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

Boo was 208 this afternoon, four hours after having eaten anything. This really, really sucks. It's really starting to worry me. I brushed it off as maybe a urinary tract infection, but now, I'm starting to doubt it. Everything is pointing towards diabetes, and if her pediatrician won't see that, I will find another pediatrician.

I feel overwhelmed at times by this. Part of me knows that I can handle it but the other part of me wants to just cry at the thought of another child with diabetes. I get upset when I hear about any kid getting diagnosed, but now that the likelihood is that it will be my kid. My little Boo, who cries when I poke her, whose little hands I have to pry open in order to stick them with the lancet. Jesus, do you know what that does to me? I want to cry right next to her, but I don't. I can't. I'm afraid that if I start, I'll never stop.
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Diabetes is a unique disease in many ways.

 

One way that I never really realized until recently is the guilt it places on the patient.

 

With other diseases, your doctor is in control of everything. Your medicine, how often you take it, and how much. But with Diabetes, the patient is the one who has to manage it. So when there is a problem, the patient gets blamed.

 

But is that fair? Sure, I know that I decide if I am going to take my insulin on time, or bolus correctly. I am the one who either chooses to exercise or not and eat healthy foods or not. Those are up to me.

 

But, tell me this, who is to blame when I take my insulin correctly, exercise, do everything right, and for no reason my blood sugar is 270?

 

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For the past few weeks, my diabetes management has really gone by the wayside. I've been so consumed with my job, my new project, school, and catching up on things that I haven't been able to invest the time that I usually do with my diabetes. And it's giving me a guilty conscious.

 

Typically, I look at my averages every day and analyze for daily trends I see. I upload at least once a month and analyze all of that data. I count carbs fairly accurately, instead of just plugging in a number that sounds "about right." And I make sure to treat accordingly.

 

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"Is that what you're having for dinner?" my husband wanted to know.
I had prepared 1/2 lb. of lean hamburger with taco seasoning and put it on the dining room table with sour cream, sliced tomatoes, shredded cojack cheese and taco shells. The kids were eating, my husband was eating. After getting everyone settled, I stood in the kitchen and injected my dinner-time dose of Byetta and swallowed the Metformin.
After nearly a month, I was starting to feel the effects of Byetta. Namely, my appetite had dramatically decreased.
My husband looked shocked that I sat down at the table with half of a very small bag of baby carrots, a small dish of ranch dressing and a glass of water.
"Yes," I told him. "There's not that much taco meat and I'm not really that hungry anyway."
"You should have a taco," he pleaded. (READ MORE)

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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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The open bag of chocolate-covered raisins stared at me from beside my keyboard. I had a craving that morning for something chocolate and popable, like M&Ms or junior mints. It was a strange craving because most of me didn't want to give in, but the part that drove me to the drug store and walked me to the candy aisle obviously won out.
I gave those raisins the evil eye before I twisted the top of the bag and threw them into my top desk drawer. I should have thrown them away, but I knew I'd want some later. Strange, yes, my thought process.
It was around lunch time when I sat on the couch, unable to move from the nastiness I was feeling in my stomach. Four times in two hours I had been to the bathroom. Getting back to work wasn't any easier as I was barely able to concentrate. (READ MORE)

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There are some days that-despite fresh comments from my husband about 'someday having to cut off Mommy's foot'-I say to him "I'm going to get some ice cream." Those are usually the days he knows I need my fix to feel better because stress in one form or another has gotten the best of me.
And then there are the days when I sit in the parking lot of the grocery store eating a triple chocolate Drumstick because I know I can't scarf it down before I get home. (I bet this gets eaten on the way home, the cashier quips with a smile.) I head to the store under the auspices of getting milk or cereal for the next morning, but it's also an excuse to find something to feed my nasty habit. I really can't pass up a candy bar stand in a grocery store; although, I used to be able to. (READ MORE)

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