I am going to begin this, my very first blog post here, with a confession.

I have fallen off the wagon.

Not the booze wagon; even before my type 2 diagnosis in February 2006, my drinky drink days were mostly behind me. (College was fun, from what I remember.) No, the wagon I have fallen off of is the healthy living, weight-losing, diabetic-under-control wagon.

When I was diagnosed last year, my a1c was hovering above 10, and I was about 35 pounds overweight. I was also terrified. I was 38 years old, with that big number (let's call it "thirty-ten") lurking in the near future. My own father died at the age of fifty-one after about twenty years of poorly managed diabetes. I was determined that this wouldn't be me. (READ MORE)

doctorhousingbubble.com

I have many friends with type 1 diabetes. I have a few friends and many relatives with type 2 diabetes. I possibly have the MOST boring diagnosis story I have ever heard.

In 2003 I was pregnant with my son. I was given a glucose tolerance test at 28 weeks gestation. If you've never had one of these; they make you fast 12 hours and go to the lab first thing. They draw blood, then you drink a nasty syrupy concoction that is 75 grams of glucose.

They draw blood again after 1 hour and again after another hour. Then I asked the nurse for a place to lie down and I crashed out (my first clue my results might be high). In an hour, they woke me and drew more blood then sent me on my way. (READ MORE)

Turbo Squid

It has been three years, seven months, and fourteen days since I was first sitting on that powder keg in the emergency room. I sat with my parents as my blood sugar was checked for the first time and the diagnosis was made. As plain as day, the doctor said the string of words I had never known before that time, type-1 diabetes. (READ MORE)

I got the call at work. I can't remember the date, but I'm pretty sure it was the day after No. 1's fifth birthday.

I have a pretty casual relationship with the nurse practitioner I see. I'm sure that's why he felt comfortable giving me the news at work instead of calling me into his office to drop the diabetes diagnosis bomb on me. I had been seeing Harry for several years, mainly for a host of small things and because it was pretty easy to get in to see Harry on short notice. Need to see the doctor? Can you wait two days? Need to see Harry? Can you be here in 20 minutes? Not to take anything away from his skills or anything, but I've established that I'm not a patient person. (READ MORE)

Thanksgiving reminded me of my diagnosis. No, diabetes wasn't on my "thankful for" list. It's actually around the time of year when I was diagnosed.

Thanksgiving 2003, I had what I thought would be my last slice of pumpkin pie. My aunt made it, using my grandmother's "secret" recipe (hint, it's on the back of the Libby's can). Since I was about to be diagnosed with diabetes, I savored every bite.

My diagnosis came pretty much by accident. On Wednesday of that week, I went to the doctor thinking I had a urinary tract infection, but that wasn't the case. My urine sample showed a lot of sugar and a finger stick pretty much confirmed the doctor's suspicions. I was still send for lab work-a fasting glucose and an a1c test-but as the doctor said, glucometers don't lie. (READ MORE)

When I woke up this morning I didn't notice anything different. I heard my kids running around getting their stuff together for school. I sat up and walked directly to the bathroom to shave and shower as I do every day. I turned on the water and sat my pump on the counter just like yesterday and a lot like tomorrow.

Before I wet my face I caught of glimpse of myself in the mirror and stared at the infusion site on my stomach. I saw this medical device stuck to me like an IV or something. I noticed the curliness of the 43" tubing running from the site to my pump. I looked at my face and saw a tired guy. A guy that has a lot of choices and plans foiled because of this disease. (READ MORE)