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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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Long day.
Long day after a long night after a long day after a long night. Tired. Very tired.
Not in mood tonight to negotiate with Charlie when he throws a minor tantrum because it's shower time.
Angry dad voice comes out. I hate my angry dad voice. I hate using it on any of my kids, but I'm especially regretful after the fact with Charlie.
Charlie whips his head back on to the couch and then lays face down on the floor. I've asked him five times now to come up with me for a shower.
"Charlie! Get. Upstairs. Now!"
He crawls upstairs slowly on hands and knees like a weak desert wanderer searching for water. "Can't," he moans. "I'm so tired."
I'm certain he'd be up the stairs like a leopard if said let's play a video game.
"Charlie! Now!"
The voice in my head tells me he can't be low, you just tested him. Don't fall for it. He's just being a 5 year old not getting his way. (READ MORE)

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Long day.
Long day after a long night after a long day after a long night. Tired. Very tired.
Not in mood tonight to negotiate with Charlie when he throws a minor tantrum because it's shower time.
Angry dad voice comes out. I hate my angry dad voice. I hate using it on any of my kids, but I'm especially regretful after the fact with Charlie.
Charlie whips his head back on to the couch and then lays face down on the floor. I've asked him five times now to come up with me for a shower.
"Charlie! Get. Upstairs. Now!"
He crawls upstairs slowly on hands and knees like a weak desert wanderer searching for water. "Can't," he moans. "I'm so tired."
I'm certain he'd be up the stairs like a leopard if said let's play a video game.
"Charlie! Now!"
The voice in my head tells me he can't be low, you just tested him. Don't fall for it. He's just being a 5 year old not getting his way. (READ MORE)

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Long day.
Long day after a long night after a long day after a long night. Tired. Very tired.
Not in mood tonight to negotiate with Charlie when he throws a minor tantrum because it's shower time.
Angry dad voice comes out. I hate my angry dad voice. I hate using it on any of my kids, but I'm especially regretful after the fact with Charlie.
Charlie whips his head back on to the couch and then lays face down on the floor. I've asked him five times now to come up with me for a shower.
"Charlie! Get. Upstairs. Now!"
He crawls upstairs slowly on hands and knees like a weak desert wanderer searching for water. "Can't," he moans. "I'm so tired."
I'm certain he'd be up the stairs like a leopard if said let's play a video game.
"Charlie! Now!"
The voice in my head tells me he can't be low, you just tested him. Don't fall for it. He's just being a 5 year old not getting his way. (READ MORE)

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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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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 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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My friend L's mom died over the weekend. I've known L as long as I can remember, probably close to 30 years. We were girl scouts together in grade school, played flute together in middle school and while I played the piccolo in the high school marching band, she twirled along as a majorette. Though we were never "best friends," we've kept in touch over the years through mutual friends.
L and her parents are in the background of many of my childhood memories. Her dad, R, was the high school band director and I remember her mom, J, at girl scouting events going back as far as the first grade.
It's always sad when someone dies, but what makes this even more sad is that L's dad died a few years ago. She's too young to lose both her parents. (READ MORE)

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My friend L's mom died over the weekend. I've known L as long as I can remember, probably close to 30 years. We were girl scouts together in grade school, played flute together in middle school and while I played the piccolo in the high school marching band, she twirled along as a majorette. Though we were never "best friends," we've kept in touch over the years through mutual friends.
L and her parents are in the background of many of my childhood memories. Her dad, R, was the high school band director and I remember her mom, J, at girl scouting events going back as far as the first grade.
It's always sad when someone dies, but what makes this even more sad is that L's dad died a few years ago. She's too young to lose both her parents. (READ MORE)

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If I had stomped my foot, I would have been acting just like them.
Looking at my 7-year-old and my just-turned-5-year-old, I was ranting about their ridiculous behavior.
"So what if she's looking at you?" I screamed.
"And why are you antagonizing him?" I yelled.
This was really odd behavior for me, I thought. Just an hour ago I was grocery shopping at WalMart with the baby and thinking about what good spirits I was in. I was feeling so happy that I was actually contemplating a post on how my walking routine was helping my attitude.
Grabbing the last few things in the produce section, I leaned down to look at something. When I stood up, I suddenly felt, for lack of a better word, weird. It wasn't my normal I-think-I'm-going-low feeling, so I chalked it up to a head rush. (READ MORE)

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