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.

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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."

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It really is the little things in life that make everything worthwhile. It's a productive day at work or an awesome fasting number. It's the fact that payday is tomorrow or a movie with the boyfriend.

Sometimes I have to take a moment and remind myself of all these tiny things that make my life great and worth living. It's so easy to get pulled under with all the negativity around you. The news, work, and other people's problems. It's easy to get pulled under with my own negativity about diabetes or PCOS or whatever it is.

Today, I'm taking a moment to remind myself of these little things in my life and the moments that make me stop and smile:

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There have been a couple of recent threads on LinkedIn regarding the definition of a "cure" for diabetes.

As everyone here who takes insulin will agree, diabetes cannot be "cured" by diet alone. And as everyone whose diabetes is currently controlled in part, or entirely, by diet and exercise will agree, just like "insulin is not a cure", "eating the right foods" is not a cure, either.

Merriam-Webster defines "cure (noun)" in our sense as the following:

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Last night, I participated in a DiabetesSisters' PODS meetup for the first time. I've seen them online and always wanted to join, but there hasn't been anything in my area and I'm not in a position to add anything to my plate right now. I noticed it on the list last week and spoke with the woman leading the group.

So I made the trek (it's about an hour's drive for me) to the meetup and enjoyed an hour and a half of diabetes related conversation (with a little life mixed in) with three other diabetic women. Three of us were type one and the other type two. Two other women are supposed to join next time (one of them being a friend of mine who I met at JDRF).

It was nice to just sit and talk about lows and highs and doctors and all that goes on. For DiabetesSisters, there are some "guidelines" supplied for these meetings. The facilitator goes through a training to even host the meeting.

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I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I stumbled into bed at midnight and woke you up; piss drunk on TLC and Discovery channel programming. Back-to-back episodes of Hoarders, dysfunctional tattoo artists and the fascinating sex life of giant sea clams of the Pacific.

I know you've had migraines for like eight straight days and the closest thing to real food you've had in the past month has been licking the salt off a tortilla chip.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry I decided, at midnight, to bring you in on my idea for a movie script. You remember - the one about the guy in a coma who is stuck in a dream which becomes his reality. A dream in which he is a wandering homeless man who builds relationships with estranged family members (those at his bedside) urging him to come back.  Now that it's morning, the idea doesn't seem nearly as good. And yes, you were right. A tad depressing.

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