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

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.

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Yesterday we had a special “God and Country” service at church. We typically do a similar service under the flag pole on the 4th of July each year but this year we decided to do that service on Sunday instead so hopefully more of the congregation can enjoy and participate in this moving service.

The service starts outside under the flag pole. The local boy scouts troop retires the flag we fly, presents it to a veteran in our congregation, and posts a new flag. I love this stuff because, although I may not seem like it, I am a very patriotic person.

After that we all went into the church to continue the service. Myself, my daughter, and a few other singers all stood upfront and sang all of the theme songs from each military branch. As we sang them we had any veterans from each branch stand to be recognized.
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I had no idea the firestorm I would create with one of my last blog posts. The readership and number of comments, though, show me that I hit the nail on the head.

 

We hate diabetes. And that’s OK. I think it’s healthy to say to this disease that I hate it. I do. And I won’t apologize to anyone for feeling this way or for saying how I feel.

 

I was furious this morning when I read Andy’s post claiming that he loves diabetes. I felt attacked and had a how-dare-you-talk-to-me-like-that attitude. But, I think I understand where he’s coming from now. I think he was just trying to help.

 

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I was talking recently with a friend of ours whose twelve year old daughter was just diagnosed with type 1. As much as I love my friend, her attitude toward her daughter and her daughter's diabetes scared me a little. She uses the phrase "It's that simple," quite a bit. For example, she recently informed me that she told her daughter 'Sit your butt in the chair and test your bloodsugar. You have to do it - it's that simple.' She continued by telling me that crying about diabetes is not tolerated in her house. (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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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.

 

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I'm not sure what is going on with my blood sugars lately. They are typically staying quite nice (except on the rare occasion that I decide to upset them). The problem is that nice for me means a lot of lows. And the lows lately are kicking my butt.

 

I'm seeing trends in the low 100s that stay there for hours. My morning numbers are averaging in that same range. My peaks are minimal. The meter screen shines back at me with pride.

 

But I'm not happy. Because in between the 100s and the decent averages is the constant hours of lows or the ravaging night lows that bring me to my knees. I am continually reminded that I am merely human and merely managing this disease as best I can. I haven't forgotten how much of a hold diabetes has on everything. It's actually more on my mind than it has been in a long while.

 

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I'm putting on several layers of body armor for this post. I suspect some of you will be more than angry at me for saying this: Maybe we should give Halle Berry a break.
::Michelle ducks::
Here's my reason. She's clearly misinformed about either her disease or diabetes in general or both. Instead of attacking her, let's take this opportunity to bring to light the common misconceptions about diabetes, let's offer education to those who don't know or have been afraid to ask, and let's also encourage people who have diabetes to be as informed as possible about the disease and the best treatment options. (READ MORE)

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When I was four years old, I wondered why the doctors never made me better. Why did I have to go four times a year yet still get my finger checked, take shots, and miss out on half the fun of being a kid? I couldn't understand why seeing the doctor didn't make it all go away...everything was always better if you went to the doctor.

 

I was an angry four year old. I went to a psychologist for a time and my parents bought plenty of books (by plenty, I mean the two that were available at the time) about being a kid with type 1 diabetes in 1993. My parents treated me like a normal little girl, except that I couldn't have birthday cake or go to school without a lot of stress.

 

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It’s been just more than two months since I developed a blood clot in my leg. There have been some rough times for sure. For several weeks it was difficult to walk and sitting upright for too long would make my foot swell and my leg feel painful. I had to leave work early on a number of occasions so I could get home and just lie down. I even went into an empty conference room at work once and put two chairs together just so I could sort of lie down to give my leg some relief.

 

Then there was the day I couldn’t stop crying during church. The Mr. asked if it was my leg that was bothering me and begged me to sit down even though everyone else was standing. The kids were freaked, of course, because Mom was crying. I got lots of hugs that day.

 

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