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I've swallowed my pride and decided to apply for disability services here at school. They can offer me a few resources that I do not have access to otherwise. Most importantly, they give me the ability to register early for class and to notify my professor's that there is a legitimate health issue that I deal with.

 

The past two semesters, I've considered doing it, but I've also thought it was too embarrassing. But finally, things have gotten to the point where I'm realizing that it's not embarrassing, it's reality. So I've taken the initial steps to go through with it.

 

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Fear of needles. Fear of blood. Fear of hospitals or doctors. These are all normal phobias in the world. People commonly relate to one or all of these fears, whether from bad experiences, horror stories or movies/TV shows.

 

But for a diabetic, what are our fears? Of course, many diabetics deal with the fear of needles, blood or hospitals/doctors. I'm fine with the needles and the blood, but I have a strong dislike towards doctors. I wouldn't say I'm afraid of them, but I don't particularly like to hear what they have to say (this stems from every doctor's appointment in my past that I would leave crying from because my control just wasn't good enough).

 

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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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I got a link to an article from ABC News today about Halle Berry. I was encouraged to see that doctors are equally concerned with her claims that she's cured herself of type 1 diabetes.

"Diabetics quickly took to the blogosphere to condemn Berry for claiming that a change in diet could cure Type 1 diabetes, an autoimmune disease in which the pancreas permanently fails to produce insulin, the vital hormone that regulates sugar levels in the blood."
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I guess I spoke too soon a few days ago when I declared my love of pumping, claiming it was so simple and my blood sugars were perfect.

 

While the machinery (and all the cool things it does) is still quite awesome, I forgot about good old human errors. Just a few hours after I posted about loving pumping, my blood sugar was high. Not terrible, 180, but still higher than my two hour goal of 120. I figured it was the meal--pepperoni bread made with whole wheat dough, which is essentially pizza--so I corrected and went along my business for the afternoon.

 

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