Lester Croppe never did come back for his follow-up two months ago. He did show up this week, however, with a big frown on his perpetually tanned, furrowed face.
I immediately got the sense that Lester was upset or unhappy, although I wasn’t sure why.
“It’s been a while”, I said tentatively. “Last time we talked I gave you an insulin pen to start getting those blood sugars down….”
“Before you go any further, I need to tell you something”, he interrupted.
“Yes?” I said.
“I didn’t like what you said last time about me having to go on the needle.”
“I can understand that”, I offered.
“So I got mad and decided to do something about it.”
I glanced at his vital signs. His weight was down almost twenty pounds and his blood pressure was better than I’d seen it before. I asked:
“What did you do?”
“I gave up drinking beer, cut back on snacking and made my servings smaller than before”, he thundered.
“Looks like it paid off!” I said. “What kind of blood sugars are you getting now?”
“Nothing over 220, and my fasting readings are perfect.” His stern face broke into a contented smile. “I wanted to prove that I didn’t need insulin”, he said, triumphantly.
“And prove it you did! Congratulations….”
“Thank you”, he said, offering his enormous, calloused right hand in a firm handshake. “At first, I got mad at you, but then I knew it was really my diabetes I was mad at.”
A Country Doctor Writes: 
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