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

INT. KITCHEN - MORNING
Carey scrambles to get ready for work. Running late as usual. Ironing tan pants and blue shirt. Can't find belt, matching pair of socks or car keys.
The following is a loosely based transcript from 6:45 am to 6:55 am. (READ MORE)

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As if diabetes wasn’t in the back of my mind enough as it is, the music industry seems to be playing a little joke on me to keep it on my mind even more often. We all know the tools that keep us healthy are filled with wires, and electronics, and batteries, and that has been a stellar improvement on diabetes care over the decades. But with all this technological advancement comes the need for increased safety measures, including alarms that beep to proclaim an insulin pump error, a successful blood test, or a completed phase of setup. The joke becomes less funny when I am driving down the highway with some music going, focused on the road, when an identical tone comes from the stereo that sounds like my insulin pump.

 

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Last week's #dsma (Diabetes Social Media Advocacy) twitter chat topic was the delivery of diabetes education, medication, supplies, and support to others -- both in the US (and other "First World" nations) and emerging ("Third World") nations. I've blogged before about the logistical and political issues organizations such as the International Diabetes Federation (IDF) and Doctors Without Borders (MSF -- Médecins Sans Frontières) have in delivering medical care and medications to those in need. But while we often talk as if everyone in the United States had fingertip access to smartphones (with unlimited data plans), cable TV, and the Internet, that certainly is not the case.

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Since I started taking a mood stabilizer nearly two weeks ago as part of my treatment program for bipolar I've had some pretty weird and interesting dreams. And telling, actually.

 

One of the most memorable was last week when I dreamed I had gotten a job as a manager at Walmart. Though the offer didn't come directly to me; The Mr. had fielded the call. I asked him if I was going to be the manager of the store or just one of the departments. He said he didn't know and told me to hurry up and get dressed because I was already late. I was putting on a faux suede jacket and making sure my earrings matched my outfit. I said outloud to The Mr: "Should I call Jean and tell her? Or should I just go and see how the job is and decide later if I should quit?" Jean is my boss in real life.

 

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I am on the eliptical trainer, rather lost in the music coming from my Ipod. I'm into the second half of my one hour of cardio for the day. I'm starting to feel a little weak - so I keep my legs moving and grab my test kit from the water bottle slot. I fumble my hands through the test, while my poor legs struggle to remain coordinated. Damn it. 73 mg/dl. This is not good. If I want this work out to continue, I best act fast. Legs still moving, I open the hammer gel pack I'd brought for just such an occasion. (READ MORE)

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Charlie crosses home plate, tosses his helmet on the ground and sits with the rest of his team. The day is beautiful. The grass is cool. He lays back to bask in it.

When he lays flat on his back, he exposes his robot parts. He's normally disconnected for baseball. But not today.  Immediately, his teammates crawl on top of him like ants on an abandoned Popsicle.

"What is it?" one boy asks.

They poke at the foreign object.

"It's an iPod Nano!" a blonde-haired boy with a runny nose says authoritatively in between batting practice swings.

"Uh uh!" another boy disputes. "It's a game."

"I just farted on you," a third boy tells Charlie.

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I was a little nervous this morning as I set off for my walk. I know it's irrational, but I'm a little afraid of the dark, and at 5:30 a.m. it's still dark. And walking around in an area that I'm not used to walking around in when it's dark can be a little intimidating.

 

But it smelled like rain when I walked out the door (yes, in the desert!) and the sky was this wonderful shade of blue that you only see when the sun is about to rise. It was chilly but inviting.

 

Desert landscape means lots of plants all over because people need something other than rocks to look at. So there were lots of bushes and plants that I was constantly scanning to make sure no psyco people or critters were going to jump out at me.

 

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I knew that walking around the huge Texas airport carrying two pieces of luggage would be strenuous. I also knew that the stress of making a flight and worrying about forgetting things would be a factor. So I lowered my basal by two increments about an hour before hitting the airport.

 

When we finally made it to the terminal, I checked in at 150. Perfect. I wanted to run a little higher than normal to avoid a low. I didn't bolus and kept my basals the same.

 

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It's been a week and I haven't said anything to my coworkers about diabetes. Not even to either of my bosses. I'm not hiding it either. I really thought that on my first day people would be pointing and staring and asking about my pump, which I decided to wear on my belt as usual.

 

But nothing. I was surprised, actually. On day two or three, I was introduced to two people who I will work closely with in the future, one of whom noticed that something was on my belt, but she couldn't really figure out what it was. A cell phone? An iPod? she wondered aloud.

 

"It's an insulin pump," I said matter of factly.

 

"A what?"

 

"An insulin pump," I said.

 

"Oh."

 

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I was diagnosed in June of 1982.  In those days, home blood glucose monitoring was about as common and as advanced as listening to music on the go.  In other words, think no ipod, but plenty of cassette player walkmans.  Home blood glucose monitoring was primitive and expensive. 

 

For the first two years of my life with diabetes, we used various forms of urine testing to track my levels and determine dosing.  First, in the form of tablets dropped into glass tubing filled with pee that heated and turned colors - then in the form of nifty sticks that turned colors after being dipped in urine based on the amount of sugar you were carrying.  Since you weren't actually testing bloodsugar, management was largely a guessing game.

 

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