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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "death":

A friend of mine died last night, following a battle with lymphoma. The disease came back last summer after he had been in remission about a year. It was discovered about a week after my daughter was born. The prognosis was not good with a recurrence within a year at mid-life. He was only 45 and left two teenage children.
We had fallen out of touch in recent years, but I knew through his sister that he had been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. (READ MORE)

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I received a comment on my post from yesterday that really struck a chord with me. The reader commented that their parents had died from diabetes and that they would die from it too.

 

When I read that I got choked up because honestly, I feel the same way.

 

Sure I plan on fighting the fight and checking my blood as often as I am supposed to. Of course I will continue to work on my A1C and losing weight. I am not giving up on life at all. But, in the back of my mind I “know” that diabetes is going to win in the end.

 

Will it be heart disease, kidney failure, or a stroke? Maybe something else. Who knows?

 

The fact is that with all the steps I take to live healthy the odds are against me. Diabetes has the upper hand which makes me sad and angry at the same time.

 

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There comes a point where death isn't scary anymore. But hope...hope is scary.

 

I'm a fan of Grey's Anatomy on ABC. The latest episode featured a terminal cancer patient...a young and seemingly vibrant woman (minus the disease ravaging her body)...who was seeking physician assisted suicide. Those lines up there were ones she said in defense of her own death.

 

As they passed through the TV speakers, they hit me. Hard. I know they're just fiction, that some TV writer/producer thought them up. Someone thought they knew what it felt like to face that precipice. Maybe they actually do. Maybe they're writing from experience the way that I am now.

 

Those words hit me hard because it's a way that I've never verbalized about emotions that I constantly feel. I've never really considered death and hope in that way. The fear. In a reverse kind of way.

 

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I hope this blog post finds you. I fear it may be intercepted. We are OK. Just scared. They are monitoring all diabetes-related blog activity and tracing all transmissions, so I must be brief.

 

The last 48 hours have been harrowing to say the least. Charlie and I have been on the run since receiving word that the "death panels" are rounding up all diabetics. I hope you are all OK. Safe houses have been set up. Obviously I cannot post locations or our safety will be compromised.

 

I am writing from a small Internet café in Morocco, disguised as a street musician. I have Charlie parked outside in a donkey costume, attached by a leash to a bike rack. They were hot on our trail yesterday in the Andean slopes as teams of Siberian sled-dogs closed in on us in an initiative rumored to run by domestic terrorist Bill Ayers.

 

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Ring around a rosy, a pocket full of posies...

 

By the time we reach adulthood, most of us know that the seemingly-nonsensical nursery rhymes of youth were sharp political snipes and sarcastic observations at the time of their composition. We know, for example, that the "ring" or "rosy" was the distinct buboe of bubonic plague, that it was believed that carrying around fresh flowers would help ward off the Plague, that the belongings of a Plague victim would be burned to try to limit the spread of the disease, and that all too many people had succumbed -- and would succumb -- to its horrors.

 

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Several prominent dBloggers have posted this week about issues related to Driving While Low (DWL) and premature death. The subjects of these posts were people with Type 1 diabetes, which is the group with which we normally associate rapid-onset dissociative hypoglycemia. While this sort of hypoglycemia is certainly most common in Type 1 diabetes, it is occasionally seen in insulin-dependent Type 2. Most of the time, these lows would seem to be related to insulin activity peaking early or late -- or at least not in synch with one's food and drink.

 

Unfortunately, insulin is not always the culprit.

 

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We hear it over and over again: delays in seeking medical treatment are responsible for huge numbers of preventable deaths each year. Sometimes the delays are financial: not having the money to pay the doctor, buy the medication, schedule the procedure. Sometimes they are logistical: unable to get time off work, car isn't working (or a driver isn't available), or there isn't an available doctor or treatment facility space within the necessary timeframe. Then there are the diagnostic delays -- often because life-threatening medical conditions don't show symptoms until they reach emergency status, but sometimes because the condition is difficult for one's healthcare team to diagnose.

 

In this case, though, the expression is idiomatic, and the cause, meteorological. At least, that's what I'm going with.

 

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In ancient times, the body was said to be controlled by four humours, related to the body fluids blood (sanguine/red), phlegm (phlegmatic), yellow bile (choleric), and black bile (melancholy). In addition to predisposition to certain diseases, an excess of one or another humor was associated with a particular appearance, personality, and/or personality disorder. While the theory is long discredited, the descriptions carry through to today: a sanguine personality is friendly and outgoing; a phlegmatic one, slow-moving or lazy; a choleric one, quick to anger; and a melancholic one, prone to sadness, discontent, or depression. (Interestingly, I haven't been able to find a relationship between diabetes — either major type — and an imbalance of one or more humours.)

 

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In some traditions, if a person has survived a serious illness or a serious trial in life, he or she will be given a new name, symbolic of a new life, of a resurrection of sorts. A diabetes diagnosis sets us each of us on a new life: a life of glucose testing, carb counting, diet watching, and medication dosing. The ways in which we react to the diagnosis, deal with it, and accept it in our lives changes us profoundly; we are never quite the same people we were before.

 

It is almost as if the "old" us had died, and we had been reborn again.

 

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