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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "co-worker":

When the phone rang, I had just finished yelling and screaming at my computer. It was shaping up to be one of "those" afternoons.
"Hey, what's up," my husband wanted to know.
"If I had any chocolate I'd be eating it right now!" I said between my clenched teeth.
"Oh, really?" he said, knowing what my dependence on chocolate during stressful times amounted to.
From the office next to mine, I could hear my co-worker say "There's chocolate in the fridge!"
"Actually," I said rather proudly to my husband, "I don't have an appetite right now, so even if I did have chocolate I wouldn't be eating it." Starting my second month of Byetta was starting to pay off in the appetite-suppressant area.
"Well that's good," he said. (READ MORE)

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I had a very curious and unexpected conversation at work recently. An amusing person that I work with, who I'll refer to as "The Random Talker", will pour out mouthfuls of directionless information at the drop of a hat. I'm talking about a totally un-sequestered menagerie of anomalous comments. This time, however, something struck home with me and we had a more meaningful, if not still awkward conversation.
Random: "Sometimes I get really angry and confused when I don't eat enough"
Me: "Oh really, I know the feeling,"
Random: "I become hypoglycemic, but I bet you don't know what that is, do you?"
Me- (Sounding like a know it all): "Ya, your blood sugar drops, and you can get sweaty, hungry, nervous, jittery, not a good feeling" (READ MORE)

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I was just sitting at my desk working on an extremely important project (FDL standings) when a co-worker stopped in his tracks as he walked by my desk, squinting into my eyes.
"Whoa! What happened to you?"
"Huh?"
"Did you get beat up?"
"What? No." I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
"The purple under your eyes. Looks like you got beat up," he continued.
"Oh, that?" I said, touching the corner of my eye near the bridge of my nose. "No, that's just lack of sleep, I guess. That's what getting up every night at two or three in the morning will do to you." (READ MORE)

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The sound of salt grains landing on the freshly served tortilla chips sent a look of injustice flying across the table. I watched this confusing exchange of two co-workers as I sipped on a diet soda at my corner of the table. "Did you ask Scott if it was okay for you to put salt over all of the chips?", came from the accusing coworker. I was instantly puzzled and was trying to figure out the punch line of what I thought was some misunderstood joke. I realized he was dead serious when the ensuing diabetes conversation hit the table. (READ MORE)

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There was fog when I walked from the parking lot to my office. I thought it was the bright sunshine. Or the warmer temperatures. Or the jacket I was wearing that was making me feel so warm.
I was disconnected, but thought it was from the conversation I had just had with The Mr.
I wanted junk food. Something smooth like chocolate, but not crunchy like cookies. I walked to the vending machine and gently fed it money until it dropped a Milky Way.
Walking up the stairs there was more fog. I thought I was tired, overwhelmed with life issues. I briefly sat at my desk, logged in to my email account. Symlin rushed me to the bathroom, where I lingered longer than usual. Fog.
Washing my hands, I looked in the mirror and it was almost as if I were watching myself on TV. Like I wasn't really there. There was a narrowness to my vision. (READ MORE)

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Kerri recently posted a blog on Six Until Me about her co-worker having "diabetes for the day." It was interesting to hear just a few details about an outsider's perspective on this disease. Even though it was only for a day, at least a small portion of what we go through hit home with him.

 

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Fasting: 75. Not unheard of for me, but since I was 216 before bed, I really expected to be in the 100s.
Although I really want to give Byetta a good test by having cereal for breakfast this morning, I decide to go with a bagel instead. At least that way I can see how the medicine works when I don't go into a meal so high.
I am itching to test my sugar at one hour post, but convince myself to wait for two hours. At the 1 hour and 15 minute mark, a coworker comes in with donuts. "Did you take insulin?" she wants to know, showing the donuts off. I explain about the new medicine and that I want to see how it was working before I go off the deep end. I am proud of my will power.
Two hours post breakfast: 84. Ok, I officially love Byetta. However, I'm anxious to see what happens with lunch. (READ MORE)

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A co-worker of mine recently told me about her morbidly obese future sister-in-law, who has "diabetes real bad."
"It doesn't exactly work that way," I told her, smirking like a diabetes snob. I went into the difference between type 1 and type 2 and told her that one doesn't get a bad case of diabetes. It's not like acne. So young, I thought. So naïve, I thought. So wrong. (READ MORE)

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* I brought Charlie and my daughter to my soccer game on Sunday. Charlie, super duper shy, kept his cap down over his eyes and gave reluctant high-fives with bouquets of orange leaves rather than hand while I introduced them to the players on my team. A well-concealed smile formed with his chin firmly against his chest when he heard the Brits talking strategy, because to him, they sounded just like Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars. "Anyone have a pump?" one of the players yelled, squeezing a soccer ball. Charlie's eyes widened and his head popped up like a Jack-in-a box as he bit his lower lip with a coy smile and adjusted his shirt to reveal his blue pump.
* A co-worker told me that the worst thing about the pump is that it makes it easy to eat a lot of bad foods because you can just hit a button for insulin. That's something her friend with diabetes does. I can think of a few worse things about the pump. (READ MORE)

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Don't bring your lunch tomorrow, was the message from a co-worker last night. I knew that meant going out to lunch, which we often do to de-stress, to celebrate a birthday, to rejoice in another magazine issue out the door. This would be my first work outing since I started pumping.
As we walked (yes, in the 20-degree Missouri weather!) up to a local bar, the sign outside tempted me with a strip steak on Texas toast and golden brown fries. That was going to be just right, I thought, as the only other bar food this place typically has is burgers and breaded tenderloin sandwiches.
Since Nick's is more of a bar and less of a restaurant, it took quite a while for food for six to come. I began thinking about how many carbs I should estimate for my lunch. With no packaging with nutritional information, and no set amount of food, this really was a guessing game. It had been so long since we had been to Nick's that I couldn't really remember what the portions looked like. (READ MORE)

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