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Following up on last week's post, I spoke with the pediatrician today.  Boo's a1C was 5.2%, which is normal.  She did have glucose in her urine, though, and after looking over other test results, she wants Boo to be seen by an endocrinologist. 

 

I called Joslin immediately, of course.  They want to see her tomorrow since it's easy for things to go downhill quickly if Boo does have diabetes.  I'm supposed to bring her in for 8:30 a.m. (and how fun will that trip be - 2 hours in to Boston during rush hour?), fasting, and they'll draw blood and then have her go carb load and check her again in 2 hours.  They should have all the test results by 2 p.m..  If those results are positive, Boo will be admitted to Children's Hospital and started on an insulin regimen. 

 

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Diabetes is hard work. Everyday I use my brain to survive and thrive. Every day I'm a mathematician, nutritionist and doctor.
I add carbs together, often so naturally I never give it a second thought (until three hours later when my levels leap up to 250). I subtract and add boluses to achieve an accurate dose. I figure percentages of basal rates to achieve a better A1c. I find the averages of blood sugars, insulin totals and daily carb counts (or let my high tech meter and pump do it for me). My brain is full of numbers and levels just waiting to be added, divided and analyzed. (READ MORE)

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I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist testing the baby's blood sugar. Here's my excuse: her diaper was leaking, leaking, LEAKING! only several hours after a diaper change. So I freaked.
I've tested my other kids at random times for random reasons, or just because I wanted to. So I thought it would be OK. I know that kids can run higher than adults, but I had to know if the super leaky diaper meant more than she just had too much to drink.
Oh my God, I thought when I saw 135. I stopped thinking clearly. More accurately, I stopped thinking. (READ MORE)

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It's so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that just because I don't have to take a pill to control my Type 2 diabetes, I'm "cured". After all, that's what so many people in my condition were told, so many times, over the past half-century. Some are still told that today. And given that most of the time, my blood glucose levels stay between 85 and 120, with the occasional high postprandial excursion (which occasionally -- like, when I'm low and having dinner at a restaurant -- will lead to a high fasting reading the next morning), there's nothing to alarm the unsuspecting practitioner that back in 2002, at fifty pounds heavier than I am today, the doctor's meter read 170 mg/dl after a ten-hour fast, with an HbA1c of 7.8. Or in lay terms, "I had diabeetus".

 

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Don't bring your lunch tomorrow, was the message from a co-worker last night. I knew that meant going out to lunch, which we often do to de-stress, to celebrate a birthday, to rejoice in another magazine issue out the door. This would be my first work outing since I started pumping.
As we walked (yes, in the 20-degree Missouri weather!) up to a local bar, the sign outside tempted me with a strip steak on Texas toast and golden brown fries. That was going to be just right, I thought, as the only other bar food this place typically has is burgers and breaded tenderloin sandwiches.
Since Nick's is more of a bar and less of a restaurant, it took quite a while for food for six to come. I began thinking about how many carbs I should estimate for my lunch. With no packaging with nutritional information, and no set amount of food, this really was a guessing game. It had been so long since we had been to Nick's that I couldn't really remember what the portions looked like. (READ MORE)

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When I started writing this post I had my years mixed up and really thought that in January 2011 I'd be on the hunt for a new pump, but after doing some checking, I realized I have 18 months left before my warranty on Toohey expires. Nonetheless, I'm still already thinking about the pump-related decisions that I'll face in January 2012. 

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It was still dark when the baby started fussing this morning. I quietly rushed to her room so that neither her crying nor my footsteps on the creaky wood in our century-old house would wake anyone else.
"Shhh, shh, shh," I consoled as I picked her up, bouncing gently hoping she would think it was still nighttime.
Her pointer and middle fingers promptly went into her mouth and she rested her head on my shoulder. Those baby snuggles are something so wonderful. We quietly walked back to my room where we climbed into bed with The Mr. Who was snoring. As usual.
No. 3 settled fairly well for it being around 6 a.m. I knew I should have counted my blessings yesterday when we all slept until almost 8 a.m.
Listening to the rhythmic snoring and the intermittent sound of No. 3 sucking on her fingers, I started to hear my body talking to me, as well. (READ MORE)

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This is not the post I intended to write this morning.
Today, I woke up to a fasting of 151, which is pretty darn good considering where I've been lately. I dressed for my morning walk, sat on the couch and ate what I'm now referring to as a snack--a small cup of yogurt, just 15 grams of carbs. It was all I needed to sustain me through my walk. I used to eat half of a peanut butter sandwich, but it's really hard to choke down that much dryness before the sun even comes up. But I digress.
I decided that with a fairly decent fasting, so few carbs and a 30-minute walk upon me that I didn't need to take any insulin. I mean, 15 grams of carbs! C'mon! (READ MORE)

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When I think about a cure I get excited. There are so many people out in the world that struggle with this disease day in and day out and for them to be free from all that would be amazing.

I imagine all the candy shops would have to order more stock because I know I would be eating candy and cakes and drinking lots and lots of orange juice.

A cure would change my life, but for the better? I am not sure. Would I eat food that is bad for me? Probably. I have to be honest, I am sure I would put on a lot of weight at first. But I know at least the likelihood of going blind or losing a limb would be gone. So in that way it would be better.

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Charlie was diagnosed with diabetes four years ago today.
Charlie never was a good sleeper. So when his twenty-minute naps changed to two-hour naps in the late summer of 2003, we saw it as a godsend. By September and into early October, we had to wake him from naps approaching three hours.
Suddenly he lost interest in eating. Susanne thought he surely had some sort of stomach virus brewing. But he never got sick.
Soon after, his appetite for fluids increased greatly as he voraciously guzzled tall glasses of milk and clawed at the refrigerator for more. It was never enough. This was followed by Charlie often waking up in the middle of the night drenched in urine from neckline to toe. I can remember Susanne constantly changing the sheets in the crib. (READ MORE)

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