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November 21st, 2009
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We found 8 result(s) that match your search "bagels":

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Dear Friday Bagels,

 

I know you don't mean any harm. You're brought in by a fabulous office manager, all warm and tastefully arranged on a plastic platter in the kitchen. Egg bagels, pumpernickel, whole grain, poppy seed ... and the ultimate: everything bagel.

 

You are round and soft, anchored on either side by cream cheese and butter. You call to me as I sit at my desk:

 

"Kerri ... hey! Come over and maybe have a half?"

 

But Friday Bagels, you are not my friend.

 

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I feel extra different today.

 

I think all people with diabetes feel like this every once and a while. That feeling of being different or just feeling like no one understands.

 

Seeing the candy jars on desks and the bagels in the break room don’t help. Seeing people walking in from the kitchen with a bagel covered in cream cheese and raving about how delicious they are gets to me.

 

At least it is getting to me more today.

 

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Maybe I was expecting some sort of Christmas miracle or something but yesterday I was completely out of control.
We had our Christmas Breakfast at my unofficially adopted sister Candee's house. She was up early brewing coffee, scrambling eggs, frying bacon and sausage, and slicing up coffee cake and other breakfasty pastries so we could all dig in when we got there. (READ MORE)


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It was a crazy morning complete with me trying to reschedule a meeting about 850 times because I booked the wrong room yesterday, bagels and fruit to celebrate a co-worker's one-year anniversary and an unexpected low that I didn't feel until after I had treated it. Man how those suck.

 

Thanks to the mid-morning bagel and wanting to get a project done before lunch, I went to the cafe in the other building about an hour after I usually do. I expected to have the place to myself and I was right for the most part. There was a woman sitting at another table who I have seen before. My company is on the small-ish side, so I may not know everyone, but I've at least seen most people.

 

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I have never been a morning person. It's always been difficult for me to wake up in the mornings. In fact, I remember in elementary school my mom putting my alarm clock across the room so I'd have to actually get out of bed to turn it off; the theory being that if I was out of bed to turn off the alarm I'd be more likely to actually stay up. Can anyone guess how well that worked?
 

Remember my struggle to push myself to get out of bed at 5:30 to get my exercise and how I had a string of bad luck with alarm clocks? In that life, I lived just four blocks from work. So getting up at 5:30, exercising, showering, eating breakfast, getting the kids to daycare and getting to work around 8:45 a.m. or so was completely possible without rushing.
 

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Surely, I thought when Toohey beeped at me mid-morning, it was one of those random beeps that I couldn't explain. Maybe even a no-delivery message.

 

"LOW RESERVOIR" was not what I wanted to see. With my new job in a new city, my commute is no longer just four blocks. Now I'm an hour away from home. I can't just scoot out for a few minutes if I forget something.

 

I scrolled down; 7 units would barely get me through lunch. I kicked myself because this morning before I left for work I checked how many units I had and knew I wouldn't be able to make it through the day. I made a note to stick a reservoir and a bottle of Novolog in my purse so I could make the change this morning when I ran out.

 

Clearly, I forgot.

 

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"Guess what!" Susanne said with an enthusiasm that was clearly over-embellished.

 

"The whole school is getting a hot pretzel today. For free!"

 

"Uh huh," I respond cautiously.

 

"Not just Charlie's class. The whole school! Everyone! Everyone in the school will be eating a hot pretzel!"

 

"OK, I get it."

 

"Isn't it great???"

 

I applaud her use of sarcasm. Something I take pride in. We both know full well, this was in fact not great. Not great at all. Hot pretzels have never been kind.

 

"What is he?" I asked.

 

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The list of things I shouldn't eat is long. And I typically ignore the list.

 

I'm a chocoholic. Pretty much everyone in my life knows it (even my seventh-grade boyfriend knew it!). One of my favorite phrases is, "This requires chocolate." I do feel guilty, though. Well, not guilty so much as self conscious. 

 

Today after lunch I got that familiar I-need-chocolate-after-lunch feeling. I grabbed $1.50 in change and walked to the other building.

 

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Carey Potash
Carey PotashCarey is a full-time hater of diabetes. The benefits stink. His 7-year-old son, Charlie, has been giving he and his wife the finger since November of 2003. Carey's parenting humor has appeared in various websites and print magazines. He resides in the suburbs of Philadelphia with his wife and three children. (Read More)
Julia
JuliaJulia lives behind the Tofu Curtain, in the Pioneer Valley, in Western Massachusetts. It's a nice place. She likes it there. Her eldest daughter, Olivia, has type 1 diabetes. She's also 13. It's a real toss-up as to which is more difficult -- the diabetes or the teen-age drama. (Read More)
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