How I reversed my midlife diabetes
Shocked by his soaring sugar levels, Michael Butcher stuck to a punishing three-month regime – and lost more than six stone
Have you heard the one about the fat bloke in his early fifties who walked into his doctor’s and was told he had type-2 diabetes? No? Neither had I, until it happened to me last year.
I’d only had the blood test as part of a routine patient screening after moving to a different area and registering at a new GP practice. I had no symptoms, I was reasonably active (running a small farm and brewery) and honestly believed I led a fairly healthy lifestyle (no smoking or major drinking).
But the killer issue was that I was 6st 4lb (40kg) overweight. I knew I was porky, but it wasn’t a problem, right? Wrong. That spare tyre (or two) coupled with my age meant I was squarely in the high-risk group for type-2 diabetes. I’d seen the adverts warning about its dangers – heart and kidney failure, blindness, limb amputation – but I thought I wouldn’t get it as no one in my family ever had. I didn’t have any of the telltale symptoms, either: I wasn’t tired all the time, didn’t need to pee in the night, certainly wasn’t losing weight without trying to, didn’t have blurred vision or any itching. I’d even done one of those home blood test kits a few years ago and the result was normal.
So when the GP told me the blood test had come back not as borderline pre-diabetic, but actually over the line – fully diabetic – I almost didn’t believe him.
It wasn’t a “blip” either. The test was the more accurate Hba1c test, which measures what a person’s average blood sugar levels have been for several weeks. He felt the only thing for it was to prescribe metformin, a first-line medication for the treatment of type-2 diabetes, and send me on my way, telling me before I left that: “If we look after you properly, there is no reason why your life expectancy shouldn’t be as long as it would have been without this diagnosis.” Oh my god, I thought: I am going to die.
So what do you do when suddenly faced with your own mortality? I consulted Dr Google, of course.
As a former magazine editor, I had read the horror stories about diabetes – the endless possibilities of sudden blindness, nerve pain, heart problems, organ failure, being sent home from hospital with your toes in a jar… So why had I let my weight balloon? Amazingly, looking back, I wasn’t aware that I was an overeater even though I used to habitually graze on high-carb delicacies (who isn’t fond of a thrice-cooked chunky chip?), bread, cheese and chocolate, which was clearly enough to put on 6st 4lb over time. I exercised as much as any farm-dwelling brewer might, lifting heavy sacks of animal feed and malt. But the crucial thing lacking was cardiovascular exercise. It’s hard (painful!) to run when you are fat.
But I knew I had to use every weapon in the weight-loss armoury. And from next week, there’ll be a new one: the Government’s Soft Drinks Industry Levy (the much-heralded “sugar tax”) comes into effect on April 6. It is hoped this tax, backed by doctors, campaigners and scientists, will help prevent the roughly 8,000 cases of type-2 a year in the UK that are linked to overly sugary drinks.
In among all the online forums I visited for advice, I came across a study, by the Magnetic Resonance Centre at Newcastle University, which suggested a type-2 diabetes diagnosis could be reversed simply by following a punishing diet.
By eradicating substantial amounts of fat from your liver and pancreas (and elsewhere), it suggested, your body will be better able to start producing insulin normally again, especially in those people who have been only recently diagnosed.
I decided there and then to give it a go. I went out, bought a bike and committed to doing at least half an hour of fast cycling twice daily. Aerobic exercise is very important in diabetes control. I also bought a blood sugar monitor to measure how I was doing. For the next four months, I went on an 800-calories-aday diet. There would be no alcohol, no chocolate, no carbs, no meat, no dairy, no fish… no fun. I dubbed it “the added-misery vegan diet”. I was allowed just three meal replacement shakes (each 200 calories a hit) and 250g of green leafy veg (another 200 calories) a day, washed down with three litres of water.
I soon got fed up of the meal replacement shakes and cut them down to one a day for breakfast and instead made up the 800 calories with three portions of green leafy veg in soups, stir fries and salads. It was hideous and flatulence-causing. I cheated on the odd day here and there when friends came to stay. I also took comfort in the occasional lifeline of a homemade, low-gi macaroon, courtesy of a Good Housekeeping magazine recipe.
After the first few days, the diet became bearable. I actually felt almost as full as I felt virtuous. Weight dropped off me in buckets, which spurred me on even more.
And it worked. Three months after my diagnosis, I went back for a follow-up blood test. Not only had I lost 4st 10lb (30kg), but my blood sugar was down to normal – 5.4 as opposed to 7.2 when I was diagnosed. The GP and the nurses were as delighted as I was.
I’ve since lost another 1st 8lb (10kg) by sticking to the diet for a fourth month, and have kept my blood sugar well within the normal range. The weight has stayed off, and my body mass index (BMI) now scrapes through as normal. I can now even break into a jog if the mood takes me, and am planning on perfecting cartwheels on the lawn in summer.
One year on, with my blood sugar and weight stable and at healthy levels, I posted a before-and-after on Facebook, and was overwhelmed by
the support and encouragement from my friends.
I know this drastic diet and exercise regime won’t work for everyone, but I’m very fortunate that it seems to have worked for me. I can’t be complacent and still have to exercise and watch what I eat, but that is a small price to pay for never having felt healthier or more relieved at having banished the looming shadow of diabetes.
I have given myself a 11lb (5kg) weight-gain buffer zone. As soon as I head towards that limit, I step up the exercise and cut down on dairy, meat and carbs. I have also promised myself that I will never buy a larger clothes size. A friend of mine jokes that I have become a superintendent in the Fat Police, liable to swoop down on people at nearby tables tucking into doughnuts. But I am evangelical about this.
We aren’t honest enough about obesity and the terrible effects it can have. I only wish a medical professional had taken me aside pre-diagnosis and scared the pants off me with the leaflets they send you post-diagnosis. It’s all very well spelling it out once it is almost too late. An early, explicit warning would be much more useful than barbed comments from friends about your ballooning waistline.