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

Many of us have wondered "Why me?" when confronting this disease. It’s easy to get caught up in pity when you’re diagnosed with a chronic illness. We want a reason for our diabetes. Not a medical cause, but a legitimate human reason. What did we do to bring this on ourselves? Is it some sort of punishment? Is it a test? Is it God’s/god’s/the universe’s doing?

 

The "Why me?" question seems to be a necessary phase in order to fully cope with diabetes. Granted, we may never find a true answer to why this happens to us, but processing the information and coming to terms with it helps us deal.

 

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Creep into the room quietly. Like a shadow.
Place testing supplies down gently beside the bed.
Don't stir the child. Avoid strong lighting. Use only enough to see what you're doing. I recommend a candelabra.
Tell the person playing the spooky pipe organ music to knock it off. It's not helping.
Gently pry his warm, sweaty fingers from underneath his pillow like they're bones guarded by a sleeping bulldog.
Inspect his fingers like a bad poker hand and discard each one until you find one you can use. (READ MORE)

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So tomorrow we bring Charlie into the shop for his quarterly visit and let them take a look under the hood. Hopefully they'll hear that strange noise he's been making and figure out why he's been leaking so much and more importantly, why he never seems to run out of gas.
In preparation for our meeting, I've been jotting down some questions for Charlie's doctor that I will forget to bring with me and completely forget to ask. I'll remember that I forgot to ask the questions as I'm on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, driving home after the appointment. Because that's what I do. (READ MORE)

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Olivia asked me last night when she was going to have her next appointment at Joslin. I wasn't sure, but told her it should be coming up soon. (Must check into that, actually.) She said she wanted to ask the doctor something. When I asked her what she wanted to know, she said she wanted to talk about alternate site testing.

We've done this in the past, without much success. But looking at her fingers last night, I told her she really needed to try again. Her fingertips are mangled - they're covered with black dots and she said they really, really hurt.

Part of the problem is that she tests right on the pads of her fingers rather than on the sides. The endo has told her repeatedly to stop doing that, but Olivia doesn't listen. Now, though, she's having a lot of pain and she's going to have to do that.
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Olivia asked me last night when she was going to have her next appointment at Joslin. I wasn't sure, but told her it should be coming up soon. (Must check into that, actually.) She said she wanted to ask the doctor something. When I asked her what she wanted to know, she said she wanted to talk about alternate site testing.

We've done this in the past, without much success. But looking at her fingers last night, I told her she really needed to try again. Her fingertips are mangled - they're covered with black dots and she said they really, really hurt.

Part of the problem is that she tests right on the pads of her fingers rather than on the sides. The endo has told her repeatedly to stop doing that, but Olivia doesn't listen. Now, though, she's having a lot of pain and she's going to have to do that.
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Did you see this story on the new type of diabetes that they've named today? It's really a sub-category of type 2 and many people will be moved from one diagnosis to the other.
Type 2.41 will make it clear to others immediately that the condition is the patient's fault, rather than just guessing as the population is forced to do now. This will make it much easier and more efficient to stereotype and discriminate.
Type 2.41 is characterized by obesity and couch potato tendencies and a ravenous appetite for refined carbohydrates and sugar. It also tends to indicate slovenliness, littering, an unwillingness to vote, owning a car that gets less than 20 MPG, poor personal hygiene and many other modern sins.
Type 2.41 is easily remedied, but we know it won't be as 'these people' are unwilling and uninterested in improving their lot in life. (READ MORE)

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So anyway, picking up where we last left ,
After Susanne gave the hairy-faced tailgater the finger, we managed to make it to the wrong lab fifteen minutes after the time of our wrong appointment. Unfortunately, I suffer from the same reading comprehension issues that I did when I was in the third grade. I was just waiting for the receptionist to write in red marker, "Carey has trouble following direction," with a little sad face on the top-right corner of my paperwork.
The lab instructions I held in my hand very clearly displayed the correct name of the lab in big, bold letterhead.
We did eventually make it to the correct lab.
Maeve and Ben were being screened as part of the University of Florida's PANDA Study to see if the insulin-producing cells in their pancreas' are being destroyed. (READ MORE)

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I haven't changed the lancet in my "finger sticker" for a couple days now. Surely I am not the only one around that does that!??. I changed it because I visited a friend this past weekend and, "he wanted to see what his blood sugar was." I know I am not the only one around that has gotten that request. Curious "non-diabetic" pals or acquaintances always want to, "see what it says for them". And then I give the explanation about what a "normal" range is and what the number that is displayed on the meter "means". It is all fine and dandy though. I kind of like taking the "teacher" role when this situation arises. It provides me the opportunity for one-on-one, and maybe even sometimes group presentations on diabetes. Maybe we could just call this "Diabetes 101". Diabetics around the world could start charging tuition for quick, on the spot, diabetes education classes! How does 5 dollars per person sound? (READ MORE)

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"Come on, baby, hop up here. I need to check your sugar."

"No, mama, no check sugar." She cries and tries to hide her fingers in her clenched hands.

"Yes, honey, we have to. I know you don't like it, but we have to do it."

"I don't yike it," she replies.

"I know, but the doctor says we have to do it." She loves the doctor, so she complies, gingerly holding out a finger.

I cock the lancing device and push the button. She flinches as the spring thwongs the lancet into her tiny, little finger. Crimson blood pearls out on to the test strip, the meter beeps and does its quick backwards count from five.

She sticks her finger in her mouth, sucking the blood off, as she's seen her big sister do countless times. Then she holds the finger up to me.

"You tiss it, mama."

I kiss her finger and tousle her hair.

"Put a yid on it, mama."
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I can't seem to take my eyes off the CGMS (I may use up most of my battery scrolling through the screens), yet the constant attention I've paid to this thing since last Thursday is definitely not doing me any favors.
After the two-hour wetting process, I entered a pretty decent blood sugar of 131 into my pump to calibrate my finger stick with the sensor. Minutes later when I was showing it off to The Mr., the sensor had me at 136. I was psyched about the near accuracy. It was his day off and snowing those big, fat snowflakes we love so much. We grabbed some fast-food lunch and headed to our favorite lunch spot to watch the snow fall on the lake. I knew it was morbid, but I really wanted to watch the line on the CGMS to see how this meal--any meal, really--affects my blood sugar. (READ MORE)

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