It's 8:30 p.m. Sunday, Mother's Day, and I have yet to check my sugar today.

It started this morning when No. 1, who is 8, ordered me to stay in bed. I knew what was coming, and even though I suspected a not-so-yummy breakfast in bed, I obliged. To his credit, I got oatmeal, which is my staple breakfast. But, I didn't get a fasting sugar. Heck, I didn't even brush my teeth first. I just did what I was told. I knew it would be the only time today that anyone pampered me.

You see, we're preparing our house to put on the market. Yes, we're definitely missing a few screws to try to sell in this market, but with a new job in a new city, we kind of have to.

  (READ MORE)

mmmfruit

One of the things I hate most about diabetes is that I never get a day off. I always have blood sugars to check. I have to count every carb accurately. Or I have to face the consequences. Which is exactly what I did today.

After finishing my last final exam for the semester at 8:30am, I decided to celebrate. I bought donuts and kolaches for a little celebration breakfast with a friend. I hadn’t eaten donuts since before starting on the pump (they aren’t something I indulge in all that often), so I wasn’t sure how the day was going to turn out.

  (READ MORE)

agent-rebate.com

On rare occasions, diabetes fades into the background like the hum of a distant freight train or barely audible elevator music. If I have nothing to write, that's likely a good thing. Last weekend was not one of those times.

On Friday night, Charlie muttered "damn, diabetes!" angrily after I put the kibosh on the candy push-pops being handed out at the baseball field.

On Saturday, in the shower, Charlie asked what all the little marks on his fingers were. He asked if the marks would go away. I weakly said "I think so."

  (READ MORE)

His knees are bent.

Like a frog.

His nostril whistles.

He sleeps peacefully.

He's 56.

"Charlie," I whisper into the dead of night, giving him a slight nudge.

The ceiling fan hums.

"Charlie, you're low. Have some juice."

"Charlie!"

So many nights I've whispered these words into his sleeping ears. So many nights for four-and-a-half years. So many nights Susanne has. So many nights other moms and dads around the world whisper the very same words to their children in the darkness. We need a cure.

He keeps his eyes closed.

He just nods and opens his mouth when he feels the straw poking at his lips. (READ MORE)

I hit "ESC" on Toohey to double check when my last bolus was. Yep, right on time. I suspect I'll be slightly high since I changed my site this morning and had a fast-food breakfast. But when I see 304 I'm shocked. I squeezed out another glob of blood and checked again. This time 302. Son of a f*%#ing b*&%h!

I had taken 9.5 units to correct for a hideous fasting (which is why I changed my site a day early; I'd been running high since I put that site in on Sunday morning) and for the excessive amount of carbs I was eating for breakfast. I had even logged on to the restaurant's web site for nutrition information before bolusing.

I'm so livid now that I can't finish doing what I was doing. I can't think. What the hell is wrong? Two things came to mind:  (READ MORE)

I know I said I enjoy educating folks about diabetes, but I think I might keep my stinking mouth shut from now on.

The scene was a birthday party. I skipped my Symlin for the dinner portion because I didn't want to sneak away to inject. Looking at my plate of hamburger, baked beans and potato salad, I took my pump off my belt, SWAG bolused and went about the rest of my meal. No one seemed to notice my pump; if they did, they didn't say anything.

After presents it was, naturally, cake time. Ice cream cake to be exact. The Mr. and our friend A. cut while I helped distribute. When we got around to asking G. how big of a slice he wanted, his wife answered, "Just a little one. He's diabetic, that's why." Apparently, her comments got lost in the noise, because she repeated herself.

  (READ MORE)