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February 10th, 2012
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I get up every morning. I test my bloodsugar, give a morning dose of insulin. I decide where to place my pump in the outfits I'm considering. Some mornings, I wash away pump stickiness in the shower and insert a new canula. Some mornings, I treat a low bloodsugar, quaking and pale at the kitchen counter. All of this, while feeding the cat and getting ready for work. Drying my hair and putting on lip gloss. Trying to find the right shoes and grabbing a book to read at lunch. Diabetes comes with routines that often fit, tucked quietly, into the other routines my life holds. (READ MORE)


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I'm writing two posts today because I am so incredibly frustrated I really need an outlet. I am about to start throwing things through the wall (which I really don't think my neighbors would appreciate). Particularly, I'm going to throw my stupid pump through the wall (I know they really won't appreciate that!). I have been having a lot of trouble with it since day one. The worst part is that I am having so much trouble with the company and getting help. (READ MORE)


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I really don't like going to the doctor. The endocrinologist to be specific. Every time I go, I just seem to leave disappointed. Sometimes it's less disappointment than others. Sometimes I'm just so angry at myself and at this disease. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I get mad at the doctor (because OF COURSE, it's HIS fault I'm diabetic!). But mostly, the doctor just makes me feel alone in what I feel.

 

Today I had an endo appointment (if you didn't already guess). My last A1c was 6.9, my lowest ever. I was absolutely thrilled at that number, yet the perfectionist in me still wanted lower. And I honestly tried for lower (less in the last month or so though). But life got in the way.

 

(READ MORE)


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Here it comes. The flood of tears that I couldn't hold back anymore. I could feel it way back in there but thought they would pass.

 

The Mr. calls and can hear the stress in my voice and I don't try to hide it.

 

"What's wrong," he wants to know.

 

"I have no idea," I say. "I guess it's hormones. I just feel like I'm going to cry and I have absolutely no tolerance for the kids acting like... kids. I just want it to be quiet and for everyone to follow directions the first time and to not have to tell anyone to STOP IT! or to SIT DOWN AND FINISH EATING. Basically I want to relinquish my Mom Duties for a while."

 

(READ MORE)


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I was so shocked when I read a comment on my post about finding the right doctor for me that all I could think about was the first line to the response I would write. I just couldn't get past the shock.

 

The commenter suggested that, in short, I should consider therapy to address my anger issues regarding diabetes. You know what, that person is right. I am angry that I have diabetes. Damn angry. And I should be angry. This disease has the potential to consume my life, affects my family and invades nearly every activity I do. I have a right to be angry.

 

But this is not the kind of anger that requires therapy. This is the kind of anger that requires action. Finding the right doctor for me – especially in a new city – takes time and knowledge. Knowledge of my body, my condition, my desire for quality healthcare.

(READ MORE)


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Not long after I wrote this post about a news story that called bariatric surgery a "cure" for type 2 diabetes, a friend of mine emailed to ask about one of the comments. A reader suggested that there will never be a cure for diabetes because the disease is a money maker.
I explained to my friend that the multi-billion-dollar industry makes a profit in so many areas: test strips, meters, oral drugs, insulin, pumps, syringes, even accessories. What motivation is there, I asked her, for the world to come up with a cure and put all those good people out of work.
I may be naive and woefully open minded, but I am not a pessimist; I believe there are good doctors and researchers out there who are not motivated by money. (READ MORE)


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This might be a little tough for me to write because, frankly, it was a little tough for me to hear. Especially coming from such a tough guy.

 

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*

 

The Mr (on the phone to me): Where did you leave those coupons?

 

Me: On the kitchen table. (Like I said I would.)

 

The Mr: OK I see them.

 

Me: You're not going now are you? (Holy Hell I'm going to freaking kill you if you say yes.)

 

The Mr.: Yeah.

 

Me: You're going to leave the kids home alone? (You freaking idiot.)

 

The Mr.: I'll only be gone 30 minutes. They've stayed home alone longer than that.

 

Me: The store is open until 9. You can go after dinner. Plus, you said you'd make dinner (and why do you have to be so freaking selfish?)

 

(READ MORE)


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It might help if you read this when you're mad! Reading this may also cause you great relief! (It did for me). I cried when I wrote it. I laughed hysterically. I also edited out the bad words that I would have normally said, just so kids and mom's could still read it! This one felt great! Oh, and you may want to punch something when your done too. I DID!

Diabetes, (READ MORE)


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I lost it yesterday.

 

It was hot and sticky yesterday evening and we had been at a barbecue to welcome our new pastor into town. After having a great time, we headed home to unwind, get some laundry done, and basically get ready for the work week ahead.

 

When I walked into my house it felt like a sauna. It was terribly hot and stuffy. I turned on the air conditioner to cool things down a bit and gathered up my laundry to do. As I walked through the living room I realized the cool breeze I usually get hit with from the vent was nonexistent. I stuck my hand up in front of the vent and felt a very faint draft but that was it.

 

(READ MORE)


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Lindsey Guerin
Lindsey GuerinLindsey is a typical, yet unique, Texas girl who loves shopping, movies and reading. She loves to travel and take risks. She dreams of diabetes cures, never-ending cheesecake and her own airplane. The rest you can discover in her blog! (Read More)
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.

(Read More)
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