Did you ever have one of those days at work when you just couldn't make time for a break?  One of those days when you didn't stop to eat, drink, or go to the restroom?  One of those days when you were fully aware of the need to take a break, but you just couldn't stop for one?

Right about now, that's how life with diabetes is feeling for me. 

I just need a minute to breathe.  A minute to not think about this.  A minute wherein my mind isn't  consumed with my last inexplicable, frustrating number - or with the next test and the mystery and aggravation it could hold.  A minute to not think about the destruction this disease causes - the destruction that it is causing in me. 

And I know that I'm not going to get that minute. 

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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.  Why do these calluses feel so obvious, so hard and unfeminine? 

We are heated and intense.  I am lost in this embrace. My head is floating somewhere in a passionate, dizzy ether. Or am I low?  And if I am, how can I stop and ask for time at this particular moment?  (READ MORE)

I must admit that when I went to bed Monday night I was a little nervous, a little anxious, a little excited about my endo appointment Tuesday morning. In fact, when my fasting was well above 200 on Tuesday I wondered if my nerves had anything to do with it. 

Tuesday's appointment was a follow up for labwork and an ultrasound on my thyroid that I had about 10 days ago. I was pretty sure the lab work (much of which was antibody tests to determine if I am truly type 1 or type 2) would show that I am type 1, but there was still a little part of me that doubted I was right.

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With Carey and George writing about music that moves their diabetes lives, I wanted to add my two cents on this one.

For years now, the song Fitzcarraldo by The Frames has reminded me of the diabetes community and our lives with diabetes. The song Fitzcarraldo is based on a movie from 1982 about a man, Brian Fitzgerald, so enchanted with opera and the singer Enrico Caruso that he takes it upon himself to build an opera house right where he lives.

In the middle of the Peruvian jungle.

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By now I am sure most of you have heard about the “breakthrough” discovery made regarding a possible cure for type 1.

When I saw the report on NBC nightly news I was floored. I sat in my chair staring in front of the TV. My son said, “that is cool huh dad?”

I just looked at him and said, “I guess it is.”

His weird look was probably a mirror of the weird look I felt I had on my face. How was I supposed to feel about this? (READ MORE)

I’m sorry.

I know the first “no no” in blogging is to not post about why you have not posted in a while but still this must be addressed.

Life has been a major downer for me lately. My blood sugars have been through the roof, I have put on almost all the weight I lost while on Weight Watchers, and I moved.

First I will tell you that we had to move, we did not choose to. We were owners and are now renting a home. I am sure you can read between those lines. Being 35 with 2 kids and starting over is not only difficult but extremely depressing. The feeling of being a failure had been engulfing me for months. It has made it hard to write and share that with you all not only because of embarrassment but because I did not want to be a downer. (READ MORE)