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November 21st, 2009
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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "Hard Days":

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Long day.
Long day after a long night after a long day after a long night. Tired. Very tired.
Not in mood tonight to negotiate with Charlie when he throws a minor tantrum because it's shower time.
Angry dad voice comes out. I hate my angry dad voice. I hate using it on any of my kids, but I'm especially regretful after the fact with Charlie.
Charlie whips his head back on to the couch and then lays face down on the floor. I've asked him five times now to come up with me for a shower.
"Charlie! Get. Upstairs. Now!"
He crawls upstairs slowly on hands and knees like a weak desert wanderer searching for water. "Can't," he moans. "I'm so tired."
I'm certain he'd be up the stairs like a leopard if said let's play a video game.
"Charlie! Now!"
The voice in my head tells me he can't be low, you just tested him. Don't fall for it. He's just being a 5 year old not getting his way. (READ MORE)


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When I inserted the first sensor on Saturday, I thought it might give me a little trouble. It'd been through a lot in the last months (traveling around in my "everyday" case and moving from fridge to backpack to suitcase multiple times). It looked old, it looked like it wouldn't work. But I gave it a shot anyway.

 

And my suspicions were confirmed. It gave me two error messages before showing me a steady level in the 50's when I was perfectly okay. Instead of messing with a crazy sensor and wondering about its accuracy for days, I changed it out. I had an entire new box of them anyway and I don't use them often enough to be upset on throwing one out.

 

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"So you missed my big health news last week," I said to my boss this evening as we were working late.
"Oh, no, I know. K. told me," she said, "that you're going on the pump. That's great news. Are you hooked up?"
"Yes, I got all set today," I said lifting my shirt slightly to show off my pump. "But the bigger news is that we discovered that I'm actually type 1 and not type 2."
Enter blank stare.
With a type 1 brother in law, I really thought I was talking to an understanding audience, but I was (partly) wrong.
Over the last few days, I've encountered a lot of these misunderstandings that I didn't really expect. One day last week, I called my sister to let her in on the news of my new diagnosis and about the pump. It was really a process to explain to her that this was all no big deal. (READ MORE)


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There are some days when a person ought to just stay in bed. 

 

Under the covers.

 

Cuddled with the cat.

 

Warm and safe and happy and comfortable.

 

There are some days when staying in bed is the best possible option.  Of course, those days are often realized in hindsight.  When the proverbial ball is already rolling in the absolute wrong direction.

 

Today has been, without a doubt, one of those days.

 

I got up this morning feeling alright.  Fairly well-rested, actually, and not fighting - as I'm wont to do - the inevitable reality that another day has dawned and it can't be spent in the paradise of slumber.

 

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Everyone needs to take a personal day every now and then. At least that's how I feel. Lately, It seems like I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I have been putting in some long days of landscaping work, I just returned from a weekend trip to Omaha, and my girlfriend is in the process of getting a job back in her home state. And needless to say, all of the chaos and daily schedule changes have my blood sugars going a little crazy. (READ MORE)


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Blah, blah, blah, here she goes again, pissing and moaning about logging.

Back when the year was shiny and new, as opposed to snow-covered and grubby (and enough with the snow already, ok? I'm SICK of it. Sick.) I resolved to be more diligent about logging Olivia's blood sugars. And for a few weeks I was. And then I forgot for a couple of days. And then it was Thursday and I thought, well, I'll just start over on Monday. And I forgot again.

I've logged in fits and starts over the last 2 months, but mostly, I haven't logged at all. And now she has an endo appointment tomorrow and I'm not going to have that much information to give her and I'm pissed at myself.

I just don't know how to make myself log. I forget. And if I'm forgetting to log, how am I supposed to teach Olivia? I'm not setting a good example at all and they always tell you (who are they anyway?) that you should lead by example when it comes to your kids.
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You are the night
You are the days
You are the hours until
You are the pain on his face
You are his pinching eyelids
You are his grinding teeth
You are the screaming
You are the 2 am light bulb
You are the creaky stairs
You are deception
You are doubt
You are the things that go wrong
You are runaway hands tucked under his pillow
You are the holes in his wet fingers like coral
You are panic
You are fury
You are desperation
You are paleness
You are the vacant collapse
You are the burning tremble
You are the shark in the fog
You are the dark hallway
You are the unknown
You are unanswerable questions
You are the odd imposter
You are jagged temper
You are dread
You are scar tissue and blood
You are alarm
You are guilt
You are darkening shades of purple (READ MORE)


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I feel like I'm in an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants.

 

OK first let me say that I really don't like feeling like this. If I could ban SpongeBob from my house I would. When I'm surfing the channels for the kids (man is it hard to please a 9 year old, 6 year old and 3 year old at the same time!) I have to force myself to not scream "Over my dead body!" when they all scream/chant "SpongeBob! SpongeBob! SpongeBob!"

 

I get that we all need a little mindless entertainment at times (which is why I often choose solitaire over a game of hearts with the computer because solitaire takes fewer brain cells) but my God I just want to poke SpongeBob in the eye. And Patrick.

 

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There. I said it. I have been saying that a lot lately. When The Mr. wants to know what's wrong I can often sum it up by saying, "I hate diabetes."

 

I'm having trouble dealing lately. I know people want to help. I know that when someone says, "It's a way of life," that they're trying to help. I know that when someone suggests I take a walk that they have my best interests at heart.

 

So why does it just make me want to cry? Why does it make me want to put my head through a wall? Why does it make me want to ignore diabetes and curl up in a ball in a corner? Why can I accept help from people some times and not others?

 

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I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five years is a long time to live with something. It is an especially long time to live with something that requires tight control. Twenty-five years is enough time to have seen lots of bad days, lots of good days, and lots and lots of in betweens. And it is enough time for me to have had the good fortune of seeing vast improvements in access to information and treatment, developments and improvements in technology and even some improvements in (GASP!) what health insurers are willing to cover. (READ MORE)


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Nicole Purcell
Nicole PurcellNicole Purcell lists having type 1 diabetes last when she's asked to provide information about herself - because that's where it belongs.

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Scott Marvel
Scott MarvelScott lives an active life with type 1 diabetes. Aiming to stay on top of his unexpected diagnosis, he puts a strong foot forward to stay in control.
Living life in the sun and fulfilling his dreams, Scott tries to educate himself, and others, on the unquestionable possibilities of a life with type 1 diabetes.
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