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We found 7 result(s) that match your search "play dates":

Things with Marvin have been rocky lately. I hate to even post that here for the world to see. It seems like I'm betraying what we have. So I'm not dwelling on that aspect here in this blog.

 

But there is an important health related topic in there that needs to be addressed. Because I know I'm not the only one going through these things. You see, when things get rocky, sometimes it's tough to know what's you and what's "health."

 

I've been struggling with my moods ever since I stopped taking the bio-identical progesterone last fall. Since I'm on oral contraceptives, it's gotten pretty routine that around day 12 to day 21 I'm bouncing all over the place. I can cry at the drop of a hat. I get testy and irritable.

 

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Call me a glutton for punishment, but I like to buy my shoes for their cute factor rather than their comfort. I have way too many pairs of shoes and boots to count. By majority, they are high heels, trendy, and semi-insane.

 

Usually, my feet don't really give me issues. I've heard and read plenty of things about how diabetics really have to watch for foot problems. I'm well aware that my feet do need a little extra care and attention.

 

But that doesn't usually stop me from wearing four inch heels or strappy sandals with absolutely no support. Because usually, nothing happens. I get a blister every now and then but they heal and I get over it. Who doesn't get blisters in four inch heels?

 

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Dear Diabetes,

 

Lately you've given me some troubles. Pesky lows in the thirties. Drastic drops during the night despite adequate carb consumption. Bruises from my insulin injections. Packing on pounds between the lows and fear of lows. The list really goes on and on...like usual.

 

But lately, I've also been ignoring you. I'm in the throes of my senior year of college. With tests every week, research for papers, and all sorts of miscellaneous assignments. Not to mention that my future is looming large in my mind, with only about seven months left until I'm thrown fully into adulthood. So I've ignored you.

 

I've kept my testing to a minimum five times per day. Stopped freaking out at the sight of crazy numbers. Let my logbook get behind. Avoided eating exactly right or counting every last carb. I've just let you go by the wayside, drifting around the sea like a speck of sand.

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Thursday, my college youth group is having a Fourth of July picnic. I'm half excited, but half wary of all things food related. The diabetic in me is curious, anxious, and completely nervous about what will be served, how it was prepared, and so on. The diabetic in me is wanting to be a total control freak...but unfortunately, this isn't a situation where I can be. This situation calls for a little gambling and adventure-taking.

 

Ever since I started venturing out on my own, I've struggled with food. I want healthy choices. I want choices that won't send my blood sugar through the roof. And mostly, I want choices that I will actually eat (as I'm a fairly picky eater). All those things combined leaves me feeling like I have to make the restaurant choice or at least give plenty of acceptable options...while trying to make everyone happy in what they're putting in their own mouths.

 

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It occurred to us that Charlie doesn't get many requests for play dates from his classmates. It's not like he doesn't have friends. He gets along with everyone in his class. He's actually fairly popular. Still, the invitations to come over houses are scarce.

 

It makes us wonder if the parents think it would just be too difficult. Or maybe they just assume we could never just leave him somewhere without someone trained in diabetes care keeping an eye on him. Well, they wouldn't be wrong if they thought that. We want to let him do things without us hovering over him like low-gliding seagulls, but how can we? He doesn't test himself yet.

 

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I've joked about adjusting Charlie's happiness levels due to the effect it has on his blood sugar. I'm finding now it's not so funny. The adrenalin that comes from excitement shoots Charlie's blood sugar up like a bottle rocket.

The latest culprit: summer street hockey.

Everything was fine on game day. We were at the pool having fun. Charlie clocked in at a lovely 132 just before I made the mistake of saying, "OK, let's go Charlie. We have to go home and get ready for hockey."

What a horrible dad I am to say such harmful words. In retrospect maybe I should have spoken with the enthusiasm of a corpse …

"You have that thing, Charlie. It's really nothing though."

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I was at work, walking toward the cafeteria when Bert grabbed me. I play soccer with Bert. He was shaking and moving in clumsy circles and clearly disoriented. I immediately got out my testing supplies and checked his blood sugar. I snapped the pricker against his finger and blood drops spilled out continuously like a leaky faucet. When I saw the 7 on the meter screen, my heart stopped beating for a moment. I had never seen single digits. I sat Bert down in a chair and screamed for help. "I need juice! (READ MORE)

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