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How often do you worry about diabetes complications?

May 24th, 2012
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When I was fresh out of college and looking for my first job as a reporter I would send off cover letters that started like this: The most important thing you need to know about me is that I love to write. I thrive on it!

 

OK, so sometimes I still introduce myself like that. *blush* But seriously, I can't remember a time when I didn't identify myself as a writer. Can't remember a time when I didn't read published authors with awe and envy. Can't remember a time when I didn't want to be a better writer.

 

I've worked hard to get where I am. As a writer and editor. And I'm proud of that. And I still thrive on writing. I have a list of blog posts that I want to write up, and can still think of the plots of the two short stories I have had brewing for years.

 

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It has been a long time since I had a hypoglycemia-related seizure.  Over a year.  This, compared to monthly convulsive insulin reactions when I was in my twenties and early thirties.  I am thankful for a break which appears to have some promise of permanence.  But a break doesn't eliminate fear. 

 

My roommate heads back to Texas tomorrow morning.  Leaving me with this apartment, and on my own for the first time ever.  I have to admit, the idea of an apartment of my own is in some ways very nice.   Space.  Time.  Quiet.  Peace.  But I am also terrified.  Afraid that diabetes and its accompanying life-threatening dangers will visit in the night.  

 

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Here it comes. The flood of tears that I couldn't hold back anymore. I could feel it way back in there but thought they would pass.

 

The Mr. calls and can hear the stress in my voice and I don't try to hide it.

 

"What's wrong," he wants to know.

 

"I have no idea," I say. "I guess it's hormones. I just feel like I'm going to cry and I have absolutely no tolerance for the kids acting like... kids. I just want it to be quiet and for everyone to follow directions the first time and to not have to tell anyone to STOP IT! or to SIT DOWN AND FINISH EATING. Basically I want to relinquish my Mom Duties for a while."

 

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After putting a lot of effort into Charlie's Angels every late summer/early fall, I usually slip into a long fundraising hibernation.  I typically wake from it some time in August and start all over again. This year I slept a little longer.

 

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The first week in August marked the start of the 2010 run of the New York Renaissance Faire, an event in which the most popular exhibitions involve aiming long, pointy objects at impossibly small, circular targets. Whether it's an 8-foot-long lance hooking a three-inch-diameter ring, or a 26" arrow aimed at a bull's eye 100 yards away, or a sword or spear looking to unhinge a 1/2"-diameter ring of chain-mail armour, these are impressive displays of marksmanship and control -- kind of like trying to keep one's blood glucose levels between the mythical "102" and "104" (mg/dl) of glucometer-packaging displays, regardless of what one eats and when. (READ MORE)


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There are many moments when you want to keep this business of diabetes to yourself. Someone offers your kid a piece of candy and you begin to say it, but then you stop yourself. You politely say "no thank you" and you leave it at that.

 

Then there are times when you want the whole world to know. You want to shout it from the tops of skyscrapers.  You want to say, "I am this way because of diabetes. Diabetes did this to me."

 

Susanne recently went to the doctor for an out-patient procedure that she was very much dreading. I went with her for moral support. She prefers that I don't mention the exact procedure.

 

 Fine! You've twisted my arm. She had a fourth boob added.  There, I said it.

 

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As if diabetes weren't enough.

 

Lately, it seems like everything I eat sends my stomach into some weird, horrible feeling torrent of yuck. It turns and gurgles and hurts. It's particularly bad when I eat something higher in carbs.

 

And I won't share the other gastrointestinal issues that accompany the sick stomach. It's just plain gross.

 

So, after about a month and half of this, I called the endocrinologist. I know what the symptoms indicate. And I knew what he'd ask. And I knew what he'd probably say.

 

What kind of stomach issues?

 

Are you doing your business (read: more grossness not for print)?

 

Any history of Celiac in the family?

 

And there isn't any history of it. Not one, not even a far-distant relative.

 

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Through the powers of the D online community, I've become very close with a type 1 who lives across the world from me. Okay, she lives in Ireland. It's a nine hour plane ride, across an entire ocean, and certainly a different world from Texas. This is beside the point. She and I have become close friends through a series of emails.

 

We tend to be each other's sounding board. When we struggle with an issue, emails fire away and IMs ensue. Even if we're half a world away, the emotions and the issues remain the same. We still understand where the other one is at through what we've faced ourselves. We get the fear, the rage, the frustration. Even the joy.

 

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The second annual "No-D Day" was Friday, 7 October. I missed it in preparation for Yom Kippur.

 

This is the second year that the diabetes online community has dedicated a day specifically to writing about things other than, um, diabetes. Let's face it: most of the time our posts are so full of highs, lows, food diaries, d-meetups, medication schedules, glucose tests, and so on that we tend to lose site that behind those walls of figures sit real people. People with parents, spouses or partners, sometimes children, sometimes furkids, jobs, homes (we hope!), and a whole range of interests beyond the latest FDA letter drive for an iPhone-mounted glucometer or a low-suspend pump.

 

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On Thanksgiving Day, my four year old nephew noticed me test my bloodsugar for the first time.  A look of dire concern spread across his little face as I drew blood from my finger.  I told him that Aunty needed to test and see what her numbers were before she ate so that she could give her medicine and not get sick.  He nodded, still looking concerned, and said, "medicine, like for my eyes?"  Born with cataracts and structural issues in both of his eyes, he has had more surgeries in his first four years than most people have in their lifetime, has worn contact lenses and glasses since he was three months old, and medicine is a word he's known for entirely too long. 
 

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Kerri Sparling
Kerri SparlingKerri Sparling, diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when she was six years old, doesn't let diabetes define her. It just helps explain some things.
Creator of the diabetes blog Six Until Me and an editor for dLife, Kerri is an awareness advocate and an active member of the diabetes community. She'd also like a kitten.
(Read More)
Lindsey Guerin
Lindsey GuerinLindsey is a typical, yet unique, Texas girl who loves shopping, movies and reading. She loves to travel and take risks. She dreams of diabetes cures, never-ending cheesecake and her own airplane. The rest you can discover in her blog! (Read More)
Our Other Bloggers: Carey Potash, Nicole Purcell, Brenda Bell, Michelle Kowalski, MikeDurbin, Megan, Robert Hudson, Julia, George Simmons, Scott Marvel, Kim Doty,