I was at the physical therapist’s office the other day and he started off with ten minutes of electric stimulation on my neck and shoulder. Other than the time at the end of the day when I got to sit around on the couch with the twins watching Wonder Pets, this was the best part of my day. He placed the pad on me, cranked up the dial and left the room. A great feeling. I felt the herniated discs in my neck say “thank you for doing this for us,” and I let my mind wander. I was thinking happy thoughts of my kids dressed up as Elmo and Cookie Monster. I pictured them, for the first time, walking around trick or treating. Their little plastic pumpkins filling up with… with… Then I got stuck at candy corn. Ah. Wonderfully deliciously 99.9% sugary candy corn.
It’s one of the biggest temptations in my life. There’s no way I should be buying a bag of candy corn and eating it (all). Yet I admit I have. I don’t recall seeing in the paucity of diabetes books I’ve looked at, anything that recommends this behavior. But this time of year – Halloween – is like torture for me. It feels like I can’t walk down an aisle in a Duane Reade drug store without seeing some candy corn-related display. Even the aisles I walk down in the pharmacy to get my diabetes medications seem festooned with all manner of (traditional) orange-yellow-white tip or (fancy) orange-brown-white tip candy corn. I have to be strong.
I can resist other Halloween candies more easily. I don’t crave mini-Three Musketeers or Milkway bars. I no longer feel drawn to Hershey’s Kisses. I snicker at Snickers. I can walk by a Tootsie Roll without a glance like I’m strutting past a former lover. It’s just this one damn seasonal product that gets me. Or has gotten me in the past. (Luckily, after this weekend, the uneaten candy corn goes back to its glucose ghetto – not to be heard from again til next year this time.)
Tomorrow I go to Duane Reade to pick up refills of my meds – metformin, januvia, glipizide – and I’m girding myself for you, 8 oz bag of Brachs Candy Corn. You won’t get your hands on me this year (or more accurately, I won’t let my hands get on you). You won’t!
Wish me luck.