Did you ever have one of those days at work when you just couldn't make time for a break?  One of those days when you didn't stop to eat, drink, or go to the restroom?  One of those days when you were fully aware of the need to take a break, but you just couldn't stop for one?

Right about now, that's how life with diabetes is feeling for me. 

I just need a minute to breathe.  A minute to not think about this.  A minute wherein my mind isn't  consumed with my last inexplicable, frustrating number - or with the next test and the mystery and aggravation it could hold.  A minute to not think about the destruction this disease causes - the destruction that it is causing in me. 

And I know that I'm not going to get that minute. 

  (READ MORE)

His hands move over my waist to my hips.  He brushes by my insulin pump, which feels to me about fifty times its actual size.  I wonder, does he notice it there beneath my clothes, beneath his hand? 

My bloodsugar is 355 mg/dl.  I feel yucky.  I know I'm spilling ketones.  When he kisses me, do I taste like fruit, like wine, like the acetone that's eating away at me?  Does he see the awful dry feeling behind my eyes; is he thinking I look as horrible as I feel? 

He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.  I trace his palm with my fingertips.  Why do these calluses feel so obvious, so hard and unfeminine? 

We are heated and intense.  I am lost in this embrace. My head is floating somewhere in a passionate, dizzy ether. Or am I low?  And if I am, how can I stop and ask for time at this particular moment?  (READ MORE)

Having been away for a weekend of fun since Friday morning, I feel like I've been living under a rock! Albeit a really fun rock, with a little alcohol, BBQ, and great music, but still a rock.

So, as I watched Barack Obama introduce his first Supreme Court appointment, Sonia Sotomayor, this morning, I was taken aback to discover that she has type 1 diabetes. That she was diagnosed at eight years old. That she's lived with type 1 for 46 years.

How incredibly inspiring for people with diabetes. Even more inspiring, I would imagine, for those raising children with type 1.

  (READ MORE)

Tied.  In a way that I hate to feel tied.

Lashed, tight to the feeling that I must succeed.  Bound to the knowledge that if I don't, the consequences could be (will be) disastrous. 

I am free spirited.  I throw myself into things with unbridled verve.  It's something I like about myself.  It's something that has often served me well.   It has challenges, of course, like the times I fell while rollerskating down the bulkhead.  But it is largely an advantage.  

Having an A1C test, waiting on the result, receiving it - all of these steps are agonizing, and they drain every ounce of bohemian lightheartedness.  It's frustrating. 

  (READ MORE)

HAVE BEEN APPROVED FOR CGMS.  *STOP*

CANNOT BELIEVE IT ONLY TOOK ONE LETTER.  *STOP*

CANNOT WAIT TO GET STARTED.  *STOP*

ANY ADVICE FROM MINIMED USERS? *STOP*

NOT LOOKING FORWARD TO TWO SITES.  *STOP*

NEED TO STOP BEING SO VEIN.  *STOP*

MORE ABOUT THIS VERY TOPIC AS SOON AS I BEGIN.  *STOP*

YAY *STOP* (READ MORE)

The fact that I have diabetes is not the first thing most people learn about me.  In reality, it's often one of the last things I reveal about myself.  An exception to this rule is disclosure in the workplace. 

Because I am hypoglycemic unaware, and because I don't think it's fair for a person to find out about my diabetes because I've either lost consciousness or behaved aggressively, I typically let the people I work with know what they might be up against.   It's never really "comfortable" to disclose - as I'm never sure how people might react - but I find that it's absolutely necessary.  

  (READ MORE)