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Over the weekend, I had a low blood sugar in the middle of the night that left me feeling like I had been beaten soundly and left in a ditch. (Covered in petrol, a la Eddie Izzard.)
It was a strange experience, though, because the "low hangover" feeling was neatly accompanied by a feeling of guilt. This low wasn't one that came out of no where and smacked up upside the head. This low was the result of a miscalculation while I was at dinner. (READ MORE)

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I called my endocrinologist today for my lab results. One of his nurses got on the phone to tell me that my lab results were "stable" and "a letter had been mailed on the 2nd." She also went on to say that the doctor wanted me to see the diabetes nurse educator. The moment she uttered those words, I could tell that she was done and wanted to hang up the phone. But I wasn't.

 

I asked what my A1c was, not caring about the potassium and other kidney function tests. I didn't want to wait another week to receive the envelope in the mail. She hesitantly replied that it was 7.4%. As if teaching a child, she responded that it was okay although we should be aiming for under 7%. I didn't want to say that last week, the very MD had told me that a 7.2/7.3 is FINE! Okay, I did want to say it. But I didn't.

 

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The list of things I shouldn't eat is long. And I typically ignore the list.

 

I'm a chocoholic. Pretty much everyone in my life knows it (even my seventh-grade boyfriend knew it!). One of my favorite phrases is, "This requires chocolate." I do feel guilty, though. Well, not guilty so much as self conscious. 

 

Today after lunch I got that familiar I-need-chocolate-after-lunch feeling. I grabbed $1.50 in change and walked to the other building.

 

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I snuck in to the office like I was coming home after curfew. I listened for voices as I climbed the stairs to see if I could figure out where people were and if I was going to encounter anyone at the top.
As I hit the top step I was relieved to see that S. wasn't sitting at her desk. I quickly slunk into my office and plopped the fast-food bag on the floor next to my desk. I hated feeling like I had to hide my lunch, but that's the reality of it. (READ MORE)

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I'm meeting a friend of a friend for lunch on Thursday. I've never met either of these friends in real life, but we've chatted via e-mail for years and months.

 

I "met" C. after I e-mailed her about her blog. She is a writer/editor (like me) and has type 1 (like me), so we had some instant connections. I asked her a professional question and we just kept talking, bouncing ideas off each other, chatting about family, etc. (She's writing a book, by the way, about pregnancy and pre-existing diabetes.)

 

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There comes a time in everyone's diagnosis when reality sets in. This is forever. Now I know there's a possibility of a cure in my lifetime, but I'm really not counting on it. Not like I'm being cynical or negative or anything. All I'm saying is that I can't live my life clinging to that kind of hope. Hope is good, but I feel like I have to be realistic. I'd rather be proven wrong on this one than live my life anticipating something that may never happen.
With that in mind, I can be pretty hard on myself in all aspects of my life. My writing, my photography, my parenting skills, my wifery, my diabetes management, my walking routine. Even though The Mr. tells me all the time that I'm an excellent writer and that my photography skills are awesome, I still feel like he's blowing smoke. OK, deep down I know he's not blowing smoke, but I am my own worst critic. (READ MORE)

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Diabetes is so much about dependence.  Without insulin, my end result is pretty clear.  I'll die.  And not a pretty, easy death either.  A misery, crap-show of a death that no one wants to experience.  That dependence does so much to a person's psyche after even thirty minutes with the disease, let alone thirty years. 

 

One effect it has had on me is to make me, in most other ways, very independent, very adaptable, and very much able to fly by the seat of my pants.  Those are all good things, really.  Except when they're not.  

 

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When I posted this, I didn't expect much reaction. I was being honest about this disease as I'm called to do as a diabetes blogger. I was being honest with myself about living with a chronic illness for eighteen plus years and another chronic illness for five years.

 

Throughout the past three years of blogging here at dLife, I've faced a few reactions to some of my posts. One reader even going so far as to call the university that I attended to tell them of my "out of control" diabetes because I'd had a low blood sugar in the 30s. The honesty in my blogs can leave people with strong reactions.

 

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Saturday night, I raised my evening Lantus dose to 16 units and kept my morning dosage at 13 units. I also moved the evening dose up by about three hours, hoping to stop those highs that sent me into sleep at 218 and 241. I also took the plunge and decided to do a trial run of boluses with the pump instead of pen or syringe. And I'm still as perplexed, but this time for the opposite reason.

 

Within a few hours of bolusing with the pump, I saw a 55 that bounced up to 114, 131, and back down to 93. Several snacks throughout the night left me at a morning number of 130. For most of Sunday, I stayed under 150 with a brief spike after working out. After dinner on Sunday night, I dropped to 84 then 69. And after about an hour, I was 146. But at 4am, I woke to an unexpected 47. I also lowered my evening Lantus to 15 units since I'd seen a rise in lows after the 16 units.

 

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Today, the first Friday of February, is national "Wear Red" day in honor (or observance) of Women's Heart Health Awareness, as spearheaded by the "Go Red for Women" campaign. So of course I will be wearing red to work and I've been handing out Red Dress pins.

 

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