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A new study in the JAMA indicates that omega-3 fatty acid supplements may keep at-risk kids from developing type 1 diabetes. The study found that kids who did eat fish, nuts or other sources of omega-3 fatty acids had a 55% less chance of developing diabetes. (I linked to the National Review of Medicine site because JAMA charges you a $15 fee to view their articles. Ouch.)

Sometimes I'm not sure what to think about these studies. Olivia was diagnosed when she was not quite three years old, so I suppose I could have given her Omega-3 supplements. I guess I'll have to figure out how to incorporate them into the two little girls' diets - I don't know that they'll eat fish and that's an expensive food to waste if they don't like it. Plus the whole mercury thing...honestly, some days I wonder if anything is safe to eat any more.
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Eat dinner no later than five pm and fast until seven am. Perform five blood sugar checks throughout the night. Fast until twelve pm, six pm or ten pm. Check your blood sugar every two hours. Does this sound familiar?
You guessed it. Basal tests. My least favorite thing about the pump.
I hate having to eat at a required time (and worrying about what I eat to make sure there isn't a huge delay). I hate having to check my blood sugar every two hours. I find it a little frightening to fast for that many hours at a time. Plus, I just hate fasting (I like to eat when I'm hungry). (READ MORE)

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Olivia asked me last night when she was going to have her next appointment at Joslin. I wasn't sure, but told her it should be coming up soon. (Must check into that, actually.) She said she wanted to ask the doctor something. When I asked her what she wanted to know, she said she wanted to talk about alternate site testing.

We've done this in the past, without much success. But looking at her fingers last night, I told her she really needed to try again. Her fingertips are mangled - they're covered with black dots and she said they really, really hurt.

Part of the problem is that she tests right on the pads of her fingers rather than on the sides. The endo has told her repeatedly to stop doing that, but Olivia doesn't listen. Now, though, she's having a lot of pain and she's going to have to do that.
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Olivia asked me last night when she was going to have her next appointment at Joslin. I wasn't sure, but told her it should be coming up soon. (Must check into that, actually.) She said she wanted to ask the doctor something. When I asked her what she wanted to know, she said she wanted to talk about alternate site testing.

We've done this in the past, without much success. But looking at her fingers last night, I told her she really needed to try again. Her fingertips are mangled - they're covered with black dots and she said they really, really hurt.

Part of the problem is that she tests right on the pads of her fingers rather than on the sides. The endo has told her repeatedly to stop doing that, but Olivia doesn't listen. Now, though, she's having a lot of pain and she's going to have to do that.
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This diabetes stuff is hard. Literally.
Others have written about how the pump is difficult to conceal when dressing formally or how it can create a challenge when it's, uh, well , business time.
The pump, though pretty cool with its life-saving abilities and all, also gets in the way of my own intimate moments with my son. It's a third wheel; an unyielding, rock-solid thorn in my son's backside.
The pump is usually a recipient of hugs intended for Charlie. I reach my arms around Charlie's waist when I leave for work, only to squeeze plastic rather than skin.
Attacks from the tickle monster are curtailed by tubing tangle and harmless roughhousing leaves pump scratches on both of us.
It grinds into my side when I lift Charlie from the couch when he's sleeping and I carry him up the stairs to his bed. (READ MORE)

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For months now I have been waiting to do this. I had only to get my veins into a lab and have my A1C taken so my experiment could be put into motion. I had my end of the supplies ordered up and the rest was up to the dueling laboratories of, BIOSAFE and my local medical facility.
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Our neighbor got into a conversation with a woman whose 4-year-old son was just diagnosed with diabetes.

 

Our heart goes out to anyone who was just diagnosed. The fear and confusion of those first few weeks is still vividly etched in my memory and probably will be forever. Whether it's a friend of a friend or a friend of a family member, on a few occasions, we've offered our phone number out to those parents in case they wanted someone to talk to; someone who's been embedded in the disease for a while.

 

Our neighbor mentioned our situation to the woman. She mentioned the difficulty we face in trying to manage Charlie's diabetes: the numerous blood sugar checks, getting up to check him in all hours of the night, the arrangement at school with his health aides, etc.

 

I'm not sure if my neighbor offered to put us in touch with her. Though if she had, I suspect the woman would decline.

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I recently made a resolution. I challenged myself to up the ante on my daily blood glucose testing routine. Seeing some vast holes in my finger stick line graphs, I knew I was due for a kick-start. It started off with a flurry of finger lances and a rapidly growing discard pile of test strips. Since then, it has mellowed out ever so slightly, to a more maintainable pace.
200 test strips per month is what my health insurance allows me. That gives me seven strips a day to use as I will. Give or take a few, for you math whizzes out there.
To keep myself organized, I mentally plotted my daily testing agenda. A mental list keeps me accountable, and honestly, keeps me from forgetting.
Here's how the test strips break down:
1. First thing in the morning. Dawn phenomenon?-only one way to know. A.K.A. should I hold the OJ this morning?
2. Ninety minutes after breakfast. Needed that granola bar after all! (READ MORE)

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I was cleaning the kitchen today.  Since I was laid off this has taken a chunk of my daily life.  I never much cared for the tedium of kitchen cleaning, but now that we're all home so much more, eating 3 times more meals here, the chore has become relentless. But I digress.

 

As I was unloading the dishwasher, it struck me that I wouldn't want my endo to see the current dishload.  There were too many pizza wheels and glasses and not enough mixing spoons and silverware.  Maybe Dr. R-J wouldn't get the connection, but a forensic kitchen examiner would have it in a heartbeat.  CSI: Cordon Bleu, anyone?

 

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"Yeah, I'll do it," Maeve said, quickly unzipping the black diabetes bag and removing the contents onto her lap.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
She was a little too eager to get her hands on a sharp foreign object and take blood from her little brother. Maeve cracked open an alcohol wipe and rubbed Charlie's fingertip then loaded the meter with a test strip, deftly juggling the instruments. She had never done it before, but she's witnessed it , (one sec whilst I do a little math) , about 17,500 times. It's an unusual thing for an 8-year-old to do. Not your normal car trip activity such as I Spy or the license plate game.
"Just put the striped part into the ..."
"Uh huh. I know." (READ MORE)

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