dLifeTV

My girlfriend and I just finished watching a program on TV called "Rock of Love". The star of the show is Bret Michaels, a type 1 diabetic of many years and former lead singer of the rock and roll band, "Poison". The show is all about Bret attempting to find his "rock of love" and tonight's episode was the season finale. (READ MORE)

His hands move over my waist to my hips.  He brushes by my insulin pump, which feels to me about fifty times its actual size.  I wonder, does he notice it there beneath my clothes, beneath his hand? 

My bloodsugar is 355 mg/dl.  I feel yucky.  I know I'm spilling ketones.  When he kisses me, do I taste like fruit, like wine, like the acetone that's eating away at me?  Does he see the awful dry feeling behind my eyes; is he thinking I look as horrible as I feel? 

He takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.  I trace his palm with my fingertips.  My arms above my head, he's tying my my hands - his skin so near mine again.  Why do these calluses feel so obvious, so hard and unfeminine? 

  (READ MORE)

Sometimes I am shocked at how invisible diabetes can be. I was having practice at church the other night for the contemporary band when my Bass player asked us to pray for him.

"Of course! What is going on?"

He explains to me that he is having surgery on his eye to drain fluid in it and would just like us to keep him in our prayers. He started telling us about how he had this same surgery on his other eye and that it worked really well so he his hopeful that this surgery will be another success. I asked him what causes the problem he is having.

"Diabetes." (READ MORE)

Beep Boop Beep.

My pump tells me it’s been two hours since my last bolus and that I should check my blood glucose level.

Beep. I clear the alarm.

I slip a test strip into my meter.

Beep. It is ready for me to drop blood on it.

Beep. The machine starts the countdown.

Beep. 163.

Press the Bolus Wizard button on my pump and enter the number.

Beep. Beep. Beep. I accept the amount of insulin and get it sent on its way. As soon as the bolus amount is finished being delivered I hear one last sound.

Beep.

From the other side of cubical partition I hear, “What is that beeping?”

“Sorry, that’s me and my stuff.”

“Ugh, I kept hearing all this beeping. I thought I was going crazy.” She replied. (READ MORE)

ldleeuw

When I was little, I imagined a perfect life. I picked careers, pretended to make life-changing decisions and pictured my future. Nothing was affected by realistic needs and the facts of my life. I could be anything and never worry about discrimination in the workplace. I could live anywhere and not stress over medical access or insurance. My mind was limitless.

Now I make these life-changing decisions for real: I pick future careers, places to live and potential spouses. Now I have limits. My decisions factor in my diabetes and my future with diabetes. I look at things like job requirements, insurance benefits and personal reactions to my diabetes. Everything is affected by it. (READ MORE)

Got home from work, nuked my blackened pork chops and sat down at the table beside Susanne.

"So there's this company in England that has created cell clusters similar to those the body uses to control blood sugar," I tell her before lunging into my pork.

She sips her water and nods.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Pretty cool. Also, in another study in mice, it seems adult blood could be a richer source of insulin-creating stem cells than fertilized eggs," I continue.

"Uh huh."

"Yep. Hey, I had another idea for our fundraiser , "

That's when she stops me.

"Can we not talk about diabetes anymore tonight?"

Susanne is knee-deep in the trenches every day; desperately pulling down high sugars like helium-filled balloons that refuse to stay grounded. She spends other days saving Charlie from catastrophic lows. Saving our family. Making very difficult decisions. Taking blood from him in the wee hours of the night like a vampire. Getting her hands dirty. (READ MORE)