Friday was my endo check up. It's the second appointment that I've had with the new doctor. And I'm still incredibly pleased with how it's going. She is nearly everything that I could ask for in an endo, especially at this point in my life.

I spent about an hour with her, reviewing my logbook and discussing my issues. The best part is that she doesn't make me feel any more guilty than I already do for not doing things 100% all the time with my diabetes. She's understanding and accepting.

We talked about my post-breakfast highs for quite awhile. Everything from trying a lower carb ratio (done, still see highs with nasty lows after) to the types of foods I eat for breakfast. She's on board with my next suggestion of going on Symlin.

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I went to the doctor about my leg again yesterday. A different one. One that I feel much more comfortable with in the whole scheme of things. She seemed confident, personable, and concerned. They asked about my blood sugars, about what had been going on, and all that jazz.

And she believes that the infection is probably from a spider bite that turned into MRSA. Yep, MRSA. The big, scary staph infection. So now I'm sincerely hoping the new course of antibiotics kicks in soon. Because I'm totally run down in body and soul with this whole thing. I'm so exhausted, but can't sleep. I'm in pain. I'm annoyed.

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After church I typically end up sitting down with a few of the members I get to see once and week and catch up.

This Sunday I was sitting with Paul. Paul is an older gentleman who is witty, funny, and sharp as a tack. I believe he is in his late 60's and read all the bible verses that day in church. He used to be a radio announcer so he has an awesome voice.

We asked each other how we were doing and I felt compelled to share my weekend of ridiculously high blood glucose readings.

"I have been sky high all weekend and cannot get my blood sugar down," I told him, not sure if he could sympathize.

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discouraged. No, that's not the right word.  Or maybe it's that it's not the only word.  Cocky is one, disappointed another. Defeated is too strong, but more internalized than disappointed.  Judged for sure, as it really does feel like my "grade". 

Following gestational diabetes, I was "diagnosed" with type 2 by an A1C result of 6.0 by an endocrinologist who shall remain nameless to protect the incompetent. It was later that I discovered that the A1C is NOT a diagnostic tool and you shouldn't be diagnosed by it. 

There was some debate once I changed endos as to whether I was "pre-diabetic" or actually had diabetes.  After several years on metformin, and another round of insulin-dependent gestational diabetes, with only a 0.2 improvement in my A1C, I think the debate is over. (READ MORE)

hisks

Yesterday I posted about my toe problem and I wanted to dig a little deeper into the fear that accompanies any little thing like a spot on my toe.

Ever since I was diagnosed with this stupid disease I have be told horrible stories of all the complications that can happen to me. Going blind, losing a limb, kidney’s failing, heart disease, neuropathy, stroke and more. All very real and very scary stuff.

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aetv.com

Did you see this week's  Intervention on A&E?  The subject of the intervention was John C, a young man with type 1 diabetes.  The episode's on YouTube, this is the link [the show has been removed from YouTube].

Watching his behavior around his diabetes nearly made me physically ill.  He never tested, guessed at insulin doses, didn't count carbs, didn't exercise - it was horrific.  John tests at one point and his meter only returns HI.  I'm surprised the producers didn't call 911.  He also looked like death warmed over - very pale and thin.  In several shots his arms looked as big around as the spindles on my porch railing.  (READ MORE)