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

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Close-up on a hand, shaking slightly as it lifts a metal cup. Pan as the camera moves to the subject's face, barely able to take a swallow of fluid without spilling it. After a half-coughed swallow, the hand half-slams the cup back on the workspace. The man shakes his head, unable to concentrate, pushes off from the workspace, and snaps at several other people as he walks briskly away.

 

 

From the second I saw the hand shake, I thought, "He's low. He's acting like he's low. Get the man some orange juice; he's about to pass out."

 

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No matter how commonplace diabetes has become, I still react the same way when I see a person with diabetes in the wild. I still feel a special connection despite the fact that I don’t physically share the disease. I get excited, like I’ve just spotted a rare plant species or a member of a secret underground society - whose cover is only blown with the slightest hint of pump-tubing. I feel like there should be a unique handshake or some sort of enigmatic hand gesture.

 

I walked by an all-glass conference room at work the other day and saw two guys sitting at a long spruce-colored table and glancing up at the large flat-panel monitor on the wall. As I walked by, I saw one guy begin to unzip a small black pouch.

 

"Hmm," I thought. "I think I just saw a diabetic."

 

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"This is the most sick I’ve ever felt," Charlie said last night, hugging the "puke bucket" so tightly you would have thought it was keeping him afloat.

 

He looked miserable, wanting so badly to just throw up and get the awful feeling out of his stomach. Get it over with. These are some of the most difficult times of being a parent of a child with diabetes.

 

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I didn't sleep enough Wednesday night, so by Thursday afternoon my eyelids were heavy and my body was screaming out "Sleep! Sleep!" So a little after five in the afternoon, I decided to take a quick nap. A little power nap to recharge my batteries before diving into study and cleaning mode to prepare for the coming weekend.

 

My blood sugar was at 222 with only a little active insulin. I'd been high in the early afternoon and hadn't accurately bolused for a late lunch. I decided to leave it alone until after my nap though...giving my body an hour or two to use that remaining insulin and peak out.

 

I curled up in bed with my cat and a good book...falling asleep within a few minutes. It was a dreamless sleep...too deep to notice the world around me or the world inside me. A limitless fatigue overwhelming every inch of my body and soul. The effects of ineffective sleeping and the recent change in medications.

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It's my time...to remind myself that every caregiver needs a break.

 

I've been my own diabetes caregiver since about the age of 13. I remember the day quite vividly that changed it all. TCH (my pediatric endos at the time) made the switch from "sugar abstinence" to "carb counting." Otherwise known as Intensive Insulin Management.

 

I had to attend a class about carb counting, A1c goals, and overall "intensive management." My mom usually went to every diabetes-related doctor's visit or informational. But this time, the class was on a Saturday. Her job at the time didn't allow Saturdays off, so my dad took me instead.

 

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First of all, you suck. No question about it. I hate you.
 

You make me feel lousy. Every inch of my body feels rotten. You invade my brain and make me hate myself and question so much. Hell, you even made me postpone an internship interview once!
 

You make me so cranky that I don't even want to be around myself. I relish the quiet darkness when everyone is asleep instead of watching my kids laughing and just being kids. You do this to me!
 

You make me want to dig my uterus out with an ice cream scooper. Or a fork.
 

You have no pattern. You come when you want, which only unnerves me more.
 

You completely f--k with my blood sugars and the fact that you have no pattern makes that little gem even worse because if I knew when you were planning to make your grand entrance I could watch for the lows!
 

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With all the blood that diabetes care involves, it's no wonder the "vampire" image keeps coming into play. A former T2 co-worker referred to going for blood work as "seeing the Vampire". Kerri's Diabetes Terms of Endearment list includes the entry, "Vampire cannula". For those who live in fear of (fictional) vampires, every time we prick our fingers to test... has to include the scary thought, "Am I inviting a vampire to bite me?"

 

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It's my time...to appreciate the past.

 

Dear Mom,

 

I've probably never thanked you out loud for the years of care that you've put into my life. And I should. Every day of my life. Because you have been the rock, the support, and the lifeline that I've need in the past 16+ years of living with diabetes.

 

I've heard the way you tell my diagnosis story. I hear the fear in your voice, the emotion run through you. I know that those months were some of the hardest in your life. When you talk about watching me have seizures and bad night lows, I hear that same fear and emotion. I know having a diabetic child must be one of the most difficult things to encounter as a parent. I know it wasn't what you expected or wanted or needed in your only girl.

 

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I remember posters of dull needles from the pediatric endo's office. The difference between a new needle and the old was always quite disgusting. The old was frayed, with shards of metal sticking out abnormally. It was definitely a good way to scare a teenager into changing lancets and syringes on a regular basis.

 

The bad thing was that I never remembered that poster after I left the doctor's office. I'd go back to my usual routine. I wouldn't change the lancet until someone reminded me. I'd use a syringe repeatedly, until the numbers wore down or the needle bent. It could be days before I'd even think about switching it out...after multiple uses per day.

 

It's a bad diabetes habit that I'm in. I try to be better...I put extra lancets and syringes in my meter kit. I try to make schedules, changing them on Sundays or once a night or on the 1st of the month. Anything to make the habit more often than it is.

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I went to the doctor about my leg again yesterday. A different one. One that I feel much more comfortable with in the whole scheme of things. She seemed confident, personable, and concerned. They asked about my blood sugars, about what had been going on, and all that jazz.

 

And she believes that the infection is probably from a spider bite that turned into MRSA. Yep, MRSA. The big, scary staph infection. So now I'm sincerely hoping the new course of antibiotics kicks in soon. Because I'm totally run down in body and soul with this whole thing. I'm so exhausted, but can't sleep. I'm in pain. I'm annoyed.

 

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