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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)

There. I said it. I have been saying that a lot lately. When The Mr. wants to know what's wrong I can often sum it up by saying, "I hate diabetes."

I'm having trouble dealing lately. I know people want to help. I know that when someone says, "It's a way of life," that they're trying to help. I know that when someone suggests I take a walk that they have my best interests at heart.

So why does it just make me want to cry? Why does it make me want to put my head through a wall? Why does it make me want to ignore diabetes and curl up in a ball in a corner? Why can I accept help from people some times and not others?

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I was reading through the dLife Viewpoints section today and saw a post that really hit home.

It's called "Bested by a Can of Tomato Soup" by Scott Johnson and I think it should be required reading for type 3's and other people without diabetes.

Counting carbs can sometimes be a difficult and maddening situation.

And we do it for virtually every meal every day. I mean, we are supposed to.

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I've gone back and forth about whether to wear a medical ID bracelet. Part of me says I shouldn't bother because once a paramedic friend of mine told me one of the first things they do to a person who has passed out is to check their blood sugar. Part of me says I should wear one as an extra measure of caution.

I wore a medical ID bracelet throughout my third pregnancy. I don't think I ever took it off -- not in the shower, not for exercise, nothing. I don't remember why I stopped wearing it. Perhaps I lost it. In fact, now that I think about it, I think that's exactly what happened. I had removed the ugly silver chain and replaced it with strands of colorful beads to match whatever I was wearing. Well, the chains and clasps were cheap and ...

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I made a note on my calendar to call Dr. S today about the bloodwork I had done last week. His nurse told me it may be a week or two before I got results and that I could call any time to see if they were in.

I got impatient (go figure!) and called yesterday. After going through automated phone Hell, I got to the voice mail of the nurse. Her mailbox said feel free to leave a message, but be aware that it may take me 72 hours to get back to you. *sigh*

So I left a message fully expecting NOT to hear from her any time soon. I considered calling again today, but even though I'm impatient I'm not a pest. Well, maybe sometimes.

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When I was first diagnosed with diabetes, I read everything I could get my hands on about it. The fear of complications kept me in line. In fact, when faced with the temptation of cookies and cake, the phrase "blindness, dialysis and amputation" helped me walk away with not so much as a taste.

I guess that's why I took it so hard when my vision started blurring recently. At my post-pregnancy opthalmalogist visit, my eyeglass prescription had changed so much in the last six months, the doctor suggested checking again in a few months instead of getting a new prescription now. He explained my recent high blood sugars (thanks to that third attempt at diet and exercise "control") had temporarily distorted my vision. There are no signs of perminent damage, yet. Get my sugars under tighter control for a two to three months and we'll check again. (READ MORE)