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

I wish.
I wish my pancreas worked properly. But the fact that it doesn't is not the first thing that comes to mind every morning. When I awaken, I am grateful, not sorrowful. Grateful for a good life, surrounded by people I love.
I wish that I hadn't met so many wonderful people BECAUSE we have diabetes. But I am so happy to know each of them. And they all have brought me great joy. There is really only one thing I would trade knowing them for (that fully functioning pancreas). And I would imagine that there is only one thing they would trade knowing me for. There is no fault in that.
I wish I didn't HAVE to wear an insulin pump. But I can't think of anything that makes my life easier and more healthful. And it is one of the gadgets that I truly couldn't get along without. (READ MORE)

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Imagine for a moment that I found a magic bottle with a a genie who popped out and offered me ten diabetes-related wishes (because I'm swell and clearly deserve more than three). Of course I wouldn't be allowed to just wish away my diabetes altogether. (It's the small print that gets you every time). I might ask the Beedies Genie for the following:
-- Hallucinogenic metformin.
-- A couch with special cushions that will make my body burn calories while I sit on my butt and watch Battlestar Galactica.
-- A super smart version of phentermine that can fool the body for longer than three months.
-- A line of Converse diabetic Chuck Taylors-- For that matter, any diabetic shoes that are both affordable and don't look like they were designed either for Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein or the whole cast of Cocoon.
-- Mandarin Orange Propell at every beverage fountain. (READ MORE)

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I am on the eliptical trainer, rather lost in the music coming from my Ipod. I'm into the second half of my one hour of cardio for the day. I'm starting to feel a little weak - so I keep my legs moving and grab my test kit from the water bottle slot. I fumble my hands through the test, while my poor legs struggle to remain coordinated. Damn it. 73 mg/dl. This is not good. If I want this work out to continue, I best act fast. Legs still moving, I open the hammer gel pack I'd brought for just such an occasion. (READ MORE)

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Just this morning …
Charlie says, "Dad, I think I'm low."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"OK, one sec."
Rip. Pop. Click.
"Nope. Not low."
"Aww. I wish I was low."
"What? No Charlie. Being low is very dangerous. Why do you want to be low?"
"Because I want to eat some juice."
"You mean drink juice?"
"Drink juice."
"Charlie, it's really, really dangerous."
"Could I die?" (READ MORE)

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"What's the matter," my husband wanted to know as I fell into a well-needed hug last night.
"Blech. My period's kicking my ass and it's not even here yet," I blurted.
To be absolutely frank, I loathe what my period does to my diabetes management. Yesterday I was doing absolutely excellent-for a while that is. I had a semi-high fasting of 150, but after a walk and two hours I was down to a respectable 114. Two hours later I tested at 70 and enjoyed a snack even though I wasn't really hungry. Barely two hours later I was ready for lunch and tested at 107, which I was very happy with. (READ MORE)

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Scanning the aisles of the grocery store, I was looking for something brownie-ish. As usual, I was assaulted by the donut counter as soon as I walked in the door (location, location, location!). But with no chocolate cake donuts with chocolate icing, it was easy for me to walk past. I quickly perused the bakery area for something tantalizing, and was actually pleased that nothing struck my fancy.
I have learned lately that when I have a craving I have to be very specific with myself or I wind up eating more that I bargained for because I'm not satisfied. So I can't go after something that's "just chocolate." I have to consider texture, temperature and portion size. (READ MORE)

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Boo was 208 this afternoon, four hours after having eaten anything. This really, really sucks. It's really starting to worry me. I brushed it off as maybe a urinary tract infection, but now, I'm starting to doubt it. Everything is pointing towards diabetes, and if her pediatrician won't see that, I will find another pediatrician.

I feel overwhelmed at times by this. Part of me knows that I can handle it but the other part of me wants to just cry at the thought of another child with diabetes. I get upset when I hear about any kid getting diagnosed, but now that the likelihood is that it will be my kid. My little Boo, who cries when I poke her, whose little hands I have to pry open in order to stick them with the lancet. Jesus, do you know what that does to me? I want to cry right next to her, but I don't. I can't. I'm afraid that if I start, I'll never stop.
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One thing I have learned over my years with this disease is that many people know nothing about it. All of those typical stereotypes are still running rampant and sometimes its up to us to educate these people.
At times I feel like my shoes are soapboxes when I talk about diabetes to my family and friends. I never used to be this way but more and more I see how diabetes is misunderstood and instead of complaining about that I hope I can make a difference. I'll tell you, it is worth. (READ MORE)

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In honor of World Diabetes Day, I decided to throw myself a little birthday event. I invited all my friends and their friends to join me for dinner and bowling. Everyone had to wear blue.

 

A small group of my closest friends gathered for Italian food at a tiny local restaurant. We told stories from high school, laughed till we almost cried, and all proudly wore our blue shirts. We had a group of people point out our shirts, so my friends boldly told them the story behind the color.

 

The bowling party began as an event for my college Diabetic Echoes group. I made a poster and had a container for donations. Our blue shirts were supposed to make us stand out.

 

(READ MORE)

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The other day I was at the playground with the two toddlers. One of the other mothers was asking me how Olivia was doing and asked about her diabetes.

"She's going to outgrow it, right?"

Me: (silence) Blink. Blink.

Me: Um, no. Her pancreas doesn't work. It doesn't make insulin. It's not going to start making it once she's an adult."

I was trying not to rip my hair out of my head, but inside I was thinking "Good grief, do people still actually think you can outgrow diabetes??! Still?? In this day and age?" The answer is, apparently, yes.

So I did my quick, 30-second spiel on type 1 diabetes, but started getting the glazed-eye look pretty quickly. Then she proceeded to tell me that she knew all about diabetes because everyone in her family has type 2. Ugh.
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