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I stare at the rack of magazines. The latest stars, the latest trends, the latest everything all stare back at me from glossy pages.
As a college student, I want to be in style. I want to have the latest fads and know the latest "body secrets." As a self proclaimed "fashionista", I want these magazines to tell me all that I need to dress with the world. As a diabetic, I just want a glossy paged magazine for diabetics!
A magazine that shows the latest gadgets, the latest research, the latest success stories. But I want all that to be catered towards me: the college student, the fashionista. I want hot trends in meters, new diet tips and expert advice on all my questions.
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I am overdue on blood work. There is lab paperwork that I have been carrying around for months in my bag. It was given to me by my endo back in September so I could get blood drawn in December and make an
appointment to see him. Yeah, that has not happened.
December is a busy time for everyone and frankly I just did not make the time to do it. So I figured I would call, make an appointment, and then hit the lab to give them my blood. It usually takes a week to get lab results so I make sure I have my dates set when I make the appointment. It sucks to go to the doctors and have nothing to really talk about.
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I have spent nearly 72 hours trying to figure out how to describe my appointment at the Mayo Clinic on Thursday. I just can't decide what to tell you first.
Although I arrived much earlier than I had been told to (it's hard to judge traffic patterns at off hours) and was getting ancy when numerous people were called back before I was, I was quite pleased when the nurse called me at 8:04 a.m.
No nurse came in to take my temp or blood pressure or ask me why I was there. I barely had time to observe my surroundings -- an actual desk with a computer, phone and other medical necessities including an ergonomic chair; a couch!; and other non-medical-feeling necessities -- before Dr. A came in. He shook my hand and we got down to business.
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I want to be the Little Mermaid. I want my ocean life to turn to land. I want to suddenly be able to cross to the other side. I want a day without diabetes. Just one day.
If I could imagine a day without diabetes... it would be hard to know where to start. Maybe I'd go jogging and not worry about getting low hours later. Maybe I would make my day on a holiday so I could eat anything I wanted without thinking about boluses and temp basals.
Certainly I would rejoice in not being glued to an insulin pump and infusion set. I would get rid of the calluses on my fingers from the eight finger sticks a day. I wouldn't worry about heightened risks for heart disease, glaucoma, or even the common cold.
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Singers are very passionate people and a lot of times the power behind their voices comes from the struggles that they have encountered in life. This was definitely the way I felt as I watched Elliott Yamin put on a passionate and heart-felt show here in Columbia Tuesday night.
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I am never (never, ever, ever) going to win the Martha Stewart award for good housekeeping. I have three kids, a dog and a cat who shed complete replicas of themselves on a daily basis and a husband who thinks the entire house is a coat rack/closet/laundry basket. And I'm always able to think of a million things I'd rather do that pick up.
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Yesterday, George talked about
not caring. Burnout is something I think we all go through in all parts of our lives, but perhaps especially when it comes to diabetes.
I can't think of another chronic illness where the victim is in almost complete control. What I mean is that in theory, if a person with diabetes does everything "right" then everything should be OK. I'll even go out on a limb and say that people addicted to alcohol or drugs don't have as much control over their disease as people with diabetes are lead to believe they have.
High post-prandial numbers? It's your fault.
High A1C? It's your fault.
Meds not working? It's your fault.
Complications? It must be your fault.
In contrast--in-range post prandials, an A1C lower than 7 and 20 years complication free equal a high-five and "Great job!"
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When Susanne peels Charlie's pants down to show me the blood-filled pump tubing taped to his bottom, we curse quietly behind his back. Having the pump infusion set on his rump – he's unable to see how gruesome it is. It's just out of his periphery. A blessing at this moment. Acting like it's nothing is the hard part. Neither of us are good actors. Susanne bites her upper lip and points to where the bloody trail begins and ends.
Well this would explain the blood sugar of "HI."
I should back up a bit.
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I often wonder what the "best" age is to be diagnosed with diabetes. (I'm not saying there is a "best" but I wonder when it's "easiest" persay.)
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Okay, I will warn you up front that this post is a total rant and has no other substance besides the fact that I need to let off some steam. I am also looking for some of you who have dealt with this annoying stereotype.
As I was minding my own business here at my desk the janitor comes up to me and asks me if I have to take shots everyday. I realize that he was listening to a conversation I was having with a co-worker about insulin and so on. A total eavesdropping moment right? So I answer, "nope." And totally leave it at that.
He says, "Oh you got off of insulin. That's good. Just a diet now or pills?"
"No I have an insulin pump."
"There is a gal in another office I clean that has to shoot up every day." Then he does it. He does this sort of motion with his right hand towards his left upturned arm. As if he is shooting up heroin or something right into his vein!
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