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When I was in college for my undergraduate degree, I quickly realized that I needed some sort of diabetes support group in my life. Managing diabetes alongside classes and the craziness of a college schedule wasn't easy. So I put together a student organization on my campus called Diabetic Echoes for diabetics, friends/family of diabetics, or just general interest. I also made it an international network here on the web.

 

Through this group, I've made some of the best friends that I'll ever have. There is such a different aspect to a friend who not only understands the general stress of life, but gets how diabetes plays into every aspect of living. Someone who I can turn to without judgement and say that I'm down or that the highs/lows are getting to me and I don't know what to do. I don't think I would have made it through college the way I did if I didn't have that network to fall back on.

 

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Three of my last four blood sugars have been under 100. Two of those blood sugars have been under 50. I haven't increased my insulin or even eaten much less. I actually decreased my basal overnight because I was 99. By this morning, I was 47.

 

Because my blood sugars have been so out of control in the last few months, lows are few and far between (for me, at least). Usually, three lows in a twelve-hour period wouldn't be that confusing. Yet I'm perplexed. I haven't started getting back in control consciously so there is no excuse for these lows. Actually, I should be running a little high considering that I'm fighting off a cold.

 

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My classes are all over the place this semester. Since I'm down to the final semesters, I don't have much left that I can take outside of my university or online. Plus I'm trying to leave the option to study abroad next semester, which means taking quite a few hardcore classes all at the same time.

 

I haven't done that since my first year here. After that, I managed to take at least one class online so I could better manage my fatigue. This semester, I wasn't so lucky. But you have to do what you have to do, right?

 

So far, I'm feeling okay. Just a little extra stress (headaches, sore muscles) from all the emotional things I'm going through right now. The fatigue hasn't set in...and I'm hoping that I can somehow ward it off this semester. But I am fighting against the balance of class and diabetes.

 

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The start of every semester is difficult. Getting back into the groove of school can be daunting. Some are worse than others though. And this semester is on that list of worst semesters.

 

I'm behind in every class. I've missed weeks of some of my classes. The lab that I'm supposed to be taking...I've never been to. Assignments are beginning to pile up. Tests are starting next week. There's just too much to handle.

 

I know that I could have pushed myself harder. I know that this is a big chunk of my own fault. Yes, the fatigue has been incredibly rotten. My blood sugars have been bouncing up and down. I've had migraines for days on end. And just the general malaise and lack of motivation are enough to make me crawl into bed forever.

 

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My averages had been looking much better the last few weeks with the mix of keeping a stable schedule and eating a little better. I was having my usual bouts of lows (in the 50's) with the lower averages, but I was also working to correct those issues. So this week, I'm sad to report that my averages have soared back up with the onset of school.

 

The first week of school (or any time I get sincerely busy), I tend to let my diabetes slip. I check my blood sugar less often and at the most unusual times. I don't stay on top of my insulin, as in I let my Lantus doses fall outside the typical 12 hour range or delay my boluses. On top of all that, I tend to eat off schedule (since I'm still adjusting to the change in daily routine) and never decent meals.

 

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I took Charlie to his first NHL hockey game.
I took him straight into the lion's den - the house of the enemy - the Philadelphia Flyers. We weren't exactly feeling the "brotherly love" as we came to support the opposing team - the New Jersey Devils.
I had prepped Charlie in the car ride over.
"You know how you say Boo, Flyers! when we're at home and you see them on TV?"
"Uh huh."
"Well you can't do that when we get there. They. Will. Murder. Us."
It didn't take long for Charlie to realize that we were in the vast minority as we parked the car and stepped out into a sea of orange and black.
"Let's not bring this," Charlie said quietly, neatly folding and handing me the picture he drew that said "LET'S GO DEVILS."
Kudos to the security guard who stopped us as we entered the arena to check if I had any plastic containers in my small cooler.
"Yeah, I do, but my son's a diabetic and I ," (READ MORE)

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For a number of years, I was the only diabetic I knew. Diagnosed when I was a little kid, there wasn't an army of advocates knocking down the doors of my school. As far as I knew, the only meter in my elementary school was mine. In my high school, there were two meters: mine and the one belonging to a classmate's older sister. No one else I knew was taking a fingerstick before having the orange slices at soccer practice, or before tap dance lessons.
My first taste of a diabetes community came one summer at camp. Growing up in New England, I had access to one of the best diabetes camps in the country - Clara Barton Camp. I spent six summers at CBC, giggling with my fellow campers, singing my lungs out at the nightly campfire meetings, and making friends. (READ MORE)

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The day that I moved out of my mom's house, my mom cried the entire way home from my new apartment. Not only was she losing her daily companion, but she was scared. All moms get scared when their kids move out, of course. But moms of diabetics have a completely different perspective.

 

She had seen me have two seizures before. She'd been there when I blacked out in the grocery store when moments earlier I was feeling fine. She'd driven me to the emergency room when I was sick, in fear of DKA. She'd watched me grow up with this disease, in the highs and lows, quite literally.

 

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Dear Diabetes,

 

Lately you've given me some troubles. Pesky lows in the thirties. Drastic drops during the night despite adequate carb consumption. Bruises from my insulin injections. Packing on pounds between the lows and fear of lows. The list really goes on and on...like usual.

 

But lately, I've also been ignoring you. I'm in the throes of my senior year of college. With tests every week, research for papers, and all sorts of miscellaneous assignments. Not to mention that my future is looming large in my mind, with only about seven months left until I'm thrown fully into adulthood. So I've ignored you.

 

I've kept my testing to a minimum five times per day. Stopped freaking out at the sight of crazy numbers. Let my logbook get behind. Avoided eating exactly right or counting every last carb. I've just let you go by the wayside, drifting around the sea like a speck of sand.

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