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It seems like we're going to be without insurance for a couple of months. The cost of going on now is astronomical but if we wait three months, the company starts to pick up half. I have an application in for MassHealth for Olivia, but it's going to take a few weeks to kick in, provided they approve it. Of course, in that time, we're going to need test strips again. (I have some extra insulin, thanks to Heidi, over at the D-Log Cabin - thank you, Heidi!!)
I've been checking around and it seems that Wal-Mart carries something called Reli-On strips and meters. Do any of you use these? They are far less expensive than the One Touch Olivia currently uses, which will be a big help as far as costs go.
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Tomorrow is the JDRF Promise Ball. I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to wear. Since it’s black tie, I wanted to wear one of the many evening gowns I have laying around (from prom and other balls). So last week, I tried on the main one I wanted, but I didn’t feel comfortable.
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A
study published in the December edition of Diabetes Care magazine (an ADA publication) examined the links between diabetes, depression and mortality in older adults.
Not surprisingly, untreated depression led to a much higher death rate in 5 years than if there was depression intervention. Intervention was either an anti-depressant or psychotherapy.
It is difficult to take care of all the aspects of this disease on a good day, when you're depressed it's nearly impossible. How hard is it to go out for your daily walk when you just want to keep your head under the covers?
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* I brought Charlie and my daughter to my soccer game on Sunday. Charlie, super duper shy, kept his cap down over his eyes and gave reluctant high-fives with bouquets of orange leaves rather than hand while I introduced them to the players on my team. A well-concealed smile formed with his chin firmly against his chest when he heard the Brits talking strategy, because to him, they sounded just like Obi-Wan Kenobi in
Star Wars. "Anyone have a pump?" one of the players yelled, squeezing a soccer ball. Charlie's eyes widened and his head popped up like a Jack-in-a box as he bit his lower lip with a coy smile and adjusted his shirt to reveal his blue pump.
* A co-worker told me that the worst thing about the pump is that it makes it easy to eat a lot of bad foods because you can just hit a button for insulin. That's something her friend with diabetes does. I can think of a few worse things about the pump.
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It's always interesting to meet fellow diabetics in person. It doesn't happen all that often to me, but occasionally I will bump into someone and find out they are diabetic too. Being a pumper has definitely changed that awareness (because you know all diabetics can spot a fellow pumper from miles away!).
Over the summer, I went in to have a microdermabrasion procedure (trying to get rid of the post-acne marks from the PCOS) at a local doctor's office. My new patient forms asked the usual questions: pre-existing conditions, prescriptions, etc. So I marked the normal things: diabetic, PCOS, on humalog, etc. and moved on.
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I threw away my Byetta pen yesterday. It was easy. I just took it out of the cabinet and chucked it. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
I don't think I'll ever want to go back to Byetta.
I hate to say that because I really thought it was going to be a saving grace for me in the weight loss department. I'm just not so sure that it was my allergies that were making my blood sugar go so wacky lately. I mean, I'm sure allergies played a part, but I'm not so sure they were the sole culprit.
There are just so many variables to diabetes management that I'll never really know for sure, but since I've gone back to Novolog I've noticed a dramatic difference in my numbers. And, I'm still taking nasal steroids, which I thought were going to send my blood sugar off the deep end, for my allergies. I am walking more consistently than I was on Byetta; however, it became difficult to count on a morning walk when I didn't know where my blood sugar would be at 6 a.m.
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When we got out of the car, the first thing Charlie did was adjust his "Charlie's Angels" t-shirt so that his insulin pump was visible to his fellow diabetic comrades.
Then he scoped the area for others who sported similar machinery. If there was a "D" signal on the pump, he would have surely activated it.
Calling all diabetics! Calling all diabetics! Rendezvous at the Tastykake table in 5. Tell your mothers you feel low.
We had a gorgeous day filled with sunshine and the support of great friends and family who walked beside us for a cure at Rutgers University's agricultural campus.
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There was the
researching, and the chats with the doc,. There was the mental tug-o-war between my
daily injection comfort zone and my need for more flexibility, and now, like the quickness of a self-inserting cannula, I am pumping insulin by way of the
OmniPod.
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I got the call at work. I can't remember the date, but I'm pretty sure it was the day after No. 1's fifth birthday.
I have a pretty casual relationship with the nurse practitioner I see. I'm sure that's why he felt comfortable giving me the news at work instead of calling me into his office to drop the diabetes diagnosis bomb on me. I had been seeing Harry for several years, mainly for a host of small things and because it was pretty easy to get in to see Harry on short notice. Need to see the doctor? Can you wait two days? Need to see Harry? Can you be here in 20 minutes? Not to take anything away from his skills or anything, but I've established that I'm not a patient person.
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If life is in fact a series of actions and consequences (and good Lord, I hope it isn't), then the fact that I eventually developed type 2 diabetes (known affectionately around the Rummel-Hudson compound as "the Beedies") is about as mysterious as why it gradually gets lighter outside at roughly the same time each morning. (
"Did someone install stadium lights out there? Lets investigate. Oh, look, the sun...")
In college, I lived a life of excess. Despite the fact that I also drank way more than I should have, the main culprit was food. Glorious, wonderful food. I live in Texas, so take those food items and deep fry them. (To this day, the idea of chicken fried steak repulses my northern friends, and yet just now, when I typed those three lovely words, I got a little slobbery.) I drank too much soda, I ate too much crap, and if something green ever went past my lips, it was probably an M&M.
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