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

In anticipation of my end of the month endo appointment, I have to go for fasting blood work this week. I'm dreading it. To me, this one of the most inconvenient things in the world for several reasons.
First off, it has taken years for me to get into the habit of eating breakfast. Now that I'm a regular at the breakfast table, I'm completely hooked on the most important meal of the day. I can't leave home without it.
Second, I don't think its safe for me to drive on an empty stomach. It's kind of like not drinking liquor on an empty stomach. It's just a bad idea. I'm low, I'm shakey, I can't see straight. I'm liable to curse at anyone who crosses my path, even if they do have the right of way. Granted, the doctors office is down the hill and around the bend, literally 3 minutes away. But still, I'm not fond of driving before eating. (READ MORE)

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"What if Maeve watches on me and if I feel low I can tell her and she can tell an adult and they can call you?"

 

"Is that a good idea, dad?"

 

I don’t let on that I have absolutely no idea how this is going to work.

 

"Sure, Charlie. We’ll figure it out."

 

At 7 years old, Charlie is finally eligible to come to work with me to "Take Your Child to Work Day." He’s put in his time, watching with envy as his big sister was able to board a 6 am train bound for Manhattan with dad in years past. He can’t wait.

 

"Is there anything I should bring?" he asked as I tucked him into his bed.

 

"Just your suit and tie and a briefcase."

 

"Seriously dad?"

 

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I was reading through the dLife Viewpoints section today and saw a post that really hit home.

 

It's called "Bested by a Can of Tomato Soup" by Scott Johnson and I think it should be required reading for type 3's and other people without diabetes.

 

Counting carbs can sometimes be a difficult and maddening situation.

 

And we do it for virtually every meal every day. I mean, we are supposed to.

 

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I had to pick Olivia up from school again today because her stomach was nauseous again. She's been on a course of Zantac for a couple of weeks now and it seemed to work for a while. This is the first time she's felt this bad. She told me last night that her stomach was a little sore, but not queasy.

So, I'm off to the store to get more Zantac (and pump batteries, which seem to have disappeared - I'm blaming my husband and all of his electronic gadgets) and I'm logging (I know!!!) all of her food. I haven't logged actual food in a while - just carbs. Thank goodness I have a good spreadsheet for all this. I'm just going to leave it open on the computer all day. Hopefully that will prompt me to get the stuff in there on a daily basis rather than slacking and then playing catch up. She's never going to remember what she ate yesterday and I certainly don't expect her to.
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I'm the kind of person who, no matter how horrible I feel, at least attempts to get out of bed to go to work. It's a philosophy that stems from my childhood when my parents told us that if we weren't barfing and didn't have a fever we were going to school. If we still felt bad after we got there then we could call them and we'd talk.

 

It's a philosophy that has served me well. At least I think so. And I've happily passed this philosophy on to my children. I don't think I'll ever forget the day that No. 1 woke up with an upset stomach and I told him he at least had to try to eat breakfast. Yeah, he barfed. Nice job, Michelle!

 

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I recently started working a part time job at a big box store (you know the one - red, bullseye, waaaaay nicer than Wally World).  The job is OK - not challenging at all, but it's extra money and we need it.  And until I can make the big bucks from sitting on my couch reading books, this will do.

 

C. is one of the girls I work with.  She's very nice; friendly and helpful to the newbie (that'd be me).  I noticed she had a Medic Alert bracelet on but I didn't want to ask what it was for.  I'm never sure what the proper etiquette is with that - do you ask and embarrass the other person?  Do you not ask and run the risk of missing some vital sign that the person is getting ill?  Anyone know? 

 

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Thirty-three years ago this semester, the frequent repetition of those words (or others to that effect) by high school classmates led me to take an extra semester of English in the spring term of my senior year. Anyone stepping onto my school bus and smelling the pungent odor of marijuana burning would have easily understood the reasons behind their lack of preparedness to study.

 

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Charlie's ice hockey session ended yesterday. After a rocky start – which I wrote about recently – I must say; blood sugars have worked out beautifully.

 

Without too much trial and error, we found a routine that worked and stuck with it for the remaining four weeks of the hockey program.

 

I tested him just before he took the ice, unplugged him and gave him a 20-carb banana (with no bolus) to cover the intense workout. Unsure how it would work out in the beginning, careful disconnection of his pump felt like an attempt to dismantle a bomb. "Work damn you! Work!"

 

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I am almost through my first week of work. Almost. So close. Can't wait. It's been a good week with both highs and lows (literally). But I'm exhausted and in great need of a weekend.

 

Right now, I'm working something between part time and full time. I'm getting up earlier than I have in years. For multiple days in a row. Then I'm working all day, sitting in traffic, and attempting to stay on top of everything else in my life (like this blog, Diabetic Echoes, Marvin, and laundry). I'm pooped.

 

I have no idea where my blood sugars are really. I'm not checking as much as I'd like to mainly because my brain is distracted by volunteer recruitment, interviewing, and placement. When I do check, I'm mostly in range or the number is explainable. I'm still trying to manage the Lantus change as well which has worked great minus getting the right number as to not cause morning lows or afternoon highs.

 

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The pharmacy technician said it when I bought the "real" Sudafed (not that fake PE crap you can get over the counter that they reformulated so the stupid methamphetamine manufacturers have to work harder to find their main ingredient). The nurse at the doctor's office said it when I went in for a steroid shot.
It's bad around here. Really bad. Allergies, that is.
I'd say roughly six years ago I developed seasonal allergies. I was able to handle it with over the counter antihistamines, usually. But each summer seemed to get progressively worse. And this year has been by far my worst ever. Claritin and Sudafed weren't coming close to touching my itchiness, sneezing and extremely congested head. (I was like three of the Seven Dwarfs: Itchy, Sneezy and Why Won't My Ears Pop?) (READ MORE)

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