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

My fellow blogger Nicole Purcell, wrote an amazing entry the other day called, How Do Our Bodies Do It? She captivates very brilliantly what it is like to experience a severe late night episode of hypoglycemia. Some of us, fortunately, have never had an experience quite like the one she describes. Others are all too familiar with them. Speaking for myself, I am one of the fortunate ones, who has only been dangerously low a handful of times. I have never been injected with a glucagon shot and I've never really lost consciousness due to a low. But still, I could definitely relate to her experience because I can recall the episodes where I was just so unbelievably out of it. But her post got me thinking of the time when I was a camp counselor at a children's diabetic camp.
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My fellow blogger Nicole Purcell, wrote an amazing entry the other day called, How Do Our Bodies Do It? She captivates very brilliantly what it is like to experience a severe late night episode of hypoglycemia. Some of us, fortunately, have never had an experience quite like the one she describes. Others are all too familiar with them. Speaking for myself, I am one of the fortunate ones, who has only been dangerously low a handful of times. I have never been injected with a glucagon shot and I've never really lost consciousness due to a low. But still, I could definitely relate to her experience because I can recall the episodes where I was just so unbelievably out of it. But her post got me thinking of the time when I was a camp counselor at a children's diabetic camp.
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My fellow blogger Nicole Purcell, wrote an amazing entry the other day called, How Do Our Bodies Do It? She captivates very brilliantly what it is like to experience a severe late night episode of hypoglycemia. Some of us, fortunately, have never had an experience quite like the one she describes. Others are all too familiar with them. Speaking for myself, I am one of the fortunate ones, who has only been dangerously low a handful of times. I have never been injected with a glucagon shot and I've never really lost consciousness due to a low. But still, I could definitely relate to her experience because I can recall the episodes where I was just so unbelievably out of it. But her post got me thinking of the time when I was a camp counselor at a children's diabetic camp.
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It's always interesting to meet fellow diabetics in person. It doesn't happen all that often to me, but occasionally I will bump into someone and find out they are diabetic too. Being a pumper has definitely changed that awareness (because you know all diabetics can spot a fellow pumper from miles away!).

 

Over the summer, I went in to have a microdermabrasion procedure (trying to get rid of the post-acne marks from the PCOS) at a local doctor's office. My new patient forms asked the usual questions: pre-existing conditions, prescriptions, etc. So I marked the normal things: diabetic, PCOS, on humalog, etc. and moved on.

 

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It was mid-afternoon as I strolled into the local pharmacy. I needed more Novolog insulin pens and today's trip would prove itself as unsmooth as usual. The diabetic smack in the face did not come for me, however, but for the slightly unsorted diabetic fellow ahead of me.
This day's pharmaceutical quest was not stunted by the feared insurance decline, or the "too early" for a refill drama. Not even the "out of stock" song from the pharmacy tech, or wrong sized needles being slid over the counter. It was simply an, "I'm sorry, I can't help you" interaction.
Unsorted Diabetic: What do you mean I can't refill my syringes here?
Pharmacy Tech: I'm sorry. I have no record of you as an approved customer.
Unsorted Diabetic: I don't usually get my refills here. I was just in the area.
Pharmacy Tech: Some muffled explanation and seemingly helpful recourse. (READ MORE)

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My friend L's mom died over the weekend. I've known L as long as I can remember, probably close to 30 years. We were girl scouts together in grade school, played flute together in middle school and while I played the piccolo in the high school marching band, she twirled along as a majorette. Though we were never "best friends," we've kept in touch over the years through mutual friends.
L and her parents are in the background of many of my childhood memories. Her dad, R, was the high school band director and I remember her mom, J, at girl scouting events going back as far as the first grade.
It's always sad when someone dies, but what makes this even more sad is that L's dad died a few years ago. She's too young to lose both her parents. (READ MORE)

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My friend L's mom died over the weekend. I've known L as long as I can remember, probably close to 30 years. We were girl scouts together in grade school, played flute together in middle school and while I played the piccolo in the high school marching band, she twirled along as a majorette. Though we were never "best friends," we've kept in touch over the years through mutual friends.
L and her parents are in the background of many of my childhood memories. Her dad, R, was the high school band director and I remember her mom, J, at girl scouting events going back as far as the first grade.
It's always sad when someone dies, but what makes this even more sad is that L's dad died a few years ago. She's too young to lose both her parents. (READ MORE)

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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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Lately, I've been out of sync.  Off kilter.  In a rut.

 

I'm not making it to the gym as often as I should.  My meter average has crept from the low 100s to 158 mg/dl in the past couple of months.  I am ignoring the lunches I pack and and either not eating at all or eating whatever crap is available in the office lunchroom. 

 

I'm not sure exactly how it happens, this out of sorts business.  But it feels like every so often, I go right off the rails without even realizing it's happening.  One day, I think maybe I've got a handle on diabetes, weight, work, life.  And in an instant, it changes. 

 

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Olivia heads off to Clara Barton Camp in a couple of weeks. This is her fifth summer attending, so she will become a Bartonian this year. I'm not sure what that means - fellow CBCers, help me out. She is beyond excited. I swear she'd live at camp all summer if I let her (and I had the funds - at $2,000 for 10 days, it's very, very expensive.)
I was initially hesitant to send her to camp. I was worried that she would be lonely, that she wouldn't speak up when she wasn't feeling well, that they wouldn't take care of her the way I do. The first time I left her, for her first mini-camp session, I cried the whole way home. I fretted and worried and lay awake at night, wondering how she was doing.
I shouldn't have. When I picked her up, she was ecstatic. She chattered non-stop the entire way home, talking about the other campers, the counselors, what they did, where they went and "There was a dance, mum! With the BOYS!!" She was over the moon. (READ MORE)

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