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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "job":When to tell?
I have accepted a new job. It's in a new city (half way across the country!!). It's with new people. New people who don't know that I have diabetes.
It was during my four-year tenure at my current job that I was diagnosed. I had no problem telling just about everyone in my very small office about diabetes. I already knew them and their personalities.
It's different now. I have a problem with going in to the boss on my first day and saying, "Hey, guess what..." I also have a problem with waiting three months until my benefits kick in, or even longer when someone sees me checking my sugar (or doesn't know what to do if I pass out) to say, "Oh, yeah, maybe I should have told you sooner."
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It was literally in an instant that I felt a low, tested and then was blown away from symptoms. I was about two minutes from going downstairs to eat lunch with the other editors in my group.
I found some Skittles and ate a handful, all while my symptoms continued to get worse fast. I knew I was going to have a nasty rebound high, but I continued to eat the Skittles until I thought I was feeling better. I heard the girls get up to go downstairs.
"Are you ready?" D asked as she passed my cube.
"I'll be down in a second," I said knowing there was no way I'd be able to walk yet, much less walk down three flights of stairs.
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It's a milestone - but not one worthy of celebration.
Charlie is approaching five years with this despicable disease.
We can't remember Charlie without diabetes. Charlie can't either. His earliest memories will contain images of blood being taken from his fingertips constantly, being poked with sharp objects and juice being forced down his throat in the middle of the night.
Soon we won't be able to remember a time when Charlie wasn't attached to an insulin pump; a time when tape and tubing and needle wasn't fastened to his body 24 hours a day like some sort of medieval torture device.
I want this to all be a dream that seemed so real.
I want diabetes to be forgotten. Gone so long, the word escapes me.
Gone so long, the word is mispronounced.
We need a cure. We need a cure now.
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With all the Hannah Montana and Halloween hullabaloo, I forgot to mention Charlie's last endo appointment. I actually like these appointments. It's a day off from work and a rare opportunity for Susanne and I to spend time with just Charlie. And there's always a hopeful thought that this time we'll get good A1c news.
Heading into Philadelphia on Route 95 we pass a factory on our left before the skyline comes into view with the sun reflecting brightly off of the Comcast Center building. I ask Charlie what he thinks the factory is making.
"I think it's a factory that makes other factories," he says.
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