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

I have vivid dreams. When I close my eyes at night, a whole new world appears, in living color. My dreams hold smells and sounds and sights that often rival the sensory reality of my waking life. There have been times when I could swear I've seen people, had conversations, and done things in real life, when these memories were simply creations of my sleeping mind. I know that I talk, run, laugh, and cry while I sleep; something that makes sharing a bed with me a real challenge. I suppose that the vividness of my dreams might be a reflection of the constant activity in my brain. (READ MORE)

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I was at work, walking toward the cafeteria when Bert grabbed me. I play soccer with Bert. He was shaking and moving in clumsy circles and clearly disoriented. I immediately got out my testing supplies and checked his blood sugar. I snapped the pricker against his finger and blood drops spilled out continuously like a leaky faucet. When I saw the 7 on the meter screen, my heart stopped beating for a moment. I had never seen single digits. I sat Bert down in a chair and screamed for help. "I need juice! (READ MORE)

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When you see the check-mark-y swoosh, you think Nike, right? An apple gets you the computer company, golden arches make you think of cheesburgers, a peacock will have you thinking Must See TV, a red cross... you get the picture.

 

And when it comes to health there are several very recognizable symbols of support, perhaps the most popular is the pink ribbon for breast cancer. I was doing some research today on breast cancer and realized that the pink ribbon is quite possibly the only symbol synonymous with only one health condition. Even the red ribbon went from AIDS to a host of other causes.

 

You see a pink ribbon you instantly think breast cancer; you see a red, green or yellow ribbon and you have to do some thinking or asking. While many diabetes organizations and associations have their own symbols, there is not one that is universal for diabetes.

 

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Been having weird dreams... Guess I'm a little anxious about the endo tomorrow... So in honor of odd dreams and anxiety:
Twas the night before my endo appointment, when all through the place Not a meter was stirring, had my pump at my waist My gym clothes were tucked in my backpack with care, And I hoped that my work would show on the scale.
And I was nestled all snug in my bed, While visions of low A1Cs danced in my head. And me in my 'kerchief, and Bob in his cap, Had just settled our brains for an early fall nap.
When in a weird dream there arose such a clatter, The doctor he told me everything was the matter. He said that my A1C had risen so fast, And my weight was through the roof, I was simply aghast.
The moon it showed down as I tossed to and fro The bad news continued from my dreamland endo. When, what to my sleeping brain did appear But a 400 plus cholesterol number, and my control-loss so clear. (READ MORE)

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On such a winter's day.
I had another diabetes dream last night. It was even more horrible than the last one I had. The one where I was testing Charlie and a blue liquid spilled from his finger rather than blood.
At 2:17 am, I scrambled in the darkness and found a nubby pencil the size of a cigarette butt and scrap paper to jot it all down before it faded fast from my memory. I should have just stayed in bed and let this terrible dream disappear.
[WARNING: gets a bit heavy] (READ MORE)

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My mind makes up for the often boring and brain-numbing life of a stay at home mom with a really cool dream life. By day, I'm dancing around the living room singing Laurie Berkner songs and smacking my backside to cheer my little boy up, but by night, I'm traveling the world, eating exotic foods and bumping into people I haven't seen in 20 years. Needless to say, I'm pretty hooked on that eight-hours a night.

In my dreams, I'm not sniffing out a poopy diaper, sorting laundry or strolling the aisles of the supermarket, humming along to the music. In my dreams, I'm not dealing with diabetes, either. Or rather, I wasn't, until last night.

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Diabetes has had us back on our heels and off-balance since school started. Charlie has had very high blood sugars. In turn, we're doing a lot of guessing. Guessing is not a great strategy when dealing with a major disease. Such is life with diabetes.

It is during these times that diabetes likes to send a message. It likes to bring you down to size and remind you that you're not in control. Just as we were about to make changes to deal with the constant highs, the unexpected sound of panic lifts me from my chair.

"Carey! Juice box now!!! He's very low!!!"

I pop from my chair like a firefighter responding to an alarm and grab two juice boxes. I can hear Susanne's voice growing louder as I make my way upstairs.

"CHARLIE! CHARLIE! I NEED YOU TO WAKE UP!"

"CHARLIE!"

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A funny thing happened this week. I turned forty.
Okay, perhaps it wasn't so funny.
The morning of my birthday, I took a long moment in front of my bathroom mirror. My apartment complex management was kind enough to replace the subtle lighting over the mirror that we'd had for two years with new, direct lights that look fancy but which might be more appropriate for an interrogation than the gentle transition from being asleep to facing the reality of my new life as a forty-something. Looking in the mirror, I swear I could hear the faint creaking sound of my bones as they calcified. (READ MORE)

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A funny thing happened this week. I turned forty.
Okay, perhaps it wasn't so funny.
The morning of my birthday, I took a long moment in front of my bathroom mirror. My apartment complex management was kind enough to replace the subtle lighting over the mirror that we'd had for two years with new, direct lights that look fancy but which might be more appropriate for an interrogation than the gentle transition from being asleep to facing the reality of my new life as a forty-something. Looking in the mirror, I swear I could hear the faint creaking sound of my bones as they calcified. (READ MORE)

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I am snuggled safe in my bed, with my insulin pump tucked up against me, working just fine.  I wish I was aware of this.

 

But I'm not. 

 

I am in the living room of my Aunty Dot's house in Weymouth, MA.  The purple seventies style shag carpeting growing up between my toes like grass.  I am leaning on a plaid recliner.  My brothers are there.  We're kids.  And we're with my dad.  We're eating chinese food.  Only my chinese food is pink.  If I explained all of the things wrong with the above scenario (for example: my Aunty Dot has been gone a long time and she never actually had a shag carpet), the pink chinese food would seem perfectly fine. .

 

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