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September 7th, 2008
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Fifteen years. A decade and a half. Thousands of days. Millions of minutes. Over half my life.
It doesn't seem real that I've lived with diabetes for fifteen years. It doesn't seem fathomable that this is only the first fifteen years of many more. I can't imagine how the rest of my life will daily involve diabetes despite the daily involvement of the last fifteen years. I just can't picture more infusion sets, more doctors appointments, more worries. (READ MORE)


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His knees are bent.

 

Like a frog.

 

His nostril whistles.

 

He sleeps peacefully.

 

He's 56.

 

"Charlie," I whisper into the dead of night, giving him a slight nudge.

 

The ceiling fan hums.

 

"Charlie, you're low. Have some juice."

 

"Charlie!"

 

So many nights I've whispered these words into his sleeping ears. So many nights for four-and-a-half years. So many nights Susanne has. So many nights other moms and dads around the world whisper the very same words to their children in the darkness. We need a cure.

 

He keeps his eyes closed.

 

He just nods and opens his mouth when he feels the straw poking at his lips.

(READ MORE)


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Over fifteen percent of San Diego County's population of 2.9 million has been evacuated from their homes due to impending threats of fast burning fires. The San Diego Charger's home field, Qualcomm Stadium, as well as local shelters and hotels are being filled up as a safe-haven for relocated San Diegans. More than 1,300 homes and businesses have been set afire by the wind propelled wildfires and containment in some areas is still zero percent. (READ MORE)


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So anyway, picking up where we last left ,
After Susanne gave the hairy-faced tailgater the finger, we managed to make it to the wrong lab fifteen minutes after the time of our wrong appointment. Unfortunately, I suffer from the same reading comprehension issues that I did when I was in the third grade. I was just waiting for the receptionist to write in red marker, "Carey has trouble following direction," with a little sad face on the top-right corner of my paperwork.
The lab instructions I held in my hand very clearly displayed the correct name of the lab in big, bold letterhead.
We did eventually make it to the correct lab.
Maeve and Ben were being screened as part of the University of Florida's PANDA Study to see if the insulin-producing cells in their pancreas' are being destroyed. (READ MORE)


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I once blogged about how wonderful the world would be if only Charlie would eat Jell-O - one of the few "free" snack foods we have to work with. Back then, he would take pleasure in poking it, squashing it with a spoon or dropping it in his brother's diaper, but nothing more. He refused to eat it. (READ MORE)


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Sometimes diabetes makes me feel so alone. I've always been the "token" diabetic in my family. And after almost fifteen years of being the only one, I'm adjusted to the idea. I'm good at doing this "alone." I actually like it. I know that no one I love deals with it. I never have anyone to blame. Plus it makes me unique.
In October of last year... that all changed. My dad was diagnosed with type 1. I've never worried about my parents getting it, only my future children. Yet here we are: my father has my disease. It feels horrible, a true blow to the gut. (READ MORE)


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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.) (READ MORE)


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Have you ever had a diabetes moment that called for desperate measures?
I've had a few too many to count.
Picture this. (READ MORE)


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Since I can remember, I've always had certain symptoms of being low. A funny feeling in my stomach, shaking, cold sweats, feeling tired, slow or incomplete thoughts. Depending on the low, sometimes certain symptoms would be worse than others. Almost every single time, I got this feeling in my stomach kind of like butterflies. Lately, I've been having some of these low symptoms when my blood sugar is not even close to a low. I get the feeling in my stomach, I feel shaky, I even start slurring my words. I check and I'm fine. 141. 126. Even 204. So why do I feel low? (READ MORE)


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Rebecca Abma
What happens when a health writer develops a chronic illness? As Rebecca K. Abma can tell you, it turns into an obsession. Since being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes in December 2003, 90 percent of her non-work computer time is spent researching the disease and chatting with fellow diabetics. (Read More)

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