My Official Pizza Stance

April 4, 2013

It’s Official:  I hate Pizza

Anyone who really knows me knows I don’t particularly care for pizza.  I had two main reasons, then diabetes added a third reason and made it official.  I hate pizza.

 Reason #1:  Pizza is delicious, don’t get me wrong.  Melted cheese, processed meats, chopped veggies, pineapple sometimes.  It’s sinful.  However, with all that comes an exorbitant amount of calories, fat and carbohydrates.  About 10 years or so ago, I noticed that whenever I ate pizza, I felt like crap.  The taste and calories aren’t worth how it makes me feel.  I feel bloated and over-full.  I feel heavy, and I’m sure the grease pours out of my pores like oil poured out of the Exxon Valdez.  I feel dehydrated and sluggish like a snail that has had salt poured on them.  It’s just not really worth it.  When pizza is the catered lunch of choice at work functions, I often choose not to eat.  When pizza is the ‘reward’ for a busy shift, I feel a bit insulted.  I get to work hard AND starve!  Thanks.  Because of all of this, only occasionally do I want or eat pizza.  Lately, if and when I do have pizza, it’s when I make it homemade with alfredo sauce, grilled chicken and spinach.  THAT is the bomb and I don’t feel like a bludgeoned mess when I’m done with it.  And guess what, I stop after 2 slices. 

                Reason #2:  In my home, I have a pizza-loving husband and 5 pizza-devouring boys.  To say their love and devotion to pizza is in their genes is an understatement.  I think it courses through their veins.  My husband brags that he used to be able to kill an entire large pizza by himself as a 165-lb teenager….on a regular basis.  I think he still can. Frankly, I can find better things to brag on him about, but I digress.  Anyways, when we make or order pizza, you’d think that it was clearly the first and last time they’ll ever get to have pizza in their lives.  They flock to the kitchen like vultures to road kill.  I have to remind them to wash their hands as usual.  They eat until they are as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey.  Pure gluttony.  To make it even fatter and more calorie-laden, they want Ranch, Butter Garlic sauce and breadsticks, too!  I fight them to eat at least a little bit of fruit or something remotely healthy.   My diabetic twins, I think, are the worst.  They will eat as much as their teenage brothers if given the chance. 

                When dinner is over, they leave the pizza sitting out, so I’m left to clean up and try to dispose of the odd boxes that never fit right into the garbage can.  A couple of hours later, AFTER they’ve clearly consumed enough calories to last them all week, the “big boys” (this means my husband, too) will sneak in another slice or two even though they are still full!  Gag.  In the morning, they’ll eat the cold diarrhea-in-a-box that has been out all night.  Or, they’ll fight over the refrigerated leftovers for the next day’s lunch. And, they suffer.  Long “meetings” with the throne, upset stomachs…the whole game.  But, that’s not enough negative reinforcement to stop them.  I buy little microwave personal pan pizzas for the occasional lunch, and they fight over them and try to glutton-out on those, too.  Really?  One 380-calorie 16g of fat personal pizza isn’t enough?!  I have to be the ‘bad guy’, limit them, and make them eat other healthy things in addition to pizza.  If I didn’t, I kid you not, the entire box of 16 personal pizzas would be gone in one sitting.  Frankly, I can’t afford it on top of everything else.

My parents like to occasionally take the boys to Cici’s as a treat.  I’m pretty sure they’ve been thrown out before but they won’t admit it to me!  Living with six males has its own level of daily disgust, and this adds to it.  It’s gross to eat like that and treat your body that way.  Barf.  So, pizza is the exception in my house, not the rule. I leave the room when they are eating it.  They order it when I’m gone because I just can’t take it.  I don’t like seeing any of my beautiful men acting like death row inmates getting their last meal.  I'm sure it will be the meal of choice when I'm gone to Bon Jovi.

If all that wasn’t enough, here’s Reason #3:  With all it’s carbs, calories and fat, pizza wreaks havoc on my boys’ blood sugars.  Every time.  Without fail.  I can’t seem to find the magic formula to give the right amount of insulin to keep them in a normal range after pizza.  One dose of insulin works for approximately 3-4 hours.  I give them insulin to cover the initial blast of carbs.  I “extend” their bolus (for non-diabetic folks, that basically means I have their pump deliver part of it now, part of it later), but I can’t seem to extend it long enough.  No matter how long I extend, no matter how much insulin I give, they ALWAYS spike 6-8 hours later.  Last night, Aiden was over 200 at 8pm.  At 10pm, he was 276 at which time I gave him EXTRA insulin.  By 3am, he was mid-300s….AFTER extra insulin.  So, I had to give him some more.  Then, I was stuck awake.  This happens every time.  The only good thing is that I don’t have to worry about their blood sugars bottoming out in the middle of the night, however, now I have to worry about internal damage and bad A1Cs from crazy hyperglycemia.  Asa was low at 8-9 pm, then was spiking by 10pm.  He, too, after being low, needed extra insulin at 3am and was still in the 200s by morning.  Diabetes AND Pizza are STUPID!  They don't play well together!

Mr. Pizza.  You’re about to join the ranks of cookies and chips in my house.  You’re about to be banished.  No longer will I allow you to wreak havoc on my boys’ systems.  No longer can I allow you to deprive me of sleep due to your antics. I can’t take another minute of gluttony.  It’s just all too much.  So, my stance is official:  I hate pizza.

Rhonda