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

When I met with our new CPA for the first time, I brought him everything I could think he would need. In 2008 my family and I lived in two states and between me and my husband we had five jobs.

 

As we sat down to talk taxes, he asked the obvious, normal questions. And then the biggie: he wanted to know if I kept receipts or records from doctor's office co-pays or any other medical treatment. No, of course not, because I had no need to. Well, in Arizona, he said, you can write off your medical expenses, right down to your office co-pays.

 

Well, hot damn, I thought! I have tons of medical expenses!

 

"Co-pays, really?" I asked.

 

"Yes."

 

"Prescriptions?"

 

"Yes."

 

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"This is the most sick I’ve ever felt," Charlie said last night, hugging the "puke bucket" so tightly you would have thought it was keeping him afloat.

 

He looked miserable, wanting so badly to just throw up and get the awful feeling out of his stomach. Get it over with. These are some of the most difficult times of being a parent of a child with diabetes.

 

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Tuesday night, I switched my Lantus over to a once-per-day shot instead of the split doses I'd been using previously. I started with 22 units of Lantus at 8pm. I knew I'd see some highs, but I didn't want to risk an unexpected night low after making the first switch.

 

And I did see some elevation. I ran mostly in the 180-290 range all through Wednesday, which wasn't as high as I was expecting really. I made sure to consider food in the highs, along with the usual post-breakfast spike. And I was confident that a few more units of Lantus might do the trick (or at least get me closer).

 

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One of my scariest trips ever on bicycle was a seven-mile jaunt home from Watertown, Massachusetts to Cambridge in the middle of winter, after dark, on a three-speed commuter with no lights, on a stretch of road which had no street lights but a moderate amount of high-speed traffic. My fingers were freezing despite the warm gloves, and as much (or as little) ambient light as there was from the other side of the river, I found the lights of cars behind me to be a helpful aid as they approached -- but a bane as they passed, leaving me temporarily blinded by their relative brilliance.

 

 

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I am all for national security. I travel at least twice a year by plane. And I like to know that terrorists, hijackers, and others aren't sitting next to me on that plane considering when to take it down. I like to know that the guy next to me doesn't have a bomb in his shoe...or his underwear.

 

But I'm also conservative when it comes to my rights and privacy being stripped from me. Call me crazy, call me Texan, but I'm all for concealed carry or even open carry in specific circumstances. On Facebook, I'm a fan of the "Concealed Carry on Campus" group. Too many school shootings could be prevented by licensed, regulated gun owners. The bad guys will always get the guns anyway, so if I know the good guy also has a gun...well I like the odds a whole lot better.

 

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As an engineer by training, I find quantitative analysis -- numbers -- an expression of control. Self control, exercise, body function, health and illness... So while I'm fortunate enough not to have to be "Bionic Betty" with a peripheral pancreas, I still refer regularly to six separate instruments, plus additional Web-based resources, to manage my food intake, exercise output, and biometric information.

 

Weight. Some folk say weighing once a week is enough, but I find that if I don't weigh in every morning, my weight can go off on very health-unfriendly curves. I log my weight both in The Daily Plate and in my personal Excel workbook.

 

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It's so easy to slide back into old habits with diabetes. I do really well for a week, two weeks, sometimes I make it a whole month. Then life starts catching up and I realize that doing all these details with this disease is just really weighing me down.

 

So I slip up. Here and there, I skip a blood sugar check or forget to log something. And over time, all those tiny mess-ups add up to a lack of information that really hurts in the end. It hurts because it leaves me wondering what caused a certain number or why my averages just aren't heading any lower.

 

Right now, I'm right in the middle of all that. I did really well for about a week with keeping track of insulin injections and carb intake. Then I got burned out on life...school, diabetes, this whole pill issue. It all added up. And now I'm behind on the logging. I've missed important carb counts. I've stopped checking my blood sugar as much.

 

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The theme for this week is "Manage Your Healthcare Team".  For me, and for many others with Type 2 diabetes, this is a laugh. Team? What team? I have a primary care physician who handles everything from soup to nuts, including my diabetes care. She'll refer me to specialists and labs as needed, but she doesn't have any direct correspondence with my ophthalmologist (for whose checkup I am long overdue), and I've never had a CDE or an endo.

 

 

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I feel extremely out of sorts with myself lately. I feel out of my own body, like I'm a wakling zombie. I ache, I hurt, I have no energy. And it's greatly affecting my moods. I feel so raw, so broken, so frustrated.

 

I have 61 days left on the Accutane. And I cannot wait. I may even throw a party on my last day. I'm literally going insane at the moment. Just trying to make it 61 more days...without crawling into a hole.

 

I keep reminding myself that it's working. My last check up showed roughly 70% improvement. And this last dosage increase has me even more improved. I'm going several days to a week without breakouts, getting far fewer when they happen, and not spending as much time hating myself in the mirror. I wish I was completely clear, but I know that I'm just finishing the third month here and I have two more to go so I can't expect perfection quite yet.

 

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Fade in.

Close-up on a hand, shaking slightly as it lifts a metal cup. Pan as the camera moves to the subject's face, barely able to take a swallow of fluid without spilling it. After a half-coughed swallow, the hand half-slams the cup back on the workspace. The man shakes his head, unable to concentrate, pushes off from the workspace, and snaps at several other people as he walks briskly away.

 

 

From the second I saw the hand shake, I thought, "He's low. He's acting like he's low. Get the man some orange juice; he's about to pass out."

 

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