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My fellow blogger Nicole Purcell, wrote an amazing entry the other day called, How Do Our Bodies Do It? She captivates very brilliantly what it is like to experience a severe late night episode of hypoglycemia. Some of us, fortunately, have never had an experience quite like the one she describes. Others are all too familiar with them. Speaking for myself, I am one of the fortunate ones, who has only been dangerously low a handful of times. I have never been injected with a glucagon shot and I've never really lost consciousness due to a low. But still, I could definitely relate to her experience because I can recall the episodes where I was just so unbelievably out of it. But her post got me thinking of the time when I was a camp counselor at a children's diabetic camp.
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My fellow blogger Nicole Purcell, wrote an amazing entry the other day called, How Do Our Bodies Do It? She captivates very brilliantly what it is like to experience a severe late night episode of hypoglycemia. Some of us, fortunately, have never had an experience quite like the one she describes. Others are all too familiar with them. Speaking for myself, I am one of the fortunate ones, who has only been dangerously low a handful of times. I have never been injected with a glucagon shot and I've never really lost consciousness due to a low. But still, I could definitely relate to her experience because I can recall the episodes where I was just so unbelievably out of it. But her post got me thinking of the time when I was a camp counselor at a children's diabetic camp.
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My fellow blogger Nicole Purcell, wrote an amazing entry the other day called, How Do Our Bodies Do It? She captivates very brilliantly what it is like to experience a severe late night episode of hypoglycemia. Some of us, fortunately, have never had an experience quite like the one she describes. Others are all too familiar with them. Speaking for myself, I am one of the fortunate ones, who has only been dangerously low a handful of times. I have never been injected with a glucagon shot and I've never really lost consciousness due to a low. But still, I could definitely relate to her experience because I can recall the episodes where I was just so unbelievably out of it. But her post got me thinking of the time when I was a camp counselor at a children's diabetic camp.
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I'm skipping the letter L - in favor of my very late Raise Your Voice post. Even later than I thought - because of technical difficulties... (Thank you, K) My voice still counts, I hope.

The countless days of senseless whirling
Numbers chugging, dancing in my head
Reminding me of their import

The unending barrage of needles and blood
And of damage and fear
Reminding me of my body's most drastic flaw

The every day of it

The every night of it

The demands

The requirements

The relentless, all-consuming weight of it
The wishing it was different - I was different
And the realization that you play the cards you're dealt

I watch, most days silent, as it destroys people I love.
This beast.
And I wonder how many healthful, strong days remain for me.

I look into eyes so like my own
Mirrors reflecting the days behind - the mistakes
And the days ahead? - For me?
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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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It is dark. Black, really. There is no light anywhere. And there is no sound. There is nothing. Nothing but nothing.
This stunning blackness, this lack of light and sound, scares me concious. And I am in my bed. With an empty glass of juice in my hand. My right index finger slides, slimey, against the plastic cup, wet with blood.
Nothing makes sense. Bob's voice is the first thing I'm able to hear. "You need to test."
"I already tested," I answer, "Can't you see the blood?"
"You poked yourself, but you didn't test," He replies, "Come on, it's been about twenty minutes since you finished that juice."
"Was it bad?" I ask.
"Not as bad as it's been. You took the juice fine, no spitting, no screaming, no fighting. It was scary though, because you didn't say a word. It was like you were asleep with your eyes wide open." (READ MORE)

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Like many in the diabetes community, my wife and I were pretty disturbed when we heard the premise of Hannah Montana's "No Sugar, Sugar" episode that was scheduled to air last night.

 

The episode tackles the issue of juvenile diabetes, but not as we know it to be. A major, recurring character on the show gets diabetes. Oliver, one of Miley's best friends, is ashamed at first and tries to hide his disease from his friends.

 

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