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Will there be a pair of white diabetic tube socks in your stocking this year? Zebra-patterned pump skins? Beaded alert bracelets? Sugar-free treats? A T-shirt that says, "I'm So Sweet I Need Insulin?"
I'm curious about your thoughts on giving diabetes-related holiday gifts to your favorite diabetic. Sorry, person with diabetes. I'm not so sure how I feel about it. I did consider getting a lightning bolt pump skin for Charlie for his stocking, but the more I thought about it, the ickier it felt.
"Diabetes gift" seems like an oxymoron to me. I think I'd prefer to separate the disease from Christmas as much as possible. Sure, he'd probably like a pump skin, but how about instead of a gift we just call it a supply. And instead of Christmas, we just give it to him on a Thursday.
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Will there be a pair of white diabetic tube socks in your stocking this year? Zebra-patterned pump skins? Beaded alert bracelets? Sugar-free treats? A T-shirt that says, "I'm So Sweet I Need Insulin?"
I'm curious about your thoughts on giving diabetes-related holiday gifts to your favorite diabetic. Sorry, person with diabetes. I'm not so sure how I feel about it. I did consider getting a lightning bolt pump skin for Charlie for his stocking, but the more I thought about it, the ickier it felt.
"Diabetes gift" seems like an oxymoron to me. I think I'd prefer to separate the disease from Christmas as much as possible. Sure, he'd probably like a pump skin, but how about instead of a gift we just call it a supply. And instead of Christmas, we just give it to him on a Thursday.
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"Come on, baby, hop up here. I need to check your sugar."
"No, mama, no check sugar." She cries and tries to hide her fingers in her clenched hands.
"Yes, honey, we have to. I know you don't like it, but we have to do it."
"I don't yike it," she replies.
"I know, but the doctor says we have to do it." She loves the doctor, so she complies, gingerly holding out a finger.
I cock the lancing device and push the button. She flinches as the spring thwongs the lancet into her tiny, little finger. Crimson blood pearls out on to the test strip, the meter beeps and does its quick backwards count from five.
She sticks her finger in her mouth, sucking the blood off, as she's seen her big sister do countless times. Then she holds the finger up to me.
"You tiss it, mama."
I kiss her finger and tousle her hair.
"Put a yid on it, mama."
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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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First off, let me say that in my
New Year's Eve post, I said
IF I were going to make resolutions, those would be mine! I gave myself an out already!
I could keep this information to myself but I know it will only fester. I would then feel the need to lie about my health plans, etc, etc. In the interests of
dieting naked, I will be honest.
I have gained 10 pounds from my lowest weight of 2007, last seen at the end of October.
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Lieutenant Frog Skin, Lieutenant Seaweed , grab a helmet, a rifle and fall in. We strike at dawn.
Just when I was starting to worry that a cure was very, very far off, I just received word from the battlefields that these two brave new recruits have joined the ranks in the fight against diabetes. But fear not. They are not alone. Broken into platoons via category, our army looks like this:
Foods: grapes, brown rice, pumpkins, honey, black tea, red wine, bitter melon
Animals: pigs, lizard spit, mice, frog skin
Plants: seaweed wrap, doob (aka common green grass)
All fighting diabetes. We should be fine.
As promised, here is the last of the diabetes Mad Libs entries. This one comes from Penny.
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The sound of salt grains landing on the freshly served tortilla chips sent a look of injustice flying across the table. I watched this confusing exchange of two co-workers as I sipped on a diet soda at my corner of the table. "Did you ask Scott if it was okay for you to put salt over all of the chips?", came from the accusing coworker. I was instantly puzzled and was trying to figure out the punch line of what I thought was some misunderstood joke. I realized he was dead serious when the ensuing diabetes conversation hit the table.
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Happy November, dLifers! Welcome the 'In Case You Missed It' edition of Blogabetes, highlighting some of the best posts of the week from our Blogabetes writers.
Here are some of the highlights:
Did you catch George's post about being a
Born Again Diabetic? The sentence, "Sometimes that fresh attitude is the start you need to take control of your disease," couldn't be more true.
We're in the middle of Walk Season, and blogger Carey Potash writes about
his son Charlie leading his personal team of angels.
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I used to really like
Dr. Oz. I loved the way his book
YOU on a Diet makes complicated bodily functions make sense. I loved his simplistic approach to hunger and satiety, how you can satisfy your appetite centers with something other than food. I loved his easy recipes and simple exercise plan. It's all so, well, simple.
Dr. Oz is really good at simplifying things. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes it's a bad thing. A very bad thing.
I was half-watching one of the morning TV talk shows earlier this week. When I saw the good doctor take the stage I turned up the volume. He was promoting his new book,
YOU Staying Young. The segment featured a man and a woman who had followed the plan for three months and not only lost weight, they looked and felt younger and healthier than they had in years.
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