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As people with diabetes, we are tasked by our medical teams with conducting our lives in a manner such as to minimize or mitigate the destructive effects of our medical condition. A lot of press is given to the concepts of "patient compliance" and "patient adherence" -- enough to raise the blood pressures of many of us past the levels covered by our antihypertensive, renal-protective pharmaceuticals. The idea of being "a diabetic in control" (or "out of control") has also been known to raise the hackles of a number of the T1s among us, whose blood glucose levels vary with the tempo and dynamic (but none of the grace) of a Mahler symphony.

Like the four movements of a symphony, or the members of a string quartet, the cornerstones of diabetes self-care are:

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After church I typically end up sitting down with a few of the members I get to see once and week and catch up.

This Sunday I was sitting with Paul. Paul is an older gentleman who is witty, funny, and sharp as a tack. I believe he is in his late 60's and read all the bible verses that day in church. He used to be a radio announcer so he has an awesome voice.

We asked each other how we were doing and I felt compelled to share my weekend of ridiculously high blood glucose readings.

"I have been sky high all weekend and cannot get my blood sugar down," I told him, not sure if he could sympathize.

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Soooo.... I tried not to walk into Dr. R's office last week with a chip on my shoulder -- even recognized that it was there while I was sitting in the room waiting for her and tried to think happy thoughts -- but I don't think I succeeded.

I actually met with Dr. R this time, not the physician's assistant. I should say that I really don't mind meeting with the PA because at this point I feel like I have a good handle on what's going on and what needs to happen. So maybe some of my anxiety with this appointment was more that it was really the first time we've had an appointment together.

And yet, I still can't shake the feeling that we rubbed each other the wrong way. I waited longer than I wanted to for her to come in and when she finally did come in she said she had been looking over my pump records.

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I’m generally not a jealous person (at least I don’t think so), but “jealousy” is the only way I think I can describe what I’m going through right now.

Every time I see an ad for the breast cancer three-day walk — which is about every 30 seconds these days — I want to hurl the TV across the room. Why? Because why can’t that much attention be paid to people with diabetes?

Yes, I know there are walks for diabetes. But are there commercials with people dressed in blue saying “Save the ta-tas”… er, “Save the pancreases of the world” and “If I can walk 20 miles a day in support of my mother/sister/aunt/uncle/son/daughter then anyone can?” No, there aren’t.

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You are the night
You are the days
You are the hours until
You are the pain on his face
You are his pinching eyelids
You are his grinding teeth
You are the screaming
You are the 2 am light bulb
You are the creaky stairs
You are deception
You are doubt
You are the things that go wrong
You are runaway hands tucked under his pillow
You are the holes in his wet fingers like coral
You are panic
You are fury
You are desperation
You are paleness
You are the vacant collapse
You are the burning tremble
You are the shark in the fog
You are the dark hallway
You are the unknown
You are unanswerable questions
You are the odd imposter
You are jagged temper
You are dread
You are scar tissue and blood
You are alarm
You are guilt
You are darkening shades of purple (READ MORE)

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