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

last night I screamed. I screamed in the kitchen last night. I beat my fists against my legs and pounded my feet against the cold tile floor like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. I clenched my fists and screamed.
 

silently.
 

a tedious task that needed steady hands. interrupted. I screamed last night.
 

silently.
 

nothing to do but sit on the couch. and wait. and scream. unsure of when the shaking will be gone so I can pick up and continue with my task. with life.
 

I am screaming now. 76 and a nose dive showing on Dex. I do not want to eat. I am not hungry. The thought of sugar makes me want to vomit.
 

I am screaming now.
 

silently.

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It's back. And this time I'm definitely blaming the blood/bacteria in my urine on my refillable water bottle. Remember several months ago when I had two horrible infections in the course of two months? Remember that I searched online in vain to blame the problem on my Nalgene bottle, but to no avail? Well, I ditched the Nalgene bottle and the problem went away. Except that when you live in the desert you have to drink water. Lots of water. So I bought another refillable water bottle and drank gallons of water a day. Well, not really, but you get the picture. And what happens? Three months later I'm in agony again.

 

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I'm always on the lookout for media representation of diabetes. I appreciate the media feedback that we get, although sometimes it infuriates me at how things are portrayed. Generally, I really don't see many movie or TV shows that feature diabetics in any great length.

 

However, as I was flipping through the channels last night, ABC's Private Practice caught my eye. One of the medical stories of the episode featured a diabetic little boy on an insulin pump. His infusion site had become infected and his blood sugars were elevated.

 

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I have vivid dreams. When I close my eyes at night, a whole new world appears, in living color. My dreams hold smells and sounds and sights that often rival the sensory reality of my waking life. There have been times when I could swear I've seen people, had conversations, and done things in real life, when these memories were simply creations of my sleeping mind. I know that I talk, run, laugh, and cry while I sleep; something that makes sharing a bed with me a real challenge. I suppose that the vividness of my dreams might be a reflection of the constant activity in my brain. (READ MORE)

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I'm trying, trying really hard to figure out how this Glyburide stuff works. I understand that it works to stimulate my pancreatic beta cells so the lazy buggers produce insulin that binds with the glucose floating around in my blood, allowing the pair to waltz into my cells and be used for energy. I get that part.
What I don't get is how does it work. Because frankly, it's working too well.
A few weeks ago, my doctor put me on 5 mg of Glyburide twice a day. One pill later I came crashing down from somewhere around 200 to the 60s. The next day, he said wait until your blood sugar goes back up and take one-quarter of a pill twice a day. He later called in a prescription for the 1.25 mg tablets, but I'm only taking them once a day. I've since had to break the 1.25 mg in half and I'm still going low at least once a day. (READ MORE)

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It has been increasingly difficult to get out of bed lately for my morning walk. And even though I feel fabulous after a walk and I know ahead of time how good a walk makes me feel, it’s still been easier to continue to hit snooze or to get back in bed or to blame my sugar level. And I feel guilty for a host of reasons.
 

I haven’t heard from my Drill Sergeant much lately. I haven’t heard that nagging voice screaming at me to get my butt out of bed already. And even on the days when I do walk I haven’t heard the don’t-give-up-now-you’re-almost-there speech. Not even a wimper. I think the Drill Sergeant likes staying in bed, too.

 

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My family sat down for dinner last night and I was feeling frantic and stressed and generally not in a good place. My fasting sugars have been a little high and I'm sure my post-lunch have been too, with all the goodies available at work.
The tragic Colorado church shootings took place Sunday just a few miles from my home. My 4 year old has questions I don't know how to answer.
This is crush week for us for the holidays. If it's not shipped or mailed by Friday, it very likely won't make it in time. 95% of our friends and family don't live in this state so I have to be done this week.
Halfway through dinner, the 5 month old started crying. Not a light fussing, but an full-on screaming crying -- something was DEFINITELY wrong with her. Kate does not do this very often. It ratchets up my stress level immediately. I feel SO bad for her and guilty (of course) that I may have done something to cause it. And there's the worry that something is seriously wrong. (READ MORE)

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