I was so shocked when I read a comment on my post about finding the right doctor for me that all I could think about was the first line to the response I would write. I just couldn't get past the shock.

The commenter suggested that, in short, I should consider therapy to address my anger issues regarding diabetes. You know what, that person is right. I am angry that I have diabetes. Damn angry. And I should be angry. This disease has the potential to consume my life, affects my family and invades nearly every activity I do. I have a right to be angry.

But this is not the kind of anger that requires therapy. This is the kind of anger that requires action. Finding the right doctor for me – especially in a new city – takes time and knowledge. Knowledge of my body, my condition, my desire for quality healthcare. (READ MORE)

I scoured my insurance company's database for an endocrinologist that was neither too far away, whose primary language wasn't something other than English and who got their medical degree from a school I actually recognized.

Like I said, I scoured. I got frustrated. Extremely frustrated. I'm in the fifth-largest city in the nation whose population consists of the elderly, Hispanics and a number of Indian groups -- all of whom are especially prone to diabetes. Why isn't there an endo on every stinking corner?!

I finally gave up on finding a doctor in network and decided to fork over whatever out-of-network charges my insurance company won't cover for a doctor I'll actually enjoy visiting with.

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I’m mad.

It’s not even lunch time on the day of my appointment and already I’m looking for a new endo.

I’m mad. But mostly I think I’m homesick for Dr. C and his practice. I’m not sure I can put my thoughts together coherently, so you’re being subjected to my morning in bullet points.

• I don’t remember how I settled on this doctor, but it seems to me that his office was the closest one for a doctor whose credentials didn’t come from the University of Guatemala or University of the Phillipines.

• In the waiting room I sat. And sat. I sat too long considering my appointment was at 8 a.m. Once I got in a room I sat. And sat. I sat too long considering I barely had time to think about picking up a magazine at Dr. C’s office much less actually read several articles.

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Tomorrow morning we go to CHOP (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia) to meet Charlie's new team of endos, nurses, dieticians, social workers and pump experts. I think it's like a seven-hour affair.

I must say, CHOP had me at "Insulin Pump and Technology Team." Charlie's prior endos didn't impress me with their pump know-how. With the pump being largely responsible for his survival, I saw this as a big problem. I became smitten when I saw that CHOP's pump team alone was equal in size to that of the attending physicians at the old place.

Charlie is also "pumped up" for tomorrow. Sorry, that was horrendous. Turning off awful pun mode now [click]. Of course Charlie has his own incentive-driven motivation.

"Mom, will I get that big shot tomorrow?" (he means bloodwork)

"I don't know, Susanne responds."

"It's been a while," he says, as if reminiscing of the good 'ole days of burning needle pain and screams so loud they set off fire sprinklers. (READ MORE)

I took Charlie to his endo appointment yesterday. It was the first time we didn't come with an unraveling scroll full of questions. I had no questions because I believe they have no answers.

It's not that Charlie is doing so poorly. His latest A1c of 8.2 was his best ever. But his numbers have been rough since school started and patterns have become difficult to spot.

A pair of medical students entered the room with big smiles and lots of questions. I couldn't help sounding very matter of fact and slightly defeatist.

"Yes, we're counting carbs correctly. Reading labels, subtracting fiber, all that fun stuff," I said.

"Yes, we have the Calorie King book."

A social worker came in next. She looked young - like she just came from cheerleading practice. (READ MORE)