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

Most will call it dry mouth or cotton mouth , some might say they have a waterless windpipe or a parched palate, acting disturbed by their unquenched uvula, and yet another might compare it to having a mouthful of sweaters mucking up the place to no end. Whatever alliterative or clothed name it goes by, the sticky mouth feel of a high blood sugar is enough to furrow my brow to its limit. (READ MORE)

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It was easy to ignore diabetes when the effects of poor blood sugar management were intangible. When I don't feel sick, when I feel normal despite eating carb-laden foods and not countering with exercise or insulin, I felt like if I had complications they were so far down the road that I would just deal with it then.
And then, something happened. Something that could have been a result of poor diabetes care or just a fluke or just something that happens to me.
Most winters the heel of my right foot cracks badly enough-despite daily lotion therapy and foot scrubs in the shower at least once a week-that it's painful to walk. Most winters that crack gets bad enough that I pick at it until it opens up and I can peel off the dead skin. There's no blood, nothing unmanageable. It's then that I can walk normally. This is winter time, when dry, cracked feet are normal for me. (READ MORE)

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I touched the top of my forehead and felt the sudden wetness of perspiration as I walked down the stairs. My head felt light and loose as if it dangled from a marionette string. Strange. It wasn't hot in the house. I felt an overwhelming feeling of tingly ickiness throughout my whole body as I stood there sweating and vibrating and wanting to quickly get to the nearest chair.
I've tested Charlie's blood sugar thousands of times, but doing my own felt awkward as I searched for the right angle. After some difficulty, I managed to squeeze a drop of blood from my finger and scoop up enough for a reading. Sure enough, I was 66. (READ MORE)

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Ah! It's a new day and my fasting blood sugar comes in at a sweet 103 mg/dl. "Not too shabby," I think, maybe feeling a bit arrogant.
I go about the business of the day - exercise, hop in the shower, dry the hair, feed the cat - get in the car for work. Drive 30 of the 45 minutes it takes to get there.
And then I think - caught in a wave of abject panic, "Where is my pump?"
I do the pat down, you know the one. I pat with flat, frantic hands at my bra, my hip, my waistband. And I know then exactly where my pump is. On the shelf in the bathroom, pumping insulin into oblivion instead of into me.
"Man." I think. I also think. Alright, maybe I say aloud - a number of colorful words not suitable for a family website.
And I head back toward home, calling the office to let them know that I've been delayed. (READ MORE)

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Hey, type 2s,are you eyeing a nice dinner out with the family at that new Italian restaurant where you'll likely want to fill up on your favorite pasta? Would you like a piece of cake at your friend's birthday party? Or maybe you'd like a handful of grapes.
Can't do it, though, right? Because your oral medications-or even Byetta, if you're on it-don't have enough umph to cover that many carbs. Heck, those meds won't cover more than 60 g. of carbs at one meal-even if they're good carbs. (READ MORE)

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When Charlie started school, I just knew he'd provide me with plenty of material to blog about. Which is good, because we do have our dry spells when he's not doing anything particularly diabetish.
A good journalist goes out and gets the story even when there seemingly isn't one.
"Come on, Charlie, I've got a story to write! Do a little something diabetic for daddy for heaven's sake! Anything!"
"OK, here's the scene: You're blood sugar is pretty high. You're super mad at the world and you don't know why. Maybe you'd like to destroy something of emotional and monetary value? Mommy's English bone china tea cups perhaps? What? Did you hear that? I think the green cup just said you wear pink underpants." (READ MORE)

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Additional considerations. Lately, they're making me crazy. Diabetes serves up a plate load of them. Every. Day.
The insulin pump at my hip - and how to keep it dry. The insulin that goes in the pump - and how to keep it cold. My hip-hopping bloodsugar - and how to make it sit somewhat still. The food I eat - and how to keep it from sending my bloodsugar levels soaring. And all the medicine and supplies - and how to pay for them all.
That last is a big deal. A really big deal. (READ MORE)

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When Charlie says, "I think I'm low," we drop everything and make a dash for the meter. He's right about 85 percent of the time.
It wasn't so long ago that Charlie was too young to articulate this. Those were difficult times. Thankfully he's at an age now where he can alert us and explain when his "tummy feels empty and dry," as he describes it.
But he's also at an age where he'll do whatever it takes to be absolved of the crime.
Charlie is the great manipulator. He'll likely become a very successful car salesman or a powerful mafia boss. He wears you down until you agree to his terms. He also has an answer for everything. Even the most heinous act begins with the word, "well ,"
In his cunning way, he has recently learned how he can work the diabetes angle to his advantage. (READ MORE)

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1. Charlie was sitting on the toilet crying the other day because his dry, chapped knuckle was bleeding slightly. "Charlie, you see blood all the time when we test your sugar," I reminded him. "Yeah, but not from my hand," his sobs growing larger. "Blood is supposed to come from my fingers not my hand!" Damn this disease for making my 5-year-old say that blood is supposed to come from his fingers.
2. Speaking of testing, baby Ben copies everything his big brother Charlie does. These days it's not uncommon to see Ben standing in "the spot" - the area of the kitchen where we usually test Charlie. Ben stands there reaching his little hand up on the counter, sticking his finger out, saying, "pweeeeze." (READ MORE)

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This morning I woke up to my pump alarm yelling at me. I turned over and looked at the clock. Having over an hour before I needed to wake up I grabbed my pump and pressed the ESC and ACT buttons to kill the alarm and fell quickly back to sleep. I knew this morning was going to be an infusion set change day so I was not surprised, just annoyed.
No sooner did I go back to sleep that I heard the alarm again. Not normally when you clear the low reservoir alarm you have another 10 units of insulin worth before the alarm goes off again. I reached under the blankets and cleared the alarm again. I don't think I even achieved REM state before my alarm went off and I was up for good. Bummer. (READ MORE)

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