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We found 7 result(s) that match your search "claiming your life":

I had no idea the firestorm I would create with one of my last blog posts. The readership and number of comments, though, show me that I hit the nail on the head.

 

We hate diabetes. And that’s OK. I think it’s healthy to say to this disease that I hate it. I do. And I won’t apologize to anyone for feeling this way or for saying how I feel.

 

I was furious this morning when I read Andy’s post claiming that he loves diabetes. I felt attacked and had a how-dare-you-talk-to-me-like-that attitude. But, I think I understand where he’s coming from now. I think he was just trying to help.

 

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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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I started using a pump back in October of 2007. It was a rough and terribly rocky start. The pump company wasn't helpful and left me stranded in the dark with this new technology. There were moments that it left me sobbing over the phone to my mother, claiming that I was seconds from throwing the expensive device against the wall. My A1c climbed from 6.9 to 7.6.

 

After about six months of that and some help from the online community, I finally got the pump closer to being stabilized to my life. It still wasn't pretty. My A1c plateaued around 7.3 and 7.4. I couldn't seem to make the pump fit with my life, despite what everyone was saying. Apparently, I wasn't as stable as I needed to be with my schedule.

 

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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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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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When resources are scarce, it is human nature to try to prioritize and cut back until the situation improves. Usually, these are either short-term or seasonal shortages, giving us some idea of how long we will need to endure -- a sort of "countdown" calendar to work against. When we don't know how long the shortages will last, when necessities such as food, water, and medicine will return, we hunker down into what is called a "siege mentality". The problem with a siege mentality is that it can lead into a downward spiral, with the shortages getting more and more pronounced, until it seems impossible that there will be an outlet or that it will arrive in time... or until the besieged die.

 

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