something I don’t recommend by the way), she added something to the effect of “… you don’t yet, but you’re just short of the line where we’d start to talk about doing more tests.”

My body might not always be healthy, but I think my reaction was. I went home and threw a fifth of the food we had in the trash (including all the leftover Halloween candy). What can I say? I’m weak. My best coping mechanism is removing temptation.

Then there was yesterday. I had another visit with my doctor to go over my sleep study results, which again presented me with good and bad. The good part was that I don’t have sleep apnea. Woo hoo! No funny masks forcing air up my nose in my immediate future! The bad part was I’m still having an average of “40 arousals” per hour.

My first instinct was to blush. My second was to wonder, “is that even physically possible?” My third was to realize, “she doesn’t mean THAT kind of arousal.”

Many people have something called restless leg syndrome. As it turns out my version of the syndrome is more of a full-body experience, not unlike a small seizure… 40 times an hour. It’s just one more reason why Cheryl really loves me.

But I’m in luck. There are several medications used to treat RLS. Too bad they tend to counteract one of my other medications.

This is my life.