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

Last night my family and I went over to my cousin's house for dinner. Her dad, my uncle, was in town from Texas so we wanted to visit with him before he left. Our other cousin was there with her kids and we had a really lovely dinner. (READ MORE)

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Today is Kick Butts Day. It's a day when thousands of youth across the nation take on Big Tobacco to stop kids from even starting to smoke. This is the 13th year of the event.
I can tell you that when I first started smoking I was a Freshman in high School. My stepdad was a chain smoker. I used to say, "He uses one match a day for his first one then lights the next one off of the last one." That is what it was like. (READ MORE)

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Additional considerations. Lately, they're making me crazy. Diabetes serves up a plate load of them. Every. Day.
The insulin pump at my hip - and how to keep it dry. The insulin that goes in the pump - and how to keep it cold. My hip-hopping bloodsugar - and how to make it sit somewhat still. The food I eat - and how to keep it from sending my bloodsugar levels soaring. And all the medicine and supplies - and how to pay for them all.
That last is a big deal. A really big deal. (READ MORE)

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I’ve had a really hard time with my writing/not writing lately. In December I blogged only once, and so far this month I’ve blogged twice.

 

This is kind of weird for me because I’m so used to writing so often. It hurts, actually, that I haven’t been doing more of it. It’s not for lack of trying, though. I’ve written countless Post-It notes to myself with blog topics and have every intention of writing when I get home and then I don’t.

 

And it’s not like I’m forgetting to do it, I just don’t do it. Or I decide that I’d rather do something else. I think about the Post-It note stuck to my calendar and about all the things I would say in the blog and how wonderfully eloquent I would be. And then I just don’t do it.

 

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The weather outside has been relatively mild the past couple of weeks -- but you'd hardly know it from looking at me. I've been fairly consistently wearing base layers underneath my short-sleeved workshirts, multiple layers of polar fleece indoors, consuming more commercially-made soup than is good for me, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and still feeling chilled and unable to warm up.

 

Lest you think it's all in my head, my hands have been turning blackish from my fingernails to my knuckles -- and my toes, likewise. It's not the first autumn that I've had to deal with these issues, but it seems ridiculous that I should have to wear base layers designed to be worn for outdoor winter sports (these garments actually come with warnings to not wear them in conditions over 55 degrees Fahrenheit!) indoors just to keep from constantly shivering, yawning, and doing everything else that suggests I'm running borderline hypothermic.

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Last Thursday I noticed a spot on the tip of my second toe. I am not the most flexible guy in the world so being able to really get a good look at it is difficult. I asked my wife to check it out. She said it looked like a blood blister.

 

I cannot remember ever bumping my toe or stumping it. For the life of me I have no clue how my toe ended up purple.

 

My wife’s first response was typical, “Go to the doctors!”

 

I of course said yes and spent the day putting off calling. I posted about it on my blog and all the comments I got said the same thing, “Go to the doctors.”

 

You must understand, I get very annoyed at the doctors. My doctor never seems to be in or have an opening when I need him. I usually end up seeing one of the doctors on duty which drives me nuts because they always say, “follow up with your doctor.” Nice.

 

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One of the challenges of dealing with diabetes is our tendency to ascribe a number of aches, pains, and other medical troubles to our elevated (or wildly-swinging) blood glucose levels. Whether it be unexpected fatigue or snippiness, blurred vision, a perceived increase in thirst or change in urinary frequency, and we start thinking "highs, lows, and complications".

 

 

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Last week was a tough one for me. I was starting to feel really depressed. I know it comes with the D-territory but I cannot stand to feel that way for long. All the comments I received were huge and helped a lot. Luckily, I had a really fantastic weekend that lifted my spirits too and moved me out of the depressed zone I was in.
But something that I do not think has ever happened to me, happened last night. I had a diabetes nightmare and it really scared me. (READ MORE)

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You may remember Richard Jewell, wrongfully accused of the '96 Atlanta Olympics bombing and basically convicted by the media for some time before Eric Rudolph was accused. He has died at 44. Jewell was diagnosed earlier this year with diabetes, already had had toes amputated and was on dialysis. Given his age, I assume it was a Type 2 diagnosis. How bad did it have to be to have already lost toes to this disease? And then to die the same year as diagnosis? I am his age and reading this first thing today really brought home the seriousness of my condition. (READ MORE)

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There. I said it. I have been saying that a lot lately. When The Mr. wants to know what's wrong I can often sum it up by saying, "I hate diabetes."

 

I'm having trouble dealing lately. I know people want to help. I know that when someone says, "It's a way of life," that they're trying to help. I know that when someone suggests I take a walk that they have my best interests at heart.

 

So why does it just make me want to cry? Why does it make me want to put my head through a wall? Why does it make me want to ignore diabetes and curl up in a ball in a corner? Why can I accept help from people some times and not others?

 

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