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

Per usual, I'm tardy.
Resolution #1 in the New Year: I shall try to be more timely.
Actually, I'm not making any resolutions this year. I think I've turned a corner in terms of resolving to lose weight, exercise, eat right, and relax - then not doing any of it. The difference for me in 2007 was that I promised to do nothing - and I did most of the things I would have promised to do if I'd made resolutions.
Go figure.
At the close of December, the year found me down 30 lbs, exercising more and with more vigor than I have since my teens, eating right and enjoying it, in a new - more satisfying - job, getting paid to write (how exciting!). Numbers-wise, I finished the year with an average A1C of 5.7% and my cholesterol levels much lower. (READ MORE)

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I will sleep alone tonight.

 

It was dark when we left this morning and traffic was heavy.

 

We waited. Waiting rooms. People. Doctors. Nurses.

 

I waited. Alone. Then said goodbye and see you later.

 

Go upstairs, it'll be quieter there, Dr. B said. I did. It was.

 

I waited. Alone.

 

Bit my tongue when the old man said "My headache's not because of my sugar."

 

Texted. Facebooked. Should have brought my phone charger.

 

11 a.m. Dr. B smiled at me. I waited some more. Then paid $13 for lunch.

 

I updated family and friends.

 

When I saw him he was awake. And beautiful.

 

I crafted. I fetched. I helped out of bed. I walked. I kissed. I hugged. I loved.

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Sometimes I joke that my self-worth is wrapped up in my eyebrows; when they're well groomed, I feel great, but when they need to be tamed, I think I'm ugly. These days, my self-worth is wrapped up in my blood sugar readings. And I'm not sure that's a good thing.
Do you ever do that? The day is going along fine, then you get a reading that you don't "deserve" and the day just falls to pot? It's happening to me more and more lately. Some days, even before I lift my head off the pillow, the day is "ruined" by a high fasting number. My mind starts racing to what I did (or didn't do) to "earn" such a high number. Did I eat something I shouldn't have last night? Did I not exercise enough? It's first thing in the morning and already I'm feeling bad, guilty, like I did something wrong. Even if I hadn't. (READ MORE)

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I’ve had a really hard time with my writing/not writing lately. In December I blogged only once, and so far this month I’ve blogged twice.

 

This is kind of weird for me because I’m so used to writing so often. It hurts, actually, that I haven’t been doing more of it. It’s not for lack of trying, though. I’ve written countless Post-It notes to myself with blog topics and have every intention of writing when I get home and then I don’t.

 

And it’s not like I’m forgetting to do it, I just don’t do it. Or I decide that I’d rather do something else. I think about the Post-It note stuck to my calendar and about all the things I would say in the blog and how wonderfully eloquent I would be. And then I just don’t do it.

 

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Thirty-three years ago this semester, the frequent repetition of those words (or others to that effect) by high school classmates led me to take an extra semester of English in the spring term of my senior year. Anyone stepping onto my school bus and smelling the pungent odor of marijuana burning would have easily understood the reasons behind their lack of preparedness to study.

 

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I am the perfect procrastinator. It's an art that I've mastered over the last...twenty-one years, I'm sure. On everything. From homework, papers, health, doctor's appointments, family get togethers, dinner. You name it, I've procrastinated doing it.

 

Unfortunately, a big chunk of my recent procrastination is my diabetes. I keep making these deadlines for myself...saying I'll do it next week or starting tomorrow or starting at the first of the year. But am I doing it? That's a big, fat, stinking NO.

 

And I think I'm more upset by my lack of will power than the actual fact that I'm letting this disease run away with me. But I just feel so overwhelmed still.

 

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If you've been reading me for any length of time -- particularly the last few weeks -- you'll know 1) that I'm depressed, 2) that I take anti-depressants and 3) that my new psychiatrist doubled my dose of anti-depressants when I saw her at the beginning of the month.

 

I didn't really expect much, but I did feel much better right away. I frankly thought it was a fluke or that it would be temporary or that I was still on sort of an adrenaline high from having finally talked to a professional about some things.

 

But what I've been going through lately really affirms that I am feeling much better most of the time (and wish I would have talked to someone sooner!).

 

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All-nighter.

 

All. Freakin’. Nighter.

 

Sending him shots all night.

 

Was it four or was it five?

 

Can’t remember.

 

Half a unit. Three quarters. One and a half.

 

Into the meaty flesh of his sweaty arm that hides under his pillow.

 

It’s all a blur now.

 

God, he was high. So high for so long.

 

Insulin is useless. It’s water. It’s air.

 

CGM graph climbs and climbs and climbs and climbs to an altitude never before reached. Even it is to weary to continue to deliver the grim news in detail.

 

"Over 400," it flashes simply.

 

What the hell was that?

 

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Sadly, I've been watching a lot of TV lately. The whole no school and no job thing leaves me with a lot of free time. This morning I was watching the Today show. A segment on infertility came on as soon as I switched the TV on.

 

As a woman with type 1 diabetes, PCOS, and endometriosis, infertility has become a definite part of my vocabulary. No doctor has told me that I am infertile and I'm in no place to need to know. Infertility is just something that's been listed on my possible "side effects" and "symptoms" list and something that I've tossed over in my mind.

 

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It’s amazing what just 24 hours can do. And scary. I feel much, much better today.

 

I talked to SBD yesterday. I caught her just in time: while she wasn’t in the office yesterday she was still in town. As soon as I got on the phone with her office I started crying. J asked if I was OK and I was able to eke out that it had been a tough couple days.

 

Within a couple hours, SBD called. She of course didn’t have my chart with her so we sort of muddled through trying to remember what dose of which medicines I am taking. I am usually pretty good at knowing those things but I guess taking so many meds can make you forget the dosages.

 

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