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Charlie woke me up at 5:15 am with his pump in one hand, his pants in the other and something clearly on his mind as he spoke a mile a minute.
"I was looking for blue pants and I couldn't find any so I found these black pants but I'm not sure these match so I wanted to see if you could get the blue pants out of the dryer because you said we were leaving right after breakfast and I don't want to be late ,"
Surely this was a dream. Didn't I just close my eyes to go to sleep thirty seconds ago? It couldn't be.
"Charlie, it's 5:15 am. We're not leaving for a while. Go back to bed."
That wasn't about to happen. He even slept in his Charlie's Angels t-shirt. He couldn't contain his excitement. He was so excited that we were greeted with a blood sugar of 300 at 6:45 am after he was fine in the middle of the night.
Still better than the large ketones and vomiting we experienced just prior to last year's walk.
"I don't like that number," Charlie says. (READ MORE)

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It's a milestone - but not one worthy of celebration.

Charlie is approaching five years with this despicable disease.

We can't remember Charlie without diabetes. Charlie can't either. His earliest memories will contain images of blood being taken from his fingertips constantly, being poked with sharp objects and juice being forced down his throat in the middle of the night.

Soon we won't be able to remember a time when Charlie wasn't attached to an insulin pump; a time when tape and tubing and needle wasn't fastened to his body 24 hours a day like some sort of medieval torture device.

I want this to all be a dream that seemed so real.

I want diabetes to be forgotten. Gone so long, the word escapes me.

Gone so long, the word is mispronounced.

We need a cure. We need a cure now. 

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When we got out of the car, the first thing Charlie did was adjust his "Charlie's Angels" t-shirt so that his insulin pump was visible to his fellow diabetic comrades.

 

Then he scoped the area for others who sported similar machinery. If there was a "D" signal on the pump, he would have surely activated it.

Calling all diabetics! Calling all diabetics! Rendezvous at the Tastykake table in 5. Tell your mothers you feel low.

We had a gorgeous day filled with sunshine and the support of great friends and family who walked beside us for a cure at Rutgers University's agricultural campus.

 

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We met because we have diabetes. Our lives became linked by pump tubing and test strip trails, by the difficulty of lows and the joy of staying stable and feeling healthy, by the words we used to describe the struggles and the victories. But we became friends because we have so much more in common. A love of words and books and strawberry tea, an appreciation for twisted or immature humor, and goofy cats that drive us crazy. We would like one another, even if we didn't share diabetes. But diabetes bonds us as tightly, if not more tightly, than any of our other commonalities. (READ MORE)

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Most of the teams who participate in our local JDRF Walk for a Cure are composed of friends and family walking for a child with diabetes. The child gets to be the focus of attention for a fun-filled day of raising awareness for that which normally separates him (or her) from his friends. There's also the smattering of company, corporate, and fraternal teams walking in the name of public service.

 

And then there's the third type of team: those who walk to honor the memory of a loved one killed by diabetes.

 

Memorial teams may be the fewest in number, but they serve as a poignant reminder of why we must walk - why we must continue to walk - and why insulin is not a cure.

 

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Lately, I've spent much of my morning walk being pulled by a 90-lb., 11-month-old German Shepherd. Seeing as I walk so early in the morning--when it's still quite dark outside--I decided that yelling "Sarge! No! No! No!" isn't really the best thing. I don't want the few people who are awake at that hour to think someone is in distress. Well, I guess I sort of am in distress, but not the kind that requires police intervention! While I often welcome the push Sarge gives me to walk just a little faster, mostly it's annoying.
I typically look at the clock on the VCR as I'm walking out the door and it's usually the first thing I see when I gingerly open the front door upon my return. I like to see--and compare--how long it takes me to do my 1.57-mile walk. I'm averaging around 25 minutes lately. (READ MORE)

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One winter evening, I had a reminder of how good I used to feel after a walk. It was freezing outside, but the walls of the house were closing in. The kids were screaming, there were dishes to be done, dinner to be made, everyone wanted something from me, but Super Mom needed a vacation.
"I'm taking the dog for a walk," I said to my husband.
Off I went, but not on my normal walking route. My intention was just to clear my head and to be alone. To just take a leisurely walk. But I could feel the drive to walk intensify. My sneakers pounded the pavement and that sound of rubber on asphalt and grinding sandy dirt under my shoes was all I could hear on that evening in my sleepy town.
Man, this feels good! I thought to myself.
Man, oh, man, does this ever feel good!
I walked farther and farther and kept going faster and faster. My face was freezing, my nose was running, but by God I wasn't stopping. (READ MORE)

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There's something about the intense cold of winter that seems to inspire me to get outside and walk. At insane hours of the morning. Like, before the sun actually comes up. Like, it's still dark when I come back from my walk!
Last winter, I thought about how badly I wanted to reestablish my morning walk with the dog. Usually, it was when I had been sitting at my desk for a long stretch staring at a computer screen. My legs would alternate bouncing up and down like what? And I would start to notice that I felt like sludge because of all the crap I had eaten all day. That's when I would think, "Gee, a walk sure would be good; I think I'll start tomorrow." (READ MORE)

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I completed my first JDRF Walk this morning! It was very exciting. Despite having no idea what to expect, it was fun and went off without much of a glitch.

 

My final Team Lindsey consisted of three other people and myself. Two girls, two guys. Two diabetics, two non-D's. It was a fun group.

 

We made it the whole 5k walking at a fairly brisk pace. The two diabetics held steady with our blood sugars. I ended the walk at a lovely 136 after eating a small (38 carb) breakfast with no bolus and dialing down the basal by 0.25.

 

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There was a time I couldn't imagine taking my morning walk without a canine companion.

 

No. 2 was only a month or so old when we got Tanner from a shelter. He was timid and fearful of The Mr. but he and I got along great and he loved a walk. There were times when he'd get out of our fenced yard, but he always came back. Until the day he didn't.

 

Somehow I managed to find a rhythm without Tanner. We had a string of foster and stray dogs after Tanner left and I made sure to walk each of them. None of them as good on the leash as Tanner, though.

 

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