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

There's a lot about diabetes that isn't so happy. Really, 98% isn't. But to me, there are things about this disease that top the list of the worst parts of diabetes. The biggest thing is the utterly hopeless need for insulin.

 

I can't hide the facts from myself like I can when I think about complications or discrimination. I can tell myself that better control will lower my risk of complications, that they might not happen to me. I can believe that employers, lovers, and friends won't judge me on my diabetes. Those are things that always leave glimmers of hope in my heart; they aren't finite.

 

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It may be strange or alarming, but I've often imagined being kidnapped. I watch a lot of TV crime dramas, so the thoughts tend to race through my head. I imagine my reaction as a human, as a woman, and as a diabetic.

 

As a human, I know that I'm not giving up without a fight. My life is precious and valuable, whether someone else sees that or not. I would try every plan to escape or leave every clue to allow the police to do their jobs quickly and efficiently.

 

As a woman, the same truths apply. I'm not giving up without a fight. I refuse to give in to whatever threats unless I've tried my hardest to get away or delay the action.

 

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Tomorrow morning we go to CHOP (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia) to meet Charlie's new team of endos, nurses, dieticians, social workers and pump experts. I think it's like a seven-hour affair.
I must say, CHOP had me at "Insulin Pump and Technology Team." Charlie's prior endos didn't impress me with their pump know-how. With the pump being largely responsible for his survival, I saw this as a big problem. I became smitten when I saw that CHOP's pump team alone was equal in size to that of the attending physicians at the old place.
Charlie is also "pumped up" for tomorrow. Sorry, that was horrendous. Turning off awful pun mode now [click]. Of course Charlie has his own incentive-driven motivation.
"Mom, will I get that big shot tomorrow?" (he means bloodwork)
"I don't know, Susanne responds."
"It's been a while," he says, as if reminiscing of the good 'ole days of burning needle pain and screams so loud they set off fire sprinklers. (READ MORE)

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Don't go swimming right after eating lest you drown. -- Advice to schoolchildren, circa 1970.

 

When our gradeschool teachers started teaching us the basics of physiology, they taught us that blood brought oxygen and nutrients to our brains, our digestive systems (simplified to "stomachs"), and our limbs, and that these three systems were constantly battling for better allocation of resources.

 

According to our teachers, our brains always won out because they had to control the rest of our bodies.

 

Our legs came second, for survival reasons. The concepts of "adrenaline rush" and "fight or flight" were simplified to our grade level.

 

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Imagine it's the end of the world.

 

There's a flu pandemic. Or The Plague. Or the sun is burning a hole in the atmosphere and we all have to be herded into caves. There's mass panic and people need medical treatment.

 

Imagine having to decide who is worth saving and who isn't. That was the task of an "influential group of physicians" who drew up a "grim" list of patients who simply wouldn't be treated, according to this story.

 

The idea is to try to make sure that scarce resources--including ventilators, medicine and doctors and nurses--are used in a uniform, objective way, task force members said.

 

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I don't like to post "downers" on Blogabetes unless I can turn them into cautionary morals, or calls to action (either on our own behalf, or on the behalf of all people with diabetes) -- most of us have too much negativity in our lives already. That said, life has been throwing me the sorts of curve balls that force me to think more of survival, mortality, and quality of life than I am comfortable dealing with.

 

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Today is World Diabetes Day, by golly, although I doubt I'm going to get cake. (And how funny would that be? I'd eat it, too.) It does present a good opportunity to stop and actually assess my life as a diabetic.
I know, that's not politically correct. I am not supposed to self-identify as a diabetic. I am supposed to call myself a Person with Diabetes or a Swell Guy with a Complicated Pancreas or Blood Glucose Challenged or whatever. I suppose there's a newsletter that I should subscribe to in order to get the proper talking points. (READ MORE)

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Fade in.

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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I went to a movie this past weekend and found myself cracking up as I walked in with all my pockets full of sugar and snacks. I thought "I just hope one of you little movie theatre employees says something to me". I had already thought about what I was going to say if one of them did. "Uh yeah, you see, I'm diabetic so I'm just going to ignore your little 'no outside food or drink policy!'" I'm kidding of course; I wouldn't get ugly with a theatre employee. But I had already decided that I was going to enjoy seeing how they would react or watch them try to muster up the courage to tell me "no"! As I sat down in the theater, I got tickled again. I love it when I start pulling snacks out of my pockets that people sitting around me clearly know I didn't buy there. Anyways, I really found myself loving every minute of the movie I watched called, "Into the Wild".
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Last week, while watching "Survivor" with my husband, I blurted out how upset I was that I'd never be able to be on the show.
"Why not?" he asked. "You know, because of my diabetes," I said.
He thought that was the funniest thing ever, and if you knew me well, you'd think that was funny too. At the time, though, I was serious. My diabetes was holding me back from being a contestant on "Survivor."
Hubby patted my on the shoulder and said, "You just keep telling yourself that, honey."
The truth is, he's right. It's not my diabetes that keeps me from being on the show, although I don't recall there ever being a diabetic Survivor, and please, correct me if I'm wrong. The fact of the matter is, I'm a wuss.
For starters, there are the creature comforts that I have come to enjoy. Things like a roof over my head, my Select Comfort Bed, 500-thread count sheets, and feather pillows. I would not make it one night camping, let alone having to make my own shelter. (READ MORE)

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