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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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I am the perfect procrastinator. It's an art that I've mastered over the last...twenty-one years, I'm sure. On everything. From homework, papers, health, doctor's appointments, family get togethers, dinner. You name it, I've procrastinated doing it.

Unfortunately, a big chunk of my recent procrastination is my diabetes. I keep making these deadlines for myself...saying I'll do it next week or starting tomorrow or starting at the first of the year. But am I doing it? That's a big, fat, stinking NO.

And I think I'm more upset by my lack of will power than the actual fact that I'm letting this disease run away with me. But I just feel so overwhelmed still.

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Tonight, I will be ringing in the New Year with Marvin. We still have no definite plans...maybe going to dinner...maybe going out to a pub with some of his college friends...maybe both. We're just spending it together, which honestly is more important than whatever plans we come up with at this point.

Last year, I made one of his favorite meals and we stayed in on New Year's Eve. The next day, I went to my dad's house for cabbage, ham, and black eyed peas with my family like I've done for the past several years. This year, I won't be making the four hour drive home for that. I wish that I was, but my family is in very different places this year.

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I was trying to get to the Verrazano Bridge. I turned down a street, toward the bridge, but it looked unfamiliar. I drove further and there was wide-open slate-blue highway in front of me, so I accelerated toward it. But it wasn’t road. It was water. I felt my stomach drop as my car soared through the air and then made forceful impact with the dark water. God, is this real??? I panicked. The car tipped and began to fill with water. I saw a news segment once in which a reporter performed a reenactment of a car plunging into water. I tried to remember what he said to do. Was it try to open the doors? Or don’t try to open the doors? I couldn’t remember. My heart was beating so fast. I was so scared. I tried to open the windows, but it wasn’t working. Water was pouring in. Holy shit! Is this really happening??? Am I about to die?

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I wish I knew why it is that at the times we most need other people around us to comfort and support us, we find ourselves physically, technologically, financially, and psychologically unable to reach out to ask for that help.

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It's been an entire week since I moved. I can't even believe that this past week has gone by so quickly. I suppose that's what the unpacking, organizing, and shopping does. It's been such a busy week that I'm not even sure exactly how I feel about it all.

I've gotten to spend time with Marvin which has been both a nice change and a help to getting settled. He and his family have made this transition much easier. I'm looking forward to getting back into a dating routine that I so strongly missed over the summer. Friday night dinner and movie dates are way too vital for me.

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A day at the Make-A-Wish Foundation picnic will give you some of that.

Maeve and I volunteered for the event which was sponsored by my company. We worked the cupcake decorating station for half the day and a frog launch carnival game for the second half. We saw some difficult things, for sure, but we also saw some priceless smiles. Especially when they thought it would be much more fun to launch the greasy rubber frogs at my head rather than the lily pads.

While promoting the “Make Your Own Cupcake” activity to families passing by, most came right over.

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It's been roughly two weeks since I switched from Prozac to a new anti-depressant. I think I thought I would miraculously feel dramatically different pretty quickly. But I don't. However, I have noticed some subtle changes.

There's generally less yelling coming from me. Part of that is because The Mr. is doing more around the house, but even if he wasn't I think my moods would be more stable.

I find myself able to relate to and joke around with the kids a lot easier. I've realized a number of times that I'm playing around with No. 2 and No. 3 whereas several weeks ago I likely would have had a "don't bother me" attitude when they wanted to joke around. And it feels good to interact with my family differently.

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At 8am, I woke up to the alarm on my phone. I checked my blood sugar and was dumbfounded by the number on the screen. I was almost 100 points higher than I'd gone to bed at the night before. Pizza. Why are things never the same around here?

Around 9am, I left for work with an early start. Maybe I could leave early since I'd gotten some extra time the afternoon before as well. It was a thought at least. This week was my week to cut my hours back to my original 20. I'm attempting to stabilize my schedule before school throws another curve ball into the mix.

At 11am, I ate some crackers since my stomach was feeling a bit off. I didn't check my blood sugar and I didn't do insulin. I still haven't gotten totally comfortable with injections in my workplace. Especially since more people have been added in my office so I'm no longer alone.

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I’ve never been formally diagnosed with depression. After having post-partum depression after No. 1 and No. 2 were born, I pretty much recognized the symptoms. It took Harry looking at me and actually calling me on it (“How depressed are you?”) for me to finally get help for it.

But back then one of the reasons I didn’t seek out a more professional opinion was because I was unemployed and scraping every penny I had for everything I did. In fact, after Harry prescribed an anti-depressant for me I wasn’t able to take it because insurance didn’t cover it and I couldn’t afford to shell out $100 a month for it.

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