Okay, I will warn you up front that this post is a total rant and has no other substance besides the fact that I need to let off some steam. I am also looking for some of you who have dealt with this annoying stereotype.

As I was minding my own business here at my desk the janitor comes up to me and asks me if I have to take shots everyday. I realize that he was listening to a conversation I was having with a co-worker about insulin and so on. A total eavesdropping moment right? So I answer, "nope." And totally leave it at that.

He says, "Oh you got off of insulin. That's good. Just a diet now or pills?"

"No I have an insulin pump."

"There is a gal in another office I clean that has to shoot up every day." Then he does it. He does this sort of motion with his right hand towards his left upturned arm. As if he is shooting up heroin or something right into his vein! (READ MORE)

cotton.org

Most will call it dry mouth or cotton mouth , some might say they have a waterless windpipe or a parched palate, acting disturbed by their unquenched uvula, and yet another might compare it to having a mouthful of sweaters mucking up the place to no end. Whatever alliterative or clothed name it goes by, the sticky mouth feel of a high blood sugar is enough to furrow my brow to its limit. (READ MORE)

Julia

I've often thought about making some sort of subtle statement around the holidays regarding diabetes. It's a tough time of the year when you have diabetes - there are so many sugar-laden treats around and your schedule is usually out of whack so blood sugars and testing can fall by the wayside in the whirl of activities.

So for the last few months, I've been saving Olivia's insulin bottles. I planned on putting them on a string of lights once I had enough and then putting them on the tree.

Last night, I happened to be in CVS, getting my thyroid medication (and gummy bears, as you do) and I saw these Tiny Lights and I thought "Perfect!" I grabbed a box and was on my way.
(READ MORE)

MedToGo

I have a love relationship with my insulin. Every diffused dose I have taken over the years found its way into my system with appreciation, even if it stung like the bejesus at times. Like an addict, the smooth emptying of a syringe or cannula gives me immediate comfort, and I know that my body is staying up to date on its hormonal needs. I know the energy I consume can go to work and my internal hemoglobic labyrinth is not under any stress. (READ MORE)

Multifamily Utility

It took me nearly two months to finally get a solid range of good blood sugar numbers. Many checks would have me hovering in the 200's, only to be followed by a bottomed out low caused by a flagrant over-correction. The devil is in the details when it comes to pumping and I started out with the wrong details! (READ MORE)

Cake. Devil.

I am sitting at the dining room table. Two pieces of cake sit in front of me, in the glass cake holder my mother bought for me. They look amazing, those slabs of cake, with their white frosting and their devil's food cake-i-ness poking through. I stab at the grilled chicken salad with peppers and onions and slivers of carrots on my plate. The salad, which just a few moments earlier had looked so delicious. Now it just seemed pale and loose and green in the shadow of the cake. In the shadow of the devil.

I say, out loud, "Well, just one piece can't be too bad. I mean, I have just had this salad for dinner. And I've barely touched it." (READ MORE)