Today, the first Friday of February, is national "Wear Red" day in honor (or observance) of Women's Heart Health Awareness, as spearheaded by the "Go Red for Women" campaign. So of course I will be wearing red to work and I've been handing out Red Dress pins.

  (READ MORE)

I was talking with my mom last night.  A nice conversation, really.  We had spent a fun day on Saturday with Curtis' mom and we were chatting about how much fun it was.  She mentioned that she thought I was looking a little too thin and asked what I've been eating.  Not one to lie to my mom, I said, I guess not all that much, I'm not a big eater.  That's the truth, my calorie consumption these days usually stays under 1,200 or so.  I eat well, fruit, veggies, lean protein, some rice.  But I'm just not that hungry most of the time, and I don't eat if I'm not hungry. 

Anyway, I told my mother "don't worry, I'm OK..." 

Her return was, "You're still mine, you belong to me, you're my little girl."  

She was quick to amend part of the statement, "Well, you don't really belong to me, I guess."  

  (READ MORE)

Finding a new endocrinologist has proven to be quite interesting. First, my insurance apparently doesn't have a whole lot of options in my area (or maybe my area doesn't have a whole lot of options in general), especially in the female category. I had about 4 choices, one of which I'm currently seeing.

If you hadn't heard, I decided to change my endo because of a recent mess up regarding my test strip prescription that has me scrambling for more strips to last three months. This was the straw that broke the camel's back after two appointments with her that just didn't go as I'd like. She is a competent doctor, but she isn't the kind of doctor that I'm looking for.

  (READ MORE)

Begin rant. 

So, um, my CGM is typically a very cool tool.  And I like it.  Not enough to wear it for more than three weeks at a time, but still an awful lot.   But damned if it isn't a bitch for me to put in without getting gushing bleeders and damned if it hasn't become a bitch for me to keep it in.  

I'm sure it has something to do with my activity level.  I work out at least 3 days a week, sometimes more often.  Many times, one of those work outs involves boxing.  Three times now, I have dislodged a site during a work out. 

Once, my stumbly feet after a round of leg presses landed the site up against the weight machine, scraping the site just right and pulling it completely out.  There was blood.  It was enormously painful.  

  (READ MORE)

I wish there was a number to call when in need of diabetes-related assistance while on the road; the diabetes equivalent of AAA.

We were about 45 minutes into our 1 hour trip to my mother's house Sunday when we threw the diabetes bag into the back seat and asked Charlie to test his blood sugar.  This came after Charlie said he was thirsty and felt high.

"330," he said.

Having played hockey that morning, this presented yet another anomaly in the never-ending saga of life with diabetes.  This would normally be his low period of the day. But it wouldn't be the first time he was over 300. It was nothing a healthy blast of insulin couldn't cure.

That is, if we had insulin.

Charlie patted himself down.

"I'm not wearing my pump."

  (READ MORE)

In one of my high school English classes, we had to read Samuel Beckett's play of this name. Thirty-some-odd years later, I don't remember the details, only that it centered around two men who seemed to be relatively old, penniless, and alone. They met at a particular spot each day, left each evening, and could only remember one day past and think towards one day forward. They awaited a third character, the eponymously named "Godot", who never arrived. The style was considered existentialist in that there wasn't all that much character development: what you saw was what you got. While I never read the French original, in English, "Godot" seemed a thinly-veiled metaphor for "G-d" — and since old, penniless (and possibly homeless) folk have always had the shortest from-this-point life expectancy, it made sense — at least on one level — that these two characters were waiting to die.

  (READ MORE)