Today, the doctor threw the book at me. My pancreas has become less able to process carbohydrates. The result: I will have to take even more insulin—two different types, even! And more seriously, I must root out and avoid carbohydrates to the maximum extent possible. I’ll be the person you see with a sour expression on his face discontentedly picking at a salad, moving the lettuce from side to side until I can stomach raising the fork to my mouth.
Effective today, I must reject all offers of food from friends. I may reach into my pocket and eat two or three peanuts when nobody’s looking my way.
What can I eat on the new Gulag Diet? Boots and belts are generally okay, but I must avoid all the carbs that lurk in the bootlaces and stitching.
Eventually, I will make some accommodation to what my doctor assures me is a dire need; but in the meantime, don’t expect me to jump for joy.