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February 10th, 2012
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I started putting on the weight over two years ago. For those two years, I let twenty pounds add onto my body. I watched myself go up in jean sizes, throw away old clothes because they were too tight, and hate who I was in the mirror. My blood sugars didn't seem to be affected much by my weight. My wardrobe and my mindset were the only things shattered.

 

Eventually, I realized that the twenty extra pounds were slowly taking a toll on my long-term health, including the long-term health of my diabetes. I started working out again. (You might remember my post about getting my body ready for summer.) I also tried to watch what I was eating more closely, including low treatments.

 

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I have a confession to make. Last week, I went on a post-partum shoe shopping binge. I don't know what came over me. One minute I was walking through the door at Marty's and 20 exhilarating minutes later, I was walking back out with four boxes in tow.
I am thoroughly in love with my purchases. I bought cute brown pumps to wear with the brown pants my aunt handed-down to me after she lost 30 pounds; a pair of comfy brown Ugg-like clogs that match my brown winter coat; black ballet-flats that are sure to get Stacy London's seal of approval; and a stylish pair of black tweed pumps to wear to church. (READ MORE)


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There was a time when The Mr. and I could wear the same size pants. In fact, he put on a pair of my jeans one day and though they fit it didn't take him long to realize why they didn't feel right.

 

I thought we were heavy then. I'd love to be back in that size jeans. That was before kids. That was before 12 years of marriage. That was a long time ago.

 

When I look back 15 years ago at pictures of us I think about how skinny we looked. And though I didn't see it then, we were; especially compared to how we look now.

 

The Mr. has been contemplating weight loss surgery for years. We talked about it casually. We knew people who went through it. We knew the fantastic results. We knew it was a tough road.

 

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Since gaining twenty extra pounds in 2006 (due to my insane hormones and PCOS diagnosis), I've had ups and downs in trying to get back to my high school weight and back in my favorite pair of jeans. I let the pounds pile on for awhile before deciding to do much about it. And when I started to care, it seemed more trouble than it was worth.

 

In the spring of 2007, I tried jogging on a regular basis. I didn't lose any weight. Over that next year, I tried eating a little better and going to the gym with a friend. Still nothing.

 

In the summer of 2008, I had a breakthrough (with the help of the bio-identical hormones getting my body slowly back in order). I spent two to three days a week at the gym and lost about six pounds. I never got into a smaller size, but I loved feeling like my body could handle the basics of living.

 

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I feel like such a mean dad.

 

I am the father of two very awesome kids. My son is 14 and my daughter is 10. They are both very smart and well mannered kids. My wife and I are extremely blessed in that they are both good kids. We thank God all the time for them.

 

I am usually considered the "cool dad" with my kid and their friends and as much as I am "cool" I am also pretty strict. I have definite rules with my kids and as long as they do not break them then they have lots of freedoms. Break a rule and freedoms are gone.

 

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...I don't want to make the effort. This has absolutely nothing to do with the amount of insulin I take or optimal blood sugar control--although those aspects of dropping a few pounds would certainly be welcome.
I simply hate the way I look. I can't stand how I look in a mirror. I wonder all the time if people are staring at my thunder things or three-baby-having flabby abdomen. Realistically I know I'm the one focusing on these issues, but as a girl I still wonder what others think.
It's ironic, but I find myself being judgemental of other plus-size women. How can she be taken seriously when she's so chunky? I'm sure the judgements go both ways, and I suppose this affects my self-confidence in a way I haven't been able to truly see.
It's easy to pick apart all the things that I don't like about my body, and I don't look at myself too long in a mirror, and I often imagine how other people see me. (READ MORE)


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Diabetes has always entailed a lot of paraphernalia. Back in the day, meters were three times the size they are now. Bottles of strips weighed a ton. And syringes came with much longer needles. Plus there were juice boxes, snack packs, and rolls of candy. But even now, with all the advances in this modern day and age, diabetes comes with baggage (and I'm not talking the emotional kind).

 

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One thing about diabetes that can be particularly frustrating is not knowing how our body will react to stress. I've had just as many highs from stress as I have had unexpected lows.

 

Strangely, I think I more often go lowish from certain kinds of stress. Namely medical stress. Just over a year ago, for example, I had to have an MRI on my hip with contrasting dye and it was really an experience I was not prepared for. Sitting in the waiting area before the procedure I was high. During the part where the doctor injected the dye into my hip, I felt myself going low and thought I was going to pass out.

 

And then there was the minor hand surgery I had two and a half years ago where my sugar stayed low all morning until my mid-day surgery.

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His hands move over my waist to my hips.  He brushes by my insulin pump, which feels to me about fifty times its actual size.  I wonder, does he notice it there beneath my clothes, beneath his hand? 

 

My bloodsugar is 355 mg/dl.  I feel yucky.  I know I'm spilling ketones.  When he kisses me, do I taste like fruit, like wine, like the acetone that's eating away at me?  Does he see the awful dry feeling behind my eyes; is he thinking I look as horrible as I feel? 

 

He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.  I trace his palm with my fingertips.  My arms above my head, he's tying my my hands - his skin so near mine again.  Why do these calluses feel so obvious, so hard and unfeminine? 

 

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Diabetes has made me a hypochondriac. Every ache, every pain, every change is some condition, disease or syndrome. Now typically I don't truly believe I have any of the things I so often "self-diagnose," but I have to admit that I am constantly living in the shadow of my diabetes. (READ MORE)


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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)
Michelle Kowalski
Michelle KowalskiMichelle Kowalski, a writer, editor and photography hobbiest living in Phoenix, was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes in February 2005. In January 2008, as part of her quest to start on an insulin pump, Michelle learned that she actually has type 1 diabetes. (Read More)
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