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We found 8 result(s) that match your search "fundraising":

When we got out of the car, the first thing Charlie did was adjust his "Charlie's Angels" t-shirt so that his insulin pump was visible to his fellow diabetic comrades.

 

Then he scoped the area for others who sported similar machinery. If there was a "D" signal on the pump, he would have surely activated it.

Calling all diabetics! Calling all diabetics! Rendezvous at the Tastykake table in 5. Tell your mothers you feel low.

We had a gorgeous day filled with sunshine and the support of great friends and family who walked beside us for a cure at Rutgers University's agricultural campus.

 

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In trying to raise money for diabetes research, I've definitely noticed the effect of our declining economy. People just don't have money to give this year. 

With a month left before our team assembles for the Walk to Cure Diabetes, I've reached the stage of our JDRF fundraising campaign where I get a little desperate. When just about every person, place or thing in my periphery is fair game.

For example, driving home from a soccer game and crossing the Delaware River toll bridge. Hmm, I thought. Tolls.

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In February and March we sought the guidance of diabetes author and coach Gary Scheiner to see if we too could "Think Like a Pancreas." Our few meetings energized us briefly, but soon enough, we were back to feeling lost and utterly confused. After about five months, the pump wasn't working out as we hoped it would.
In April we decided to throw out all carb ratios and basal levels and begin with a clean slate, following more pump frustrations and a disappointing A1c of 9.6. We felt we hit rock bottom. We worked daily with the pump educator, tweaking and tweaking and tweaking and scratching our heads until we could tweak and scratch no more. (READ MORE)

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Our team, Charlie's Angels, has been raising money for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation since 2003 – the year Charlie was diagnosed.

 

For the first few years, we sent out our fundraising letter to friends, family and co-workers and did remarkably well. Last year, however, I started to feel uncomfortable asking the same people to give so generously yet again. I felt like they were investors in a cure that I was falsely promising. A cure that was "closer than ever" or "within reach" or "right around the corner." To be honest, I really don't know how close we are to a cure. But, what else can I do? I can't cure Charlie. I can only raise money and give it to the people who say they possibly can. I'll sell it like a snake oil salesman if I must.

 

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The evening was perfect. My friends and I looked like we just stepped out of a magazine. I finally got a dress to work (thanks to an ingenious idea that I'll cover in a future post!). We even valeted the car. Everything was fabulous.

 

After chatting and perusing the silent auction items, we headed into the Ballroom of the Americas for dinner and the main events. I was excited to be there, excited to be part of such a personal and amazing fundraising event. I didn't realize how excited I would be as the night progressed. I didn't realize how carried away I would be by the actual facts.

 

Dinner was magnificent. The food was scrumptious. The presentation was perfect. Dessert was the best part. Chocolate napoleon with chocolate covered strawberries. Two of my favorite things. I even judged the carbs and activity perfectly (I ended the evening at 130).

 

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Since yesterday, I’ve been working on fundraising and getting tickets for the JDRF Promise Ball coming up in the next few weeks. So far I have raised $2000 (or 4 tickets). I’m so excited! Not only have I raised money for a charity that means the world to me, but I’m getting dressed up and meeting dozens of new people that have been through everything I’ve been through.

 

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I knew I was getting close to the banquet room for the JDRF annual meeting when I spotted a used ACCU-CHEK test strip on the carpet like a breadcrumb in the forest.

 

I was reluctant to go; reluctant to make the commitment. As it is, there are not enough hours in the day.

 

Walking through the doors was sort of surreal. It was like a plumbers' convention. Only they weren't plumbers. I snaked my way around the room looking for a place to sit, taking in the throng of diabetes chatter as the people talked shop.

 

Snippets of conversations zipped into my ears and blended into others.

 

"So I says, honey, you got to get a freakin' pump!" coming from one table.

 

"You get ketones?" from another table.

 

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Charlie woke me up at 5:15 am with his pump in one hand, his pants in the other and something clearly on his mind as he spoke a mile a minute.
"I was looking for blue pants and I couldn't find any so I found these black pants but I'm not sure these match so I wanted to see if you could get the blue pants out of the dryer because you said we were leaving right after breakfast and I don't want to be late ,"
Surely this was a dream. Didn't I just close my eyes to go to sleep thirty seconds ago? It couldn't be.
"Charlie, it's 5:15 am. We're not leaving for a while. Go back to bed."
That wasn't about to happen. He even slept in his Charlie's Angels t-shirt. He couldn't contain his excitement. He was so excited that we were greeted with a blood sugar of 300 at 6:45 am after he was fine in the middle of the night.
Still better than the large ketones and vomiting we experienced just prior to last year's walk.
"I don't like that number," Charlie says. (READ MORE)

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