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

I'm meeting a friend of a friend for lunch on Thursday. I've never met either of these friends in real life, but we've chatted via e-mail for years and months.

 

I "met" C. after I e-mailed her about her blog. She is a writer/editor (like me) and has type 1 (like me), so we had some instant connections. I asked her a professional question and we just kept talking, bouncing ideas off each other, chatting about family, etc. (She's writing a book, by the way, about pregnancy and pre-existing diabetes.)

 

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Got a phone call this morning from Susanne …

 

She told me that Charlie's blood sugar was 490 at 9am (about two hours after breakfast). She always tests him just before taking him to school to see if he needs a little carb boost or an insulin correction. Typically a number in the low to mid-200s at that time is what she expects to see. On those days, he falls into range nicely by 10 am.

 

She gave Charlie a correction of 1 unit and took him to school. While in the car, Charlie said he felt as if he had dropped 200 points. Sure enough, he dropped 200 points. Susanne checked him again and he was 300. Or maybe the 490 was a false number. Who knows!

 

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I was invited to be part of a local mini-series. How exciting! I envision my name in lights, a crowd of adoring fans, gorgeous women at my feet,.
What's that? It's not actually a TV mini-series? My mistake,. (READ MORE)

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Last week my husband saw an ad in our local newspaper for a free self-defense class at the hospital. He insisted that I go. I thought it would be a great way to learn how to defend myself, so I eagerly went along.
Last night as I prepared to walk out the door I realized I hadn't eaten dinner. I suspected that since the class was being taught by a martial arts instructor that there would be some physical fitness involved. I wondered if I should have a snack or at least test my sugar before I left, but in the back of my mind I knew I'd be OK since I had been eating rather poorly that afternoon (as usual). (READ MORE)

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There's a lot about diabetes that isn't so happy. Really, 98% isn't. But to me, there are things about this disease that top the list of the worst parts of diabetes. The biggest thing is the utterly hopeless need for insulin.

 

I can't hide the facts from myself like I can when I think about complications or discrimination. I can tell myself that better control will lower my risk of complications, that they might not happen to me. I can believe that employers, lovers, and friends won't judge me on my diabetes. Those are things that always leave glimmers of hope in my heart; they aren't finite.

 

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Typically, I put in a new infusion site and leave the old site in for a few hours. I rarely have a bad transition. Occasionally, the site will hurt or feel uncomfortable so I replace it with a new one. Even on those occasions, it's immediate so I don't peak from the bad site.

 

But the last two sites have given me some trouble. I'm rotating like normal, still leaving my old site in for at least two hours, and making sure there isn't any pain. I'm still seeing numbers soar into the 200's without a true cause within several hours of replacing my site. And each time, I've replaced the site on the third high reading and come down within a few hours to a normal range.

 

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When one of us succeeds, we all succeed. When one of us is hurt, we all feel pain. And when one of us is belittled at the expense of another, we all lose.

 

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It's been quite a busy week. And I am totally exhausted. Emotionally charged, physically spent, and mentally frayed. But with all the busy-ness and the exhaustion, it's been a pretty splendid week.

 

Monday, I made the four and a half hour drive across (part of) Texas for a job interview. It was for a patient advocate position, which I was pretty excited about. It seemed like something that totally fit me and would drive to me to great things. But as I started thinking and preparing for the interview, I just wasn't sure it was the right job for me right now. The location was really bothering me (in the general area I want, but about an hour from where I want to live).

 

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CP: I'm here with lumberjack, one-time monopoly champion, brother-in-law extraordinaire and a downright handsome speciman of a man, Patrick Mauceri. Thanks for joining us today.
 

PM: Hey C-dog.  No problem. Thanks for having me.  Monopoly champ?

CP: Ignore me.
 

CP: Interesting place you chose to meet me at today. So I just put my coins in here and the little peephole opens up? Do people with diabetes frequent this sort of place often?

PM: Well it's our little speakeasy. Only instead of bootlegged whiskey, they serve expensive juice boxes and orange slices. Can I buy you a drink?

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Over the weekend, I had a low blood sugar in the middle of the night that left me feeling like I had been beaten soundly and left in a ditch. (Covered in petrol, a la Eddie Izzard.)
It was a strange experience, though, because the "low hangover" feeling was neatly accompanied by a feeling of guilt. This low wasn't one that came out of no where and smacked up upside the head. This low was the result of a miscalculation while I was at dinner. (READ MORE)

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