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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "911":

There is a lady in front of me at Starbucks.  She's getting more than a little billigerent with the poor barrista.  I'm catching only snippets of what she's saying, until I hear this exchange.

 

"Coffee.  And juice, I need juice.  Juice."

 

"You want what kind of coffee?  What kind of juice?"

 

"I don't know."  

 

I step forward a little bit, turn myself to face the woman, who looks harried.  Blonde hair all sticking up, pale, sweating.

 

"I think she's drunk."  Says the barrista.

 

"Give me a minute and some orange juice, right now, please."  

 

"Are you OK?" I ask the lady, "Do you have diabetes?"

 

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My girlfriend's calling me a diabetic angel, and not to brag, but I kind of feel like one. I experienced some kind of intervention yesterday, or at least something bigger than me, that connected me with a stranger.
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This weekend, my wife and I attended a wedding for one of her cousins.
I am not sure what it is but I dread attending weddings. It is like going to the dentist or having to file my taxes. I know I have to go but I really REALLY don't want to.
Unlike the other two examples, I usually leave a wedding having had a good time. This wedding was no exception.
I am not really into all the flowery stuff and decorations but I must say, it was one of the nicest weddings I have ever been to as far as their decor. I know guys, it is not the manly thing to point out but that is what was amazing! It really was nice.
The bride's bouquet was made up of what looked like 5 dozen roses which looked really cool and the centerpieces at the tables we really classy looking. It made me feel bad for not being as "into" all this stuff when we got married but oh well. Maybe that stuff comes with age. (READ MORE)

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I've travelled with diabetes before. I've travelled with syringes and insulin and lancets and all that junk. It's kind of old hat. Though I absolutely DESPISE being called out for an extra search simply because of my pump.

 

In a couple of weeks I'll be travelling internationally for the first time with diabetes. (Now that I think about it, I think I was in high school the last time I was out of the country period.) So while technically this trip is international because I'm leaving the United States, it's sort of pseudo-international because I'll be in Toronto, Canada, which is like a hop, skip and a jump from Detroit. (And like a five hour plane ride from Phoenix!)

 

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Ever since I can remember, I've been a dreamer. Not only do I get lost in vivid day dreams, but my subconscious takes over in the darkness of night with raging images. Over the years, I've come to realize that I have a history of especially strange dreams.

 

They are a mix of nightmares, unrealistic events, and practical moments. I've had some that were premonitions, predicting coming events. Others were so far out of the box that I don't expect anything to resemble them in real life.

 

But the one thing that my mind usually keeps out of my dreams is diabetes and pain. No nightmare has ever involved diabetes complications, seizures, or even diabetes moments. It's so ingrained in my daily life that my brain doesn't find the need to remind me of it in my sleep.

 

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Every so often, the topic of emergency medical identification comes up on one or another diabetes-related forum. Most of us agree we should wear some form of identification in case -- Deities forbid -- we should get hit by a car, pass out in the middle of the supermarket, or suffer any of a myriad of Edward Gorey-esque mishaps when we are out solo, or with someone who is not familiar with our medical histories.This holds true whether we have have diabetes or not, whether we are caregivers for people with diabetes or other chronic illnesses, and even whether or not we are out with our parents, spouses, or adult children.

 

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I spent the last five days in Charleston, South Carolina with my mom, grandmother, and cousin celebrating birthdays, life, and good news. We had an amazing trip filled with lots of seafood, sight-seeing, and girl talk. I haven't been able to spend that much time with my mom or my family in awhile and it was much needed.

 

But travel these days isn't all it's cracked up to be. We've always been a family that traveled so I remember days when you could carry on gallons of shampoo and nobody cared. I remember when you walked through a metal detector and people barely noticed you. Post 9/11 has changed travel though. And recent years have brought about even higher security in airports.

 

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I am not a number. -- "Number 6", The Prisoner

 

One of the questions asked in a recent #dsma chat had to do with the people we live and work with who are familiar enough with our diabetes care to support us, make sure we have appropriate food and drink as needed, who know how and when to administer glucagon, and what to tell the folk at 911 about us. Some debate arose over the common patient-community designation of these individuals as "Type 3s".

 

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Last night, I was enjoying an episode of "Brothers & Sisters" after an exhausting weekend with Marvin at his childhood friend's wedding. Quite ironically, the character Paige (she's about 13 or 14) was at a party and was peer pressured by a "friend" to do some drinking. She also happens to be a diabetic on the show.

 

As her mother yells at her, grounds her, and generally freaks out about her teenage daughter getting drunk, she expresses an interesting comment. "At least she had the sense to take her insulin!" I wanted to punch the TV screen. Yes, we all should take our insulin even if we're consuming alcohol. However, the bigger implication here was that the alcohol might raise her blood sugar. A deadly misconception.

 

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