My brother and sister-in-law found out yesterday that their one month old son - my nephew - Daniel - has severe cataracts in both of his eyes.
The condition is rare, but treatable. They'll perform a surgery to remove the faulty lenses, but will be unable to replace them with the artificial lenses as happens with cataract surgery in adults. Apparently, infants have a greater tendency to reject the articial lenses. For the first several years of his life, he'll wear some sort of corrective lenses and he'll face surgery to remove scar tissue and replace the lens somewhere along the way. The first surgeries are scheduled for next Monday -- and if all goes well, the following Tuesday.
I have a great deal of respect for my younger brother - he is handling the situation, and his concern, with his usual calm, controlled, and positive attitude. This is of great help to his wife, her parents, and my parents who are all, understandably, beside themselves with worry.
I am asking for your help in sending some good energy our family's way. If you pray, we'd appreciate your prayers, if you don't, we're grateful for your positive thoughts and meditations.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
More interview answers
Ack! I've fallen into the trap... Again, if you'd like to be interviewed, let me know. But, my new rule is that I shall not reinterview.
Kerri's questions:
1. Name two things you could do as a child but you can’t do now. Why don’t you do those things as an adult?
When I was a kid, I fully enjoyed running around naked. I have sort of funny proof, a recording which, my father, in his efforts to document my most embarrassing moments, transferred from Super 8 to DVD for everyone's viewing pleasure. The DVD shows a few hundred people at a family pig roast. The BBQ pit is flaming, there are kids playing ball in a field, moms and dads eating and drinking beer... And then you see me -- a little girl of maybe 4 running, stark naked, through the frame. Next, the camera shudders and shakes and you see my father in plaid shorts and a white t-shirt take off me, clearly displeased. Finally, you see my mother -- doing everything she can to stifle her grin, stepping into the frame carrying my sundress. My father does finally catch up with me and my parents dress me again. It's not the only documentation of my nudist habits. To be honest, I'd be happy to live my life naked. Alas, if I did the same thing at a cook out today people would be horrified and I'd get arrested.
I was also incredibly flexible and bouncy when I was younger. I could perform front and back handsprings, front flips with no hands, and I could do all three splits. I can still manage one split. The rest has been lost to my age -- and injuries. A broken wrist robbed me of the ability to do any kind of handspring. Last but not least, my fear of hurting something else makes it impossible for me to even attempt a handless front flip.
2. Martians have invaded your house and are demanding to be taken to your leader. Who would you take them to and why?
I'd take them next door to my neighbor Gertrude.
She's 95 years old. She's the oldest person that I know -- as a result, she has the most experience. She's lived through two World Wars, Viet Nam, Korea, the Depression, countless presidencies. She has voted in every election, including local elections, since the early 1940s.
She's been dirt poor. She worked until she was 75 and her husband got sick. She has faced and beaten cancer twice. She's had a child stillborn. She lost her father to suicide, her mother to a heart attack and all of her four sisters and brothers. She has known joy, love, pain, grief. She is also incredibly honest and not shy about sharing her point of view.
I believe that our world's true leaders are people like Gertrude -- people who have worked for everything they have, who've weathered the best and the worst of times, who remember what it was like to do without, to sacrifice, to fight, and who are candid in expressing their opinions and their emotions.
3. Fast Forward: You’re 82 years old. Someone asks you what life was like when you were 32. What do you tell them?
The World was scary when I was 32, but it was also wonderful. I lived with the love of my life, Bob, in a little house in Seekonk; we had a great cat named Rosie who talked and drank water from the sink. Bob played in a rock-n-roll band called The McGunks. I worked raising money for various organizations -- changing the world a little bit at a time. I felt pretty strongly the world needed changing.
In America, we'd weathered some rough times. Our president was completely ineffective, we were in the midst of one of the wars in Iraq, and at home, the Congress and President seemed to propose or pass frightening legislation everyday -- making cuts in programs that couldn't afford it, trying to take the easy way out of problems like the lack of healthcare and insurance and the depleting of social security funds and pushing policies that further marginalized communities who were already getting the short end of the stick.
Here and overseas, the potential of terrorist attacks loomed in the minds of everyone.
Oh, and I lived with diabetes back then. Of course, you know they cured that a long time ago. But then, I wore an insulin pump -- the latest in a line of new technologies that helped people to get good control of the disease and delay or prevent the onset of complications. I still test my bloodsugar occassionally, but that certainly beats the eight to fourteen times that were required when I relied on synthetic insulin.
I'll tell you more some other time. Right now, I'm going to have some tea and sit out on the porch in the sunlight.
4. What scares you to the very core?
Failure and the possiblity of losing my eyesight.
Failure covers a number of areas. My diabetes, my job, my relationships... I hate the idea that I might screw something up. I hate the idea of growing old and having nothing to show for it or having only a pile of regret to show for it.
The eyesight business stems mostly from the diabetes. This possible complication scares the crap out of me, because I consider sight my most important sense.
5. Why do you blog?
I blog to be heard. I blog because I think my perspective might help someone, might be valuable. I blog because I love to write and I think I'm pretty good at it. And, I blog because I value the community that comes along with blogging.
Kassie's questions:
1. You have $1000, 1 hour shopping spree. Where would you go, and what would you buy?
At the moment, I am obsessed with redecorating the house Bob and I are moving into this summer. So, I would first go to Home Depot and buy the paint we need, the supplies to paint with, and the hardware for the cabinets we're refinishing.
Then, I'd head to Linens and Things or another place for bedding/curtains and buy all new sheets, comforters, pillows, duvets and covers -- oh, and curtains and curtain rods and shower curtains and shower curtain rod.
Last, I'd head to Ikea and spend whatever was left on odds and ends and possibly furniture (it's cheap there.)
2. How would you describe a low in 10 words or less?
Drowning in confusion, my body numbs, later I don't remember.
3. Where would you most like to visit?
I would very much love to visit Ireland and Scotland again. There are no more welcoming places in the world for me. The people, the land, the castles and buildings, the history, the artwork, the wind and the rain and the shady sunlight. I miss them, even though I've only known them for a short time.
4. If you had 2 uninterrupted minutes to speak with the President, what would you say?
To be honest, I'd be reluctant to meet with the current President. I think it would be a complete waste of my time. It's not just that the man is not very bright (I mean, he is the "decider" right?), it's that I think his mind is as closed to new ideas, differing perspectives and opinions, and alternative ways of thinking as a human's mind can be. I would probably ask for two interrupted minutes with someone in power who might actually listen and care.
Having said that, if there was no other option, I'd take the two minutes to share as much as I could of my perspective on stem cell research and the importance of medical care for all people (I'd do everything I could to make him *hear* that people's lives are affected by his decisions and that these issues are of vital importance.)
5. You're in charge at Ben & Jerry's for the day: what flavor ice cream do you invent?
Chocoalmondzilla. That is, vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and both white and milk chocolate covered almonds.
Kerri's questions:
1. Name two things you could do as a child but you can’t do now. Why don’t you do those things as an adult?
When I was a kid, I fully enjoyed running around naked. I have sort of funny proof, a recording which, my father, in his efforts to document my most embarrassing moments, transferred from Super 8 to DVD for everyone's viewing pleasure. The DVD shows a few hundred people at a family pig roast. The BBQ pit is flaming, there are kids playing ball in a field, moms and dads eating and drinking beer... And then you see me -- a little girl of maybe 4 running, stark naked, through the frame. Next, the camera shudders and shakes and you see my father in plaid shorts and a white t-shirt take off me, clearly displeased. Finally, you see my mother -- doing everything she can to stifle her grin, stepping into the frame carrying my sundress. My father does finally catch up with me and my parents dress me again. It's not the only documentation of my nudist habits. To be honest, I'd be happy to live my life naked. Alas, if I did the same thing at a cook out today people would be horrified and I'd get arrested.
I was also incredibly flexible and bouncy when I was younger. I could perform front and back handsprings, front flips with no hands, and I could do all three splits. I can still manage one split. The rest has been lost to my age -- and injuries. A broken wrist robbed me of the ability to do any kind of handspring. Last but not least, my fear of hurting something else makes it impossible for me to even attempt a handless front flip.
2. Martians have invaded your house and are demanding to be taken to your leader. Who would you take them to and why?
I'd take them next door to my neighbor Gertrude.
She's 95 years old. She's the oldest person that I know -- as a result, she has the most experience. She's lived through two World Wars, Viet Nam, Korea, the Depression, countless presidencies. She has voted in every election, including local elections, since the early 1940s.
She's been dirt poor. She worked until she was 75 and her husband got sick. She has faced and beaten cancer twice. She's had a child stillborn. She lost her father to suicide, her mother to a heart attack and all of her four sisters and brothers. She has known joy, love, pain, grief. She is also incredibly honest and not shy about sharing her point of view.
I believe that our world's true leaders are people like Gertrude -- people who have worked for everything they have, who've weathered the best and the worst of times, who remember what it was like to do without, to sacrifice, to fight, and who are candid in expressing their opinions and their emotions.
3. Fast Forward: You’re 82 years old. Someone asks you what life was like when you were 32. What do you tell them?
The World was scary when I was 32, but it was also wonderful. I lived with the love of my life, Bob, in a little house in Seekonk; we had a great cat named Rosie who talked and drank water from the sink. Bob played in a rock-n-roll band called The McGunks. I worked raising money for various organizations -- changing the world a little bit at a time. I felt pretty strongly the world needed changing.
In America, we'd weathered some rough times. Our president was completely ineffective, we were in the midst of one of the wars in Iraq, and at home, the Congress and President seemed to propose or pass frightening legislation everyday -- making cuts in programs that couldn't afford it, trying to take the easy way out of problems like the lack of healthcare and insurance and the depleting of social security funds and pushing policies that further marginalized communities who were already getting the short end of the stick.
Here and overseas, the potential of terrorist attacks loomed in the minds of everyone.
Oh, and I lived with diabetes back then. Of course, you know they cured that a long time ago. But then, I wore an insulin pump -- the latest in a line of new technologies that helped people to get good control of the disease and delay or prevent the onset of complications. I still test my bloodsugar occassionally, but that certainly beats the eight to fourteen times that were required when I relied on synthetic insulin.
I'll tell you more some other time. Right now, I'm going to have some tea and sit out on the porch in the sunlight.
4. What scares you to the very core?
Failure and the possiblity of losing my eyesight.
Failure covers a number of areas. My diabetes, my job, my relationships... I hate the idea that I might screw something up. I hate the idea of growing old and having nothing to show for it or having only a pile of regret to show for it.
The eyesight business stems mostly from the diabetes. This possible complication scares the crap out of me, because I consider sight my most important sense.
5. Why do you blog?
I blog to be heard. I blog because I think my perspective might help someone, might be valuable. I blog because I love to write and I think I'm pretty good at it. And, I blog because I value the community that comes along with blogging.
Kassie's questions:
1. You have $1000, 1 hour shopping spree. Where would you go, and what would you buy?
At the moment, I am obsessed with redecorating the house Bob and I are moving into this summer. So, I would first go to Home Depot and buy the paint we need, the supplies to paint with, and the hardware for the cabinets we're refinishing.
Then, I'd head to Linens and Things or another place for bedding/curtains and buy all new sheets, comforters, pillows, duvets and covers -- oh, and curtains and curtain rods and shower curtains and shower curtain rod.
Last, I'd head to Ikea and spend whatever was left on odds and ends and possibly furniture (it's cheap there.)
2. How would you describe a low in 10 words or less?
Drowning in confusion, my body numbs, later I don't remember.
3. Where would you most like to visit?
I would very much love to visit Ireland and Scotland again. There are no more welcoming places in the world for me. The people, the land, the castles and buildings, the history, the artwork, the wind and the rain and the shady sunlight. I miss them, even though I've only known them for a short time.
4. If you had 2 uninterrupted minutes to speak with the President, what would you say?
To be honest, I'd be reluctant to meet with the current President. I think it would be a complete waste of my time. It's not just that the man is not very bright (I mean, he is the "decider" right?), it's that I think his mind is as closed to new ideas, differing perspectives and opinions, and alternative ways of thinking as a human's mind can be. I would probably ask for two interrupted minutes with someone in power who might actually listen and care.
Having said that, if there was no other option, I'd take the two minutes to share as much as I could of my perspective on stem cell research and the importance of medical care for all people (I'd do everything I could to make him *hear* that people's lives are affected by his decisions and that these issues are of vital importance.)
5. You're in charge at Ben & Jerry's for the day: what flavor ice cream do you invent?
Chocoalmondzilla. That is, vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and both white and milk chocolate covered almonds.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Score One for the Team
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
s 1955 Today!
Please head over to Kassie's blog today for information about s 1955, it is vital that our community -- and others -- oppose this Bill in every way possible!
It's going to be close and the consequences of its passing would be dire.
Noncompliant on s 1955 May 3, 2006
It's going to be close and the consequences of its passing would be dire.
Noncompliant on s 1955 May 3, 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
You Know Why?
Chicken Thigh.
I am more aware of my pump site today than I have been in the entire time I've worn a pump. The connector sits on my thigh, a white island in the sea of peachy skin that is my thigh. It doesn't hurt -- in fact, there's no discomfort whatsoever -- but it's more *there* than is usual.
I have always been a stomach and butt girl when it's come to my diabetes. For years, I insisted on giving my shots in those two areas -- and those two areas alone. My mother begged, pleaded, and bribed me into trying my arms and legs and hips, but when I did use them, it was infrequently and always very trying. I would work myself into a frenzy worrying about how much it might hurt, how the bruises might look, how much more the insulin might sting. So, naturally, when I got my pump, I returned to the areas that were most comfortable and over the past several years my poor stomach and butt have become a field of red dots that never seem to go away.
Then Julia posted this about her daughter and the need to try a new site. I guess it is both an advantage and a disadvantage to have one's own trials with diabetes, and one's own fears and worries about trying new things around the disease, posted on the internet. An advantage because you must realize that you're not alone when you read about your own misgivings in someone else's words. A disadvantage, because, if you're anything like me, you feel more compelled to take action when someone points out that the problem that you've been fooling yourself into thinking is really no problem at all is an issue that you must address.
Last night, I put my very first pump site into my thigh. I will admit that I worked myself into the usual frenzy, worrying about hitting something and hurting myself and stinging insulin -- and worrying about all the pump issues accompanying this new site -- Am I going to pull it out? Will this pose a problem getting dressed? Am I going to drop my pump in the toilet when I try to go to the bathroom? What about the gym?
My mind raced as I pressed the needle against my thigh and took a good deep breath. I was shocked at the lack of discomfort -- at the absence of pain as I pushed the needle through and secured the connector to my skin. And there was no extra insulin sting when I filled the cannula and when I gave my first bolus through the site. I slept through the night without pulling the site free and have successfully maneuvered the bathroom process without any floating pump issues.
Goofy as this probably sounds, I felt more proud of myself (related to my diabetes) today than I have in quite a long time. Once again, I muscled through anxiety and fear and I came out ahead of this disease.
I surprised myself... You know why?
Chicken Thigh.
I am more aware of my pump site today than I have been in the entire time I've worn a pump. The connector sits on my thigh, a white island in the sea of peachy skin that is my thigh. It doesn't hurt -- in fact, there's no discomfort whatsoever -- but it's more *there* than is usual.
I have always been a stomach and butt girl when it's come to my diabetes. For years, I insisted on giving my shots in those two areas -- and those two areas alone. My mother begged, pleaded, and bribed me into trying my arms and legs and hips, but when I did use them, it was infrequently and always very trying. I would work myself into a frenzy worrying about how much it might hurt, how the bruises might look, how much more the insulin might sting. So, naturally, when I got my pump, I returned to the areas that were most comfortable and over the past several years my poor stomach and butt have become a field of red dots that never seem to go away.
Then Julia posted this about her daughter and the need to try a new site. I guess it is both an advantage and a disadvantage to have one's own trials with diabetes, and one's own fears and worries about trying new things around the disease, posted on the internet. An advantage because you must realize that you're not alone when you read about your own misgivings in someone else's words. A disadvantage, because, if you're anything like me, you feel more compelled to take action when someone points out that the problem that you've been fooling yourself into thinking is really no problem at all is an issue that you must address.
Last night, I put my very first pump site into my thigh. I will admit that I worked myself into the usual frenzy, worrying about hitting something and hurting myself and stinging insulin -- and worrying about all the pump issues accompanying this new site -- Am I going to pull it out? Will this pose a problem getting dressed? Am I going to drop my pump in the toilet when I try to go to the bathroom? What about the gym?
My mind raced as I pressed the needle against my thigh and took a good deep breath. I was shocked at the lack of discomfort -- at the absence of pain as I pushed the needle through and secured the connector to my skin. And there was no extra insulin sting when I filled the cannula and when I gave my first bolus through the site. I slept through the night without pulling the site free and have successfully maneuvered the bathroom process without any floating pump issues.
Goofy as this probably sounds, I felt more proud of myself (related to my diabetes) today than I have in quite a long time. Once again, I muscled through anxiety and fear and I came out ahead of this disease.
I surprised myself... You know why?
Chicken Thigh.
What have you read?
A Book Meme from the OC. My appetite for books is actually showing through on this one...
Instructions: Bold the ones you've read. Italicize the ones you've been wanting/might like to read. ??Place question marks by any titles/authors you've never heard of?? Plus I'm adding this, as Turtlebella noted that the choice of books by each author is a mite idiosyncratic: put an asterisk if you've read something else by the same author.
Allcott, Louisa May Little Women
Allende, Isabel The House of Spirits
Angelou, Maya I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Atwood, Margaret Cat's Eye
Austen, Jane Emma*
Bambara, Toni Cade Salt Eaters?
Barnes, Djuna Nightwoodde?
Beauvoir, Simone The Second Sex
Blume, Judy Are You There God? It's Me Margaret
Burnett, Frances The Secret Garden
Bronte, Charlotte Jane Eyre
Bronte, Emily Wuthering Heights
Buck, Pearl S. The Good Earth
Byatt, A.S. Possession
Cather, Willa My Antonia*
Chopin, Kate The Awakening
Christie, Agatha Murder on the Orient Express
Cisneros, Sandra The House on Mango Street?
Clinton, Hillary Rodham Living History
Cooper, Anna Julia A Voice From the South
Danticat, Edwidge Breath, Eyes, Memory?
Davis, Angela Women, Culture, and Politics
Desai, Anita Clear Light of Day?
Dickinson, Emily Collected Poems
Duncan, Lois I Know What You Did Last Summer
DuMaurier, Daphne Rebecca
Eliot, George Middlemarch
Emecheta, Buchi Second Class Citizen?
Erdrich, Louise Tracks
Esquivel, Laura Like Water for Chocolate
Flagg, Fannie Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe
Friedan, Betty The Feminine Mystique
Frank, Anne Diary of a Young Girl
Gilman, Charlotte Perkins The Yellow Wallpaper
Gordimer, Nadine July's People?
Grafton, Sue S is for Silence
Hamilton, Edith Mythology?
Highsmith, Patricia The Talented Mr. Ripley
Hooks, Bell Bone Black
Hurston, Zora Neale Tracks on the Road
Jacobs, Harriet Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl
Jackson, Helen Hunt Ramona
Jackson, Shirley The Haunting of Hill House
Jong, Erica Fear of Flying*
Keene, Carolyn The Nancy Drew Mysteries
Kidd, Sue Monk The Secret Life of Bees
Kincaid, Jamaica Lucy?
Kingsolver, Barbara The Poisonwood Bible
Kingston, Maxine Hong The Woman Warrior
Larsen, Nella Passing
L'Engle, Madeleine A Wrinkle in Time
Le Guin, Ursula K. The Left Hand of Darkness?
Lee, Harper To Kill a Mockingbird
Lessing, Doris The Golden Notebook
Lively, Penelope Moon Tiger?
Lorde, Audre The Cancer Journals
Martin, Ann M. The Babysitters Club Series
McCullers, Carson The Member of the Wedding?
McMillan, Terry Disappearing Acts
Markandaya, Kamala Nectar in a Sieve?
Marshall, Paule Brown Girl, Brownstones
Mitchell, Margaret Gone with the Wind
Montgomery, Lucy Maudâ Anne of Green Gables
Morgan, Joan When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost?
Morrison, Toni Song of Solomon*
Murasaki, Lady Shikibu The Tale of Genji?
Munro, Alice Lives of Girls and Women
Murdoch, Iris Severed Head
Naylor, Gloria Mama Day
Niffenegger, Audrey The Time Traveller's Wife
Oates, Joyce Carol We Were the Mulvaneys*
O'Connor, Flannery A Good Man is Hard to Find
Piercy, Marge Woman on the Edge of Time?
Picoult, Jodi My Sister's Keeper
Plath, Sylvia The Bell Jar
Porter, Katharine Anne Ship of Fools
Proulx, E. Annie The Shipping News
Rand, Ayn The Fountainhead
Ray, Rachel 365: No Repeats?
Rhys, Jean Wide Sargasso Sea
Robinson, Marilynne Housekeeping?
Rocha, Sharon For Laci
Sebold, Alice The Lovely Bones
Shelley, Mary Frankenstein
Smith, Betty A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Smith, Zadie White Teeth
Spark, Muriel The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
Spyri, Johanna Heidi?
Strout, Elizabeth Amy and Isabelle
Steel, Danielle The House
Tan, Amy The Joy Luck Club
Tannen, Deborah You're Wearing That?
Ulrich, Laurel A Midwife's Tale
Urquhart, Jane Away
Walker, Alice The Temple of My Familiar
Welty, Eudora One Writer's Beginnings
Wharton, Edith Age of Innocence
Wilder, Laura Ingalls Little House in the Big Woods
Wollstonecraft, Mary A Vindication of the Rights of Women
Woolf, Virginia A Room of One's Own*
Instructions: Bold the ones you've read. Italicize the ones you've been wanting/might like to read. ??Place question marks by any titles/authors you've never heard of?? Plus I'm adding this, as Turtlebella noted that the choice of books by each author is a mite idiosyncratic: put an asterisk if you've read something else by the same author.
Allcott, Louisa May Little Women
Allende, Isabel The House of Spirits
Angelou, Maya I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Atwood, Margaret Cat's Eye
Austen, Jane Emma*
Bambara, Toni Cade Salt Eaters?
Barnes, Djuna Nightwoodde?
Beauvoir, Simone The Second Sex
Blume, Judy Are You There God? It's Me Margaret
Burnett, Frances The Secret Garden
Bronte, Charlotte Jane Eyre
Bronte, Emily Wuthering Heights
Buck, Pearl S. The Good Earth
Byatt, A.S. Possession
Cather, Willa My Antonia*
Chopin, Kate The Awakening
Christie, Agatha Murder on the Orient Express
Cisneros, Sandra The House on Mango Street?
Clinton, Hillary Rodham Living History
Cooper, Anna Julia A Voice From the South
Danticat, Edwidge Breath, Eyes, Memory?
Davis, Angela Women, Culture, and Politics
Desai, Anita Clear Light of Day?
Dickinson, Emily Collected Poems
Duncan, Lois I Know What You Did Last Summer
DuMaurier, Daphne Rebecca
Eliot, George Middlemarch
Emecheta, Buchi Second Class Citizen?
Erdrich, Louise Tracks
Esquivel, Laura Like Water for Chocolate
Flagg, Fannie Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe
Friedan, Betty The Feminine Mystique
Frank, Anne Diary of a Young Girl
Gilman, Charlotte Perkins The Yellow Wallpaper
Gordimer, Nadine July's People?
Grafton, Sue S is for Silence
Hamilton, Edith Mythology?
Highsmith, Patricia The Talented Mr. Ripley
Hooks, Bell Bone Black
Hurston, Zora Neale Tracks on the Road
Jacobs, Harriet Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl
Jackson, Helen Hunt Ramona
Jackson, Shirley The Haunting of Hill House
Jong, Erica Fear of Flying*
Keene, Carolyn The Nancy Drew Mysteries
Kidd, Sue Monk The Secret Life of Bees
Kincaid, Jamaica Lucy?
Kingsolver, Barbara The Poisonwood Bible
Kingston, Maxine Hong The Woman Warrior
Larsen, Nella Passing
L'Engle, Madeleine A Wrinkle in Time
Le Guin, Ursula K. The Left Hand of Darkness?
Lee, Harper To Kill a Mockingbird
Lessing, Doris The Golden Notebook
Lively, Penelope Moon Tiger?
Lorde, Audre The Cancer Journals
Martin, Ann M. The Babysitters Club Series
McCullers, Carson The Member of the Wedding?
McMillan, Terry Disappearing Acts
Markandaya, Kamala Nectar in a Sieve?
Marshall, Paule Brown Girl, Brownstones
Mitchell, Margaret Gone with the Wind
Montgomery, Lucy Maudâ Anne of Green Gables
Morgan, Joan When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost?
Morrison, Toni Song of Solomon*
Murasaki, Lady Shikibu The Tale of Genji?
Munro, Alice Lives of Girls and Women
Murdoch, Iris Severed Head
Naylor, Gloria Mama Day
Niffenegger, Audrey The Time Traveller's Wife
Oates, Joyce Carol We Were the Mulvaneys*
O'Connor, Flannery A Good Man is Hard to Find
Piercy, Marge Woman on the Edge of Time?
Picoult, Jodi My Sister's Keeper
Plath, Sylvia The Bell Jar
Porter, Katharine Anne Ship of Fools
Proulx, E. Annie The Shipping News
Rand, Ayn The Fountainhead
Ray, Rachel 365: No Repeats?
Rhys, Jean Wide Sargasso Sea
Robinson, Marilynne Housekeeping?
Rocha, Sharon For Laci
Sebold, Alice The Lovely Bones
Shelley, Mary Frankenstein
Smith, Betty A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Smith, Zadie White Teeth
Spark, Muriel The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
Spyri, Johanna Heidi?
Strout, Elizabeth Amy and Isabelle
Steel, Danielle The House
Tan, Amy The Joy Luck Club
Tannen, Deborah You're Wearing That?
Ulrich, Laurel A Midwife's Tale
Urquhart, Jane Away
Walker, Alice The Temple of My Familiar
Welty, Eudora One Writer's Beginnings
Wharton, Edith Age of Innocence
Wilder, Laura Ingalls Little House in the Big Woods
Wollstonecraft, Mary A Vindication of the Rights of Women
Woolf, Virginia A Room of One's Own*
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
More on S1955
Clearly, our phone calls and emails to our Senators has made some difference in the fight against this dangerous legislation.
You know how I know?
Because Senate leaders have pushed the vote on this bill back until after the Easter recess, because they don't believe they have the votes they need to pass S. 1955. Most advocacy based organiztions fighting against the bill (and for it) believe the vote will come early during the week beginning May 1st.
So, now's the time to continue the fight.
If you have not contacted your Senators, please do so now...
Information here.
Talking points here.
If you visit in person or want more information to send/leave with your Senators you can find that here.
Finally, if you've already contacted your Senators, please take a moment to forward this information to as many folks as you can and ask them to do the same.
You know how I know?
Because Senate leaders have pushed the vote on this bill back until after the Easter recess, because they don't believe they have the votes they need to pass S. 1955. Most advocacy based organiztions fighting against the bill (and for it) believe the vote will come early during the week beginning May 1st.
So, now's the time to continue the fight.
If you have not contacted your Senators, please do so now...
Information here.
Talking points here.
If you visit in person or want more information to send/leave with your Senators you can find that here.
Finally, if you've already contacted your Senators, please take a moment to forward this information to as many folks as you can and ask them to do the same.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Your Chance
When I was diagnosed with diabetes, health insurance companies in Massachusetts were under no obligation to pay for diabetes supplies - supplies like test strips and lancets, syringes and insulin. Because the cost of these items was astronomical, and because my parents weren't flush with extra cash, we made do. Other diabetics diagnosed before or during the early 80s, I'm sure, have similar stories to mine -- cutting test strips, both urine and blood strips into fours, wiping the tips of lancets with alcohol and using them multiple times (yeah, yeah, I know -- since that time, I've dropped the alcohol from that equation), sterilizing syringes in boiling water to get multiple uses from them.
At eleven years old, I was approached at an American Diabetes Association Family Weekend -- held at the Clara Barton Camp and asked to become a Diabetes Youth Advocate for the ADA's Annual Youth Congress held in Washington, DC. Interested as I was in issues around diabetes, and with a talent for and comfort with public speaking, I agreed to give it a go. Now -- this wasn't just a free trip to DC -- Youth Advocates were expected to advocate on a statewide level for diabetes-related issues and were expected to make regular appearances - in front of city groups, other kids with diabetes, etc year round. Additionally, I attended meetings at ADA headquarters in Framingham and volunteered at ADA events.
So -- I was introduced to diabetes issues early. I am proud to say that as a teenager, I helped to ensure that the Americans with Disabilites Act was passed and signed into law.
I was also part of the ADA team that fought for legislation that mandated insurance coverage for people with diabetes in Massachusetts. Youth advocates and their families and other people with diabetes and other chronic medical conditions fought to pass similar legislation in 45 other states.
Now -- it's your turn. The piece that follows is partly excerpted from an email from the American Diabetes Association. It discusses a bill that's in the United States Senate right now that, if passed, could have an impact on people living with type 1 and type 2 diabetes around the country. Please take a moment to read the piece, poke around and research a bit if you need to, and consider making a call to your U.S. Senators asking them to oppose this legislation.
With the help of thousands of Americans like you, the ADA has helped to pass laws requiring insurers to cover diabetes education, equipment, and supplies in small business health policies in 46 states. To date, our supporters have helped protect those 46 state laws from being rolled back by opposing misguided bills in state legislatures or by opposing AHP legislation in Congress.
Without question, these 46 state laws face their gravest threat yet from a bill in the US Senate.
S. 1955, also known as the Health Insurance Marketplace Modernization and Affordability Act, would not only allow the creation of AHPs that can skirt the 46 state laws for small business health plans, it would also allow all state-regulated health insurance policies to bypass those laws. This means that in addition to small business health plans, all state-regulated health insurance -- like individual policies, for example -- would also lose their guarantee of required coverage of lifesaving diabetes items.
Supporters of this bill believe they are helping more Americans get health insurance coverage. However, coverage under these policies either covers diabetes needs inadequately or prices them out of reach of many Americans if it covers those needs at all. In short, S. 1955 will be devastating for millions of people with diabetes across the country.
Despite a strong effort by Advocates from the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions (HELP) Committee members' states, S. 1955 passed in that Committee by a vote of 11-9 on Tuesday. Now this bill will go to the Senate floor for a vote. If there was ever a time for you to take action -- emailing your Senators, calling them, or visiting them -- this is it.
We strongly urge you to send an email and fax to your Senators at minimum (below). If you understand the seriousness of this situation and want to put up our best fight to preserve insurance coverage for people with diabetes, here's how you can help further:
Call your Senators:
This link will give you the phone numbers, addresses, and email addresses for your US Senators:
Call or email today!
You can find talking points regarding opposition to S. 1955 here:
Get talking points on what to say opposing S.1955.
Visit your Senators during their recess (it begins tomorrow afternoon):
You will need to call your Senators' District Offices in your State and schedule a meeting. You can find that information by clicking the link above for phone numbers/contact information and then clicking on your specific Senators name when you find it.
If you visit, bring this document to help with what to say, then leave it behind with the Senators or their staffers.
Call some friends and make an outing of it! I speak from experience -- you'll be amazed at how empowering it is.
Stepping down from Soapbox and returning to work now...
At eleven years old, I was approached at an American Diabetes Association Family Weekend -- held at the Clara Barton Camp and asked to become a Diabetes Youth Advocate for the ADA's Annual Youth Congress held in Washington, DC. Interested as I was in issues around diabetes, and with a talent for and comfort with public speaking, I agreed to give it a go. Now -- this wasn't just a free trip to DC -- Youth Advocates were expected to advocate on a statewide level for diabetes-related issues and were expected to make regular appearances - in front of city groups, other kids with diabetes, etc year round. Additionally, I attended meetings at ADA headquarters in Framingham and volunteered at ADA events.
So -- I was introduced to diabetes issues early. I am proud to say that as a teenager, I helped to ensure that the Americans with Disabilites Act was passed and signed into law.
I was also part of the ADA team that fought for legislation that mandated insurance coverage for people with diabetes in Massachusetts. Youth advocates and their families and other people with diabetes and other chronic medical conditions fought to pass similar legislation in 45 other states.
Now -- it's your turn. The piece that follows is partly excerpted from an email from the American Diabetes Association. It discusses a bill that's in the United States Senate right now that, if passed, could have an impact on people living with type 1 and type 2 diabetes around the country. Please take a moment to read the piece, poke around and research a bit if you need to, and consider making a call to your U.S. Senators asking them to oppose this legislation.
With the help of thousands of Americans like you, the ADA has helped to pass laws requiring insurers to cover diabetes education, equipment, and supplies in small business health policies in 46 states. To date, our supporters have helped protect those 46 state laws from being rolled back by opposing misguided bills in state legislatures or by opposing AHP legislation in Congress.
Without question, these 46 state laws face their gravest threat yet from a bill in the US Senate.
S. 1955, also known as the Health Insurance Marketplace Modernization and Affordability Act, would not only allow the creation of AHPs that can skirt the 46 state laws for small business health plans, it would also allow all state-regulated health insurance policies to bypass those laws. This means that in addition to small business health plans, all state-regulated health insurance -- like individual policies, for example -- would also lose their guarantee of required coverage of lifesaving diabetes items.
Supporters of this bill believe they are helping more Americans get health insurance coverage. However, coverage under these policies either covers diabetes needs inadequately or prices them out of reach of many Americans if it covers those needs at all. In short, S. 1955 will be devastating for millions of people with diabetes across the country.
Despite a strong effort by Advocates from the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions (HELP) Committee members' states, S. 1955 passed in that Committee by a vote of 11-9 on Tuesday. Now this bill will go to the Senate floor for a vote. If there was ever a time for you to take action -- emailing your Senators, calling them, or visiting them -- this is it.
We strongly urge you to send an email and fax to your Senators at minimum (below). If you understand the seriousness of this situation and want to put up our best fight to preserve insurance coverage for people with diabetes, here's how you can help further:
Call your Senators:
This link will give you the phone numbers, addresses, and email addresses for your US Senators:
Call or email today!
You can find talking points regarding opposition to S. 1955 here:
Get talking points on what to say opposing S.1955.
Visit your Senators during their recess (it begins tomorrow afternoon):
You will need to call your Senators' District Offices in your State and schedule a meeting. You can find that information by clicking the link above for phone numbers/contact information and then clicking on your specific Senators name when you find it.
If you visit, bring this document to help with what to say, then leave it behind with the Senators or their staffers.
Call some friends and make an outing of it! I speak from experience -- you'll be amazed at how empowering it is.
Stepping down from Soapbox and returning to work now...
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Oh, Julia
Of course I'm going to play along
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.
Cheap Wine and Cigarettes -- Darkbuster. This song by local punk legends Darkbuster makes me think of summer and good times having a beer and (back in my b-a-d days) smoking a cigarette or three. Lately, I've been putting it on in the car.
Bridge over Troubled Water -- Simon and Garfunkel -- Because I'm trying to learn it for a talent show at work.
Shut Up (So I Can Love You) -- The McGunks. This is a song from my boyfriend's band The McGunks. My boy was singing it the other day and I can't get it out of my head now. Shameless plug -- The band will be playing in the WBRU Rock Hunt this Friday at Giza in Providence. Come on out and see them and you can get this -- and other -- songs stuck in your head!
Wonder -- Natalie Merchant. From the Tigerlily album. Natalie Merchant's voice is enchanting for me.
Here Comes the Sun -- Nina Simone version. This song is supposed to be a happy song, but Nina's voice makes it haunting.
You Suck -- The Murmurs. No one sounds prettier calling someone a FUCK than The Murmurs.
Weezer -- Beverly Hills... Mainly because I want to *be* the girl in the song that sings "Gimme... Gimme"
You can play along, or not, as you please.
List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.
Cheap Wine and Cigarettes -- Darkbuster. This song by local punk legends Darkbuster makes me think of summer and good times having a beer and (back in my b-a-d days) smoking a cigarette or three. Lately, I've been putting it on in the car.
Bridge over Troubled Water -- Simon and Garfunkel -- Because I'm trying to learn it for a talent show at work.
Shut Up (So I Can Love You) -- The McGunks. This is a song from my boyfriend's band The McGunks. My boy was singing it the other day and I can't get it out of my head now. Shameless plug -- The band will be playing in the WBRU Rock Hunt this Friday at Giza in Providence. Come on out and see them and you can get this -- and other -- songs stuck in your head!
Wonder -- Natalie Merchant. From the Tigerlily album. Natalie Merchant's voice is enchanting for me.
Here Comes the Sun -- Nina Simone version. This song is supposed to be a happy song, but Nina's voice makes it haunting.
You Suck -- The Murmurs. No one sounds prettier calling someone a FUCK than The Murmurs.
Weezer -- Beverly Hills... Mainly because I want to *be* the girl in the song that sings "Gimme... Gimme"
You can play along, or not, as you please.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Things About Me
Julia tagged me...
Four jobs I’ve had in my life:
1. Development Officer
2. Matron at the City Jail in Attleboro
3. Supermarket Cashier
4. Elderly Companion -- I hung out with a nice lady named Margaret (mostly for free)
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Donnie Darko
2. Blue Velvet
3. Caddy Shack
4. The Breakfast Club
Four places I have lived:
1. Massachusetts
2. Rhode Island
3. Ireland (for a short while)
4. In a chicken coop... Actually, a little shack that used to be a chicken coop that my friend Bryan bequeathed to me when he moved to Wisconsin.
Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Law & Order: CI (Vincent D'Onofrio IS the sexiest man alive)
2. Medium
3. King of Queens
4. Freaks and Geeks
Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Las Vegas, NV
2. Myrtle Beach, SC
3. All over the state of Maine
4. Lake Winnepasaukee, NH
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Bread and bread dipper from Not Your Average Joe's and their Chipotle Chicken Salad
2. Shrimp -- doesn't matter how it's prepared.
3. Cheeseburgers from Michelletti's Restaurant with their homemade Clam Chowder
4. Boiled steamers with butter and steamed lobster with butter as a main course
Four websites I visit daily:
1. Boston.com
2. Google.com
3. Projo.com
4. Philanthropy.com
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Reading a book
2. Listening to my boyfriend's and other friends' bands
3. Cuddled in bed with the boy and the cat
4. Picking up my lottery winnings
I'm going to wait on tagging anyone...
Four jobs I’ve had in my life:
1. Development Officer
2. Matron at the City Jail in Attleboro
3. Supermarket Cashier
4. Elderly Companion -- I hung out with a nice lady named Margaret (mostly for free)
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Donnie Darko
2. Blue Velvet
3. Caddy Shack
4. The Breakfast Club
Four places I have lived:
1. Massachusetts
2. Rhode Island
3. Ireland (for a short while)
4. In a chicken coop... Actually, a little shack that used to be a chicken coop that my friend Bryan bequeathed to me when he moved to Wisconsin.
Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Law & Order: CI (Vincent D'Onofrio IS the sexiest man alive)
2. Medium
3. King of Queens
4. Freaks and Geeks
Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Las Vegas, NV
2. Myrtle Beach, SC
3. All over the state of Maine
4. Lake Winnepasaukee, NH
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Bread and bread dipper from Not Your Average Joe's and their Chipotle Chicken Salad
2. Shrimp -- doesn't matter how it's prepared.
3. Cheeseburgers from Michelletti's Restaurant with their homemade Clam Chowder
4. Boiled steamers with butter and steamed lobster with butter as a main course
Four websites I visit daily:
1. Boston.com
2. Google.com
3. Projo.com
4. Philanthropy.com
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Reading a book
2. Listening to my boyfriend's and other friends' bands
3. Cuddled in bed with the boy and the cat
4. Picking up my lottery winnings
I'm going to wait on tagging anyone...
Friday, January 13, 2006
Battles with Insulin
I am ready to give my shot. I sit with the needle poised against my skin for at least 10 seconds. And slowly, ever-so-slowly, push the tip into my abdomen. The needle sinks like a toothpick into a warm cake.
Now comes the hard part.
I deploy the plunger, sending 6 units of beef/pork insulin through my skin and layers of tissue. And the burning begins. Burning like someone is holding a match to the site of the injection. As I pull the needle out, a dark red bubble appears and an itchy, bumpy rash forms around the bubble. It has been happening every time I give a shot for the past week, every single time.
My mother makes a note to mention the reaction I'm having to the endo that next time we go. That's nearly a month away and I'm not sure I can make it that long with burning bumpy bubbling rashes cropping up on my skin four times a day. My mother tries a number of remedies, hoping to alleviate my discomfort; calamine lotion, hydrocortisone cream, bacitracin ointment, cool tea bags (at the suggestion of my hippie Aunt Kay). Nothing works. In fact, the rashes seem to be getting worse, lasting longer and becoming more painful.
My appointment with the endo is moved up. We demonstrate the phenomenon for him. He pronounces, matter-of-factly, that I'm allergic to insulin.
"Allergic to Insulin?" My mother and I both ask the question out loud.
But I've had diabetes for two years, how can I all of a sudden be allergic to insulin? What does this mean? -- You can't take something you're allergic to -- especially when your reactions seem to be getting worse.
But I had developed an allergy to insulin; I was allergic to the medication that was keeping me alive. My doctor explained that although it was rare, insulin allergies happened now and again. He suggested we start two new bottles of insulin and document any reaction I might have. He told us to call back after two days.
Home I went for more burning and itching and bumps.
We went back to his office three days after that initial visit to meet with him and an allergist. The allergist explained that it was necessary to perform skin tests to determine what types of insulin caused a reaction and which reactions were least severe. From there, I would undergo something called "desensitizaion." Although no one took the time to explain the procedure to me, its name spoke two words in my ear... "No fun."
The skin tests were itchy and painful. My arms looked like they would have if I'd done the crawl stroke through a field of poison ivy. It was determined that I am least sensitive to the beef/pork insulin combination I'm currently taking.
The desensitization process was as unpleasant as it sounded to me that day the doctor mentioned it to me and my mom. Three days on a diabetes care unit with a micro-dose of insulin every half hour, the dose increasing in small increments with each injection. Blood draws every hour to prevent any onset of DKA or hypoglycemia that might result from the change in my regimen. I fought a little at the start; then realized these micro-doses didn't sting or itch -- and, if this worked, then maybe the burning and rashes would stop altogether. I trudged through like a brave little soldier -- feeling a bit like an overused pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game by the end of my four day hospital stay.
But my shots were more tolerable after that. And when human insulin was mass-marketed several years later, and I endured another desensitization process, the skin irriations nearly disappeared.
Here's the thing though, over the past few months, I've been developing reactions again. Some days my pump sites have been leaving huge bumps and I can't go more than a few hours without severe itching and burning at the site of the cannula, particularly if I'm giving a larger bolus dose. Plus, I don't exactly have a "rash," but my skin is a bit bumpy and pink around the areas where infusion sites have made their home.
When I called my current endo, he said he's never heard of an allergy to Humalog or Novolog Insulin. He suggested a few things to try with the infusion sites -- a different antiseptic solution, an adhesive remover, a cream that is supposed to reduce skin irritation associated with infusion sites... But -- I know what I'm feeling. I know what an allergic skin reaction feels like. And I'm pretty sure that's what's going on here.
So -- should I see an allergist? Should I go back to my endo and ask him to have another look at my diabetes history, particularly my experience with insulin allergy? Should I see an allergist and have him talk with the endo? At this point, I'm leaning toward the third option -- I think that sometimes, a doctor needs to speak with another doctor... Anyone else have opinions? Am I being paranoid/hypocondriacal here? Has anyone experienced insulin allergy -- in particular an allergy to Humalog or Novolog?
Now comes the hard part.
I deploy the plunger, sending 6 units of beef/pork insulin through my skin and layers of tissue. And the burning begins. Burning like someone is holding a match to the site of the injection. As I pull the needle out, a dark red bubble appears and an itchy, bumpy rash forms around the bubble. It has been happening every time I give a shot for the past week, every single time.
My mother makes a note to mention the reaction I'm having to the endo that next time we go. That's nearly a month away and I'm not sure I can make it that long with burning bumpy bubbling rashes cropping up on my skin four times a day. My mother tries a number of remedies, hoping to alleviate my discomfort; calamine lotion, hydrocortisone cream, bacitracin ointment, cool tea bags (at the suggestion of my hippie Aunt Kay). Nothing works. In fact, the rashes seem to be getting worse, lasting longer and becoming more painful.
My appointment with the endo is moved up. We demonstrate the phenomenon for him. He pronounces, matter-of-factly, that I'm allergic to insulin.
"Allergic to Insulin?" My mother and I both ask the question out loud.
But I've had diabetes for two years, how can I all of a sudden be allergic to insulin? What does this mean? -- You can't take something you're allergic to -- especially when your reactions seem to be getting worse.
But I had developed an allergy to insulin; I was allergic to the medication that was keeping me alive. My doctor explained that although it was rare, insulin allergies happened now and again. He suggested we start two new bottles of insulin and document any reaction I might have. He told us to call back after two days.
Home I went for more burning and itching and bumps.
We went back to his office three days after that initial visit to meet with him and an allergist. The allergist explained that it was necessary to perform skin tests to determine what types of insulin caused a reaction and which reactions were least severe. From there, I would undergo something called "desensitizaion." Although no one took the time to explain the procedure to me, its name spoke two words in my ear... "No fun."
The skin tests were itchy and painful. My arms looked like they would have if I'd done the crawl stroke through a field of poison ivy. It was determined that I am least sensitive to the beef/pork insulin combination I'm currently taking.
The desensitization process was as unpleasant as it sounded to me that day the doctor mentioned it to me and my mom. Three days on a diabetes care unit with a micro-dose of insulin every half hour, the dose increasing in small increments with each injection. Blood draws every hour to prevent any onset of DKA or hypoglycemia that might result from the change in my regimen. I fought a little at the start; then realized these micro-doses didn't sting or itch -- and, if this worked, then maybe the burning and rashes would stop altogether. I trudged through like a brave little soldier -- feeling a bit like an overused pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game by the end of my four day hospital stay.
But my shots were more tolerable after that. And when human insulin was mass-marketed several years later, and I endured another desensitization process, the skin irriations nearly disappeared.
Here's the thing though, over the past few months, I've been developing reactions again. Some days my pump sites have been leaving huge bumps and I can't go more than a few hours without severe itching and burning at the site of the cannula, particularly if I'm giving a larger bolus dose. Plus, I don't exactly have a "rash," but my skin is a bit bumpy and pink around the areas where infusion sites have made their home.
When I called my current endo, he said he's never heard of an allergy to Humalog or Novolog Insulin. He suggested a few things to try with the infusion sites -- a different antiseptic solution, an adhesive remover, a cream that is supposed to reduce skin irritation associated with infusion sites... But -- I know what I'm feeling. I know what an allergic skin reaction feels like. And I'm pretty sure that's what's going on here.
So -- should I see an allergist? Should I go back to my endo and ask him to have another look at my diabetes history, particularly my experience with insulin allergy? Should I see an allergist and have him talk with the endo? At this point, I'm leaning toward the third option -- I think that sometimes, a doctor needs to speak with another doctor... Anyone else have opinions? Am I being paranoid/hypocondriacal here? Has anyone experienced insulin allergy -- in particular an allergy to Humalog or Novolog?
Precursor
This is a precursor to a post that I'm in the process of composing.
Since I'm a queen dork, I keep up with words. I love them. I'm interested in the dictionary and I'm thrilled when the New Oxford American and Merriam Webster release their "new word" lists each year. Among the words added to the New Oxford American Dictionary in June of 2005 was the following: "diabulemia" - "the manipulation by diabetic patients of insulin treatments in order to lose weight."
Information about diabulemia is scarce. A Google search on the term brings up these:
Check at the very bottom of this article.
A slightly more in-depth look here.
It's easier for me to present you with the facts before I present you with my own story of hitting rock bottom and dealing with my bulemia and diabulemia.
When I was manipulating and skipping insulin doses to attain weight loss goals, there was no name for what I was doing. From just after my diagnosis in the early 1980s until two or three years ago when a new focus on eating disorders gave birth to a name for this dangerous practice, I knew girls and women who, like me, thought appearance was more important than health; thought that a slimmer figure was worth risking their lives. I am lucky; I was able to stop and I have not yet suffered complication consequences as a result of my dicey behaviors.
Is there a greater awareness of diabulemia now? Have any in the OC heard of the illness -- and did you know there was a clinical term for it? Do you think that the instensifying focus on poor control and resulting complications has reduced or has the potential to reduce incidence of the disorder?
Since I'm a queen dork, I keep up with words. I love them. I'm interested in the dictionary and I'm thrilled when the New Oxford American and Merriam Webster release their "new word" lists each year. Among the words added to the New Oxford American Dictionary in June of 2005 was the following: "diabulemia" - "the manipulation by diabetic patients of insulin treatments in order to lose weight."
Information about diabulemia is scarce. A Google search on the term brings up these:
Check at the very bottom of this article.
A slightly more in-depth look here.
It's easier for me to present you with the facts before I present you with my own story of hitting rock bottom and dealing with my bulemia and diabulemia.
When I was manipulating and skipping insulin doses to attain weight loss goals, there was no name for what I was doing. From just after my diagnosis in the early 1980s until two or three years ago when a new focus on eating disorders gave birth to a name for this dangerous practice, I knew girls and women who, like me, thought appearance was more important than health; thought that a slimmer figure was worth risking their lives. I am lucky; I was able to stop and I have not yet suffered complication consequences as a result of my dicey behaviors.
Is there a greater awareness of diabulemia now? Have any in the OC heard of the illness -- and did you know there was a clinical term for it? Do you think that the instensifying focus on poor control and resulting complications has reduced or has the potential to reduce incidence of the disorder?
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Miracles
It happened in summer. It was one of those hot days. You know -- the kind of hot days that make diabetes a real suckfest. It was the kind of day when you feel as if your body's pores are leaking sugar along with your sweat. I had to drive into Boston to give a lecture at Emerson College about Direct Marketing for non-profits. Leaving Providence, I was a little nervous -- but excited.
I cruised up 95 and onto 93... And I felt OK...
And then I got onto Storrow Drive and I started realizing how confused I was. It seemed as if the people around me on their daily commute were driving like idiots and the signs and landmarks I was looking for -- well, they just didn't seem to be there at all. I thought -- it's just your nerves -- just find your exit -- and find a parking space. You don't want to be late.
I got off Storrow, and by some miracle, I got off at the right place. But I could not find a parking space. If you have ever been to downtown Boston -- near the Commonwealth exit -- you can testify to the fact that even when your bloodsugar is perfectly fine, it is damned confusing. There are lots of strange alleyways and weird one way streets. Now, add a low bloodsugar. Now, add the fact that the person having the low bloodsugar is having a "stubborn moment" and has not yet tested... You've now got a person driving their car the wrong way down alleyways and one way streets and asking silly questions of passersby who think they're completely nuts.... And, oh, by the way, the person driving the car happens to encounter a Boston cop as they're exiting the wrong way down one of those one-way streets... Thankfully -- or maybe regretfully -- the Boston cop doesn't feel like enforcing the law that day.
Finally, I realize I am probably not going to make it to this lecture. Because, finally, I test my bloodsugar and have a reading of 26 mg/dl. Yikes. That's what I thought to myself. Yikes. I have nothing fast enough to treat this kind of bloodsugar in my car (read: a juice box and three glucose tabs are NOT going to do it.) I suck down the juice box and drive out to the nearest "main" street -- which, by another miracle, was Massachusetts Avenue. I see a sign for Trader Joe's in a row of houses to my left and I pull over into a T Bus stop space. I cross Mass Avenue, stumbling like a fool. I take an escalator DOWN to Trader Joe's. I marvel at how strange it is that there is a Trader Joe's in the basement of the people whose apartments are upstairs. I marvel at what I think is an absurd selection of food. I leave Trader Joe's -- nearly 20 minutes later -- with a quart bottle of 2% milk, a bag of Trader Reduced Fat Crunchy Cheese Curls, and a 4 oz bag of Jelly Beans (the last of that particular item in the store.) I find that my car is still outside -- parked totally illegally -- and that there are a number of people marveling at me as I get in it. It seems that the people standing around staring are also speaking a million foreign languages. The World is hazy and feels so far away.
I start driving -- and guzzling the milk -- and finishing the jelly beans and eating the cheese curls. I am covered in cheese curl orange cheese and I end up spilling most of the milk down the front of my shirt. I make it down Mass Avenue and somehow I found Route 93. I end up, by accident, driving to the airport. No, I am not kidding. I am at the airport, once again, parked illegally. I test again. I am only up to 39 mg/dl. I am scared. I have given no insulin in hours. I have shut my pump off. I am eating like a mad woman. All I have left in my store of weird food is a few sips of milk and some cheese curls... And my bloodsugar is NOT coming up fast enough.
So... what do I do? I drive out of the airport and get onto 93 -- then realize I'm going North and I want to be going South. I just want to GET HOME. I see an exit with a sign for gas on it and think -- gas, that means they have to have a food mart too, right? I am now frantic. My gas light is on -- both my car gas light and my body gas light -- the body gas light is tellling me "get more food now..." I find the gas station and the attendant food mart. Before I get out of the car -- I test again. 36 mg/dl -- what in god's name is happening to me?
I head into the store -- more stumbling than walking. I still have enough presence of mind to think, "I must look like crap." I run/stumble/walk to the back of the store and grab three 12 ounce bottles of apple juice. I also grab three 12 ounce bottles of fruit punch. I am going to force my bloodsugar up -- or, I think, with a little laugh to myself -- it may be the last thing I do... I mumble something about gas and bloodsugar and things to the puzzled clerk.
Sitting in my car in front of the gas pump -- after I've simultaneously pumped my gas and guzzled two 12 ounce bottle of apple juice, I am finally starting to feel halfway human again. I drink another bottle of apple juice. You can imagine how bloated and disgusting and strange I am. I give myself thirty minutes in front of that pump. The clerk is staring out at me. I can't even imagine what's going through his head. I test again. 92 mg/dl. Thank you, thank you. I'm crying like a child.
I head back to 93 -- get on -- headed South this time. And get myself going home. When I do finally reach my destination I am still weepy and when I'm inside -- I tell my convoluted tale to my boyfriend who listens patiently and frets with me about what could have happened, and why didn't I call (no cellphone and not one working payphone -- or so it seemed -- in the entire city of Boston), and why did I drive in that state (I still don't know), and why did it take my sugar so long to creep up (as yet unexplained -- even after I consulted my endo about it), and why and why and why? -- I test one more time 149 mg/dl before falling into a near-comatose sleep...
And I wake up the next morning -- by yet another miracle. And the sun is hot and melty in a new summer sky. And I am looking back on the day before and I am curious as to how in hell I am alive...
I beep in at a cruising sugar of 96 for the start of another day... Wondering how many more miracles I have and how many more I might need.
I cruised up 95 and onto 93... And I felt OK...
And then I got onto Storrow Drive and I started realizing how confused I was. It seemed as if the people around me on their daily commute were driving like idiots and the signs and landmarks I was looking for -- well, they just didn't seem to be there at all. I thought -- it's just your nerves -- just find your exit -- and find a parking space. You don't want to be late.
I got off Storrow, and by some miracle, I got off at the right place. But I could not find a parking space. If you have ever been to downtown Boston -- near the Commonwealth exit -- you can testify to the fact that even when your bloodsugar is perfectly fine, it is damned confusing. There are lots of strange alleyways and weird one way streets. Now, add a low bloodsugar. Now, add the fact that the person having the low bloodsugar is having a "stubborn moment" and has not yet tested... You've now got a person driving their car the wrong way down alleyways and one way streets and asking silly questions of passersby who think they're completely nuts.... And, oh, by the way, the person driving the car happens to encounter a Boston cop as they're exiting the wrong way down one of those one-way streets... Thankfully -- or maybe regretfully -- the Boston cop doesn't feel like enforcing the law that day.
Finally, I realize I am probably not going to make it to this lecture. Because, finally, I test my bloodsugar and have a reading of 26 mg/dl. Yikes. That's what I thought to myself. Yikes. I have nothing fast enough to treat this kind of bloodsugar in my car (read: a juice box and three glucose tabs are NOT going to do it.) I suck down the juice box and drive out to the nearest "main" street -- which, by another miracle, was Massachusetts Avenue. I see a sign for Trader Joe's in a row of houses to my left and I pull over into a T Bus stop space. I cross Mass Avenue, stumbling like a fool. I take an escalator DOWN to Trader Joe's. I marvel at how strange it is that there is a Trader Joe's in the basement of the people whose apartments are upstairs. I marvel at what I think is an absurd selection of food. I leave Trader Joe's -- nearly 20 minutes later -- with a quart bottle of 2% milk, a bag of Trader Reduced Fat Crunchy Cheese Curls, and a 4 oz bag of Jelly Beans (the last of that particular item in the store.) I find that my car is still outside -- parked totally illegally -- and that there are a number of people marveling at me as I get in it. It seems that the people standing around staring are also speaking a million foreign languages. The World is hazy and feels so far away.
I start driving -- and guzzling the milk -- and finishing the jelly beans and eating the cheese curls. I am covered in cheese curl orange cheese and I end up spilling most of the milk down the front of my shirt. I make it down Mass Avenue and somehow I found Route 93. I end up, by accident, driving to the airport. No, I am not kidding. I am at the airport, once again, parked illegally. I test again. I am only up to 39 mg/dl. I am scared. I have given no insulin in hours. I have shut my pump off. I am eating like a mad woman. All I have left in my store of weird food is a few sips of milk and some cheese curls... And my bloodsugar is NOT coming up fast enough.
So... what do I do? I drive out of the airport and get onto 93 -- then realize I'm going North and I want to be going South. I just want to GET HOME. I see an exit with a sign for gas on it and think -- gas, that means they have to have a food mart too, right? I am now frantic. My gas light is on -- both my car gas light and my body gas light -- the body gas light is tellling me "get more food now..." I find the gas station and the attendant food mart. Before I get out of the car -- I test again. 36 mg/dl -- what in god's name is happening to me?
I head into the store -- more stumbling than walking. I still have enough presence of mind to think, "I must look like crap." I run/stumble/walk to the back of the store and grab three 12 ounce bottles of apple juice. I also grab three 12 ounce bottles of fruit punch. I am going to force my bloodsugar up -- or, I think, with a little laugh to myself -- it may be the last thing I do... I mumble something about gas and bloodsugar and things to the puzzled clerk.
Sitting in my car in front of the gas pump -- after I've simultaneously pumped my gas and guzzled two 12 ounce bottle of apple juice, I am finally starting to feel halfway human again. I drink another bottle of apple juice. You can imagine how bloated and disgusting and strange I am. I give myself thirty minutes in front of that pump. The clerk is staring out at me. I can't even imagine what's going through his head. I test again. 92 mg/dl. Thank you, thank you. I'm crying like a child.
I head back to 93 -- get on -- headed South this time. And get myself going home. When I do finally reach my destination I am still weepy and when I'm inside -- I tell my convoluted tale to my boyfriend who listens patiently and frets with me about what could have happened, and why didn't I call (no cellphone and not one working payphone -- or so it seemed -- in the entire city of Boston), and why did I drive in that state (I still don't know), and why did it take my sugar so long to creep up (as yet unexplained -- even after I consulted my endo about it), and why and why and why? -- I test one more time 149 mg/dl before falling into a near-comatose sleep...
And I wake up the next morning -- by yet another miracle. And the sun is hot and melty in a new summer sky. And I am looking back on the day before and I am curious as to how in hell I am alive...
I beep in at a cruising sugar of 96 for the start of another day... Wondering how many more miracles I have and how many more I might need.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Further Commentary
Although I know that there is not much need for further commentary about the "Two Roads" discussion from Diabetes Talkfest , I thought I would post the following, because I believe it is relevant to the discussion.
I was reading People Magazine this week, and there was an article about Nate Berkus, an interior designer who survived the Tsunami that hit Indonesia/Thailand/Sri Lanka/India last year. He lost his long-time partner in the disaster and has spent the last year making an amazing physical and emotional recovery.
Toward the end of the article -- told in his own words -- he writes,
"These are my gifts, the gifts that I have paid a price for. While I would never have chosen to pay that price, these now are the gifts I could not live without."
The entire article is inspiring, but this quote sums up much of how I feel about my life with diabetes. There isn't much I could add to it... I just felt like sharing it.
I was reading People Magazine this week, and there was an article about Nate Berkus, an interior designer who survived the Tsunami that hit Indonesia/Thailand/Sri Lanka/India last year. He lost his long-time partner in the disaster and has spent the last year making an amazing physical and emotional recovery.
Toward the end of the article -- told in his own words -- he writes,
"These are my gifts, the gifts that I have paid a price for. While I would never have chosen to pay that price, these now are the gifts I could not live without."
The entire article is inspiring, but this quote sums up much of how I feel about my life with diabetes. There isn't much I could add to it... I just felt like sharing it.
Friday, December 30, 2005
By Request
I see that I am not excused from "tagging..." despite my OC-newness...
Here's my list of the tagged. Please proceed to tell us five random things about yourself. Thank you.
Julie, who attended CBC with some of us OCers and is new to blogging... Julie, jump right in.
Keith, who has not officially posted anything yet, but who won my attention with his shared dislike of "orange" lights.
Jay, who made the mistake of noting his "not tagged-ness" on Kerri's blog.
Megan, who first pointed out I am NOT excused from tagging.
That is all.
Here's my list of the tagged. Please proceed to tell us five random things about yourself. Thank you.
Julie, who attended CBC with some of us OCers and is new to blogging... Julie, jump right in.
Keith, who has not officially posted anything yet, but who won my attention with his shared dislike of "orange" lights.
Jay, who made the mistake of noting his "not tagged-ness" on Kerri's blog.
Megan, who first pointed out I am NOT excused from tagging.
That is all.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Thankful
It is testing and shot time again. I can feel the fear and anger rising in me, bubbling up in my belly, my heart, my throat. My mind races, schemes, claws at ways to run and hide, to escape. My mother gathers up the supplies -- bottle of chemstrips, lancet and lancet device, insulin-filled syringe. And she gathers her strength; this never gets easier.
She calls me to the kitchen. I tell her I'm busy with something in my room. She tells me I need to come and be tested, come and get my insulin. "I don't want to." I whine. The tears are brimming between my eyelids. "I don't want to." I repeat, with emphasis.
"You must. Now, please, come down here." My mother has learned that if she comes to me, I am liable to run away, she'll have to corner me, maybe fight me. So, she starts the testing and shot process thirty minutes before it needs to be done, using the time to coax, cajole, bribe, beg.
Five times a day, we test. Four times a day I get my shot. I know my mother secretly thanks God that one of those shots happens in the nurse's office at school. For some reason, I have accepted that there is no running and hiding, no delaying, at school. I reserve my protests for the process to our home.
I'm not coming this time. I shout that I've decided not to eat dinner, so I don't need my shot. I sit on my bed, with my knees bent, hugging my legs to my body, skillfully wrapping my eight year old fingers into and around each other, hiding the sides and tops so that there is no way a lancet or device will reach them. "I hate this and I need a break. I hate this and I need a break. I hate this and I need a break." I repeat quietly.
I hear my mother on the steps. I hear her take a long, heavy breath as she comes up them. She opens the door to my bedroom. She looks tired, and I can tell she's been crying again. She sits on the bed and says. "I don't want to fight today. I know this is hard. I'm sorry. But I really don't want to fight today."
"Well, I don't want to have diabetes." The anger that has been bubbling streaks through the words as they come from my mouth, I watch them slice into my mother. She winces.
"I know. But you have it. And I can't let you get sick. It's that simple." She says. She reaches for one of my hands.
I tighten my grip, hiding more of my skin, and start yelling. Not yelling really, screaming. Screaming as if my mother, who has never shown me anything but love, is trying to kill me. My anger and grief feed my strength, I rip my arm away, lie on my back, and bury both of my hands beneath me. "It's not simple." I scream.
I cry as my mother straddles me, one leg on either side of my thighs and tries to reason with me. "Please give me a hand, Nicole, please." She takes my left arm by the elbow and pulls, working to free my hand from behind my back. "No." I fight back. We're both sweating and I'm crying.
After ten minutes, I have kicked my mother and slapped away the lancet device three times. I have screamed that I hate her and that I know she doesn't love me. And my mother, she hasn't given up.
She finally frees a hand and successfully gets a blood drop. In a moment, my bloodsugar reading is complete. And we work on my shot.
There is more wrestling, more anger, more screaming. My mother gets poked with the syringe in the struggle. My exhaustion after 40 minutes of fighting is what saves us this time. I dissolve, sobbing and too tired to swing or kick. My mother quickly wipes my thigh with alcohol and gives my shot. Then she wraps her arms around me, lying beside me on my bed, wiping the tears from my face and pushing my hair from my eyes.
This was by no means a daily ritual, but there were days during the first year after my diagnosis, that my mother had to fight me, had to hear that I hated her, had to watch me scream and cry, as she struggled to ensure that I got everything that I needed to stay healthy. My father endured some of the same.
At a year after my diagnosis, my parents took me to the Clara Barton Camp. That changed everything. By the time I left CBC after a family weekend program, I was not only NOT fighting testing or shots, I was doing both myself. My mother credits CBC with saving me -- and saving her and our family life. I credit CBC with showing me how strong I could be, assuring me that I wasn't alone, and helping me to stop feeling so angry and start enjoying all of the things in my life that had nothing to do with and were not affected by my diabetes.
I am thankful during this Holiday season.
Thankful for my mother, who showed the courage and strength of a mythic warrior and whose gift of love has gone unmatched by any other in my life. And thankful to the Clara Barton Camp -- that gave me courage and strength to match my mother's and helped me to fathom the depth of her love.
She calls me to the kitchen. I tell her I'm busy with something in my room. She tells me I need to come and be tested, come and get my insulin. "I don't want to." I whine. The tears are brimming between my eyelids. "I don't want to." I repeat, with emphasis.
"You must. Now, please, come down here." My mother has learned that if she comes to me, I am liable to run away, she'll have to corner me, maybe fight me. So, she starts the testing and shot process thirty minutes before it needs to be done, using the time to coax, cajole, bribe, beg.
Five times a day, we test. Four times a day I get my shot. I know my mother secretly thanks God that one of those shots happens in the nurse's office at school. For some reason, I have accepted that there is no running and hiding, no delaying, at school. I reserve my protests for the process to our home.
I'm not coming this time. I shout that I've decided not to eat dinner, so I don't need my shot. I sit on my bed, with my knees bent, hugging my legs to my body, skillfully wrapping my eight year old fingers into and around each other, hiding the sides and tops so that there is no way a lancet or device will reach them. "I hate this and I need a break. I hate this and I need a break. I hate this and I need a break." I repeat quietly.
I hear my mother on the steps. I hear her take a long, heavy breath as she comes up them. She opens the door to my bedroom. She looks tired, and I can tell she's been crying again. She sits on the bed and says. "I don't want to fight today. I know this is hard. I'm sorry. But I really don't want to fight today."
"Well, I don't want to have diabetes." The anger that has been bubbling streaks through the words as they come from my mouth, I watch them slice into my mother. She winces.
"I know. But you have it. And I can't let you get sick. It's that simple." She says. She reaches for one of my hands.
I tighten my grip, hiding more of my skin, and start yelling. Not yelling really, screaming. Screaming as if my mother, who has never shown me anything but love, is trying to kill me. My anger and grief feed my strength, I rip my arm away, lie on my back, and bury both of my hands beneath me. "It's not simple." I scream.
I cry as my mother straddles me, one leg on either side of my thighs and tries to reason with me. "Please give me a hand, Nicole, please." She takes my left arm by the elbow and pulls, working to free my hand from behind my back. "No." I fight back. We're both sweating and I'm crying.
After ten minutes, I have kicked my mother and slapped away the lancet device three times. I have screamed that I hate her and that I know she doesn't love me. And my mother, she hasn't given up.
She finally frees a hand and successfully gets a blood drop. In a moment, my bloodsugar reading is complete. And we work on my shot.
There is more wrestling, more anger, more screaming. My mother gets poked with the syringe in the struggle. My exhaustion after 40 minutes of fighting is what saves us this time. I dissolve, sobbing and too tired to swing or kick. My mother quickly wipes my thigh with alcohol and gives my shot. Then she wraps her arms around me, lying beside me on my bed, wiping the tears from my face and pushing my hair from my eyes.
This was by no means a daily ritual, but there were days during the first year after my diagnosis, that my mother had to fight me, had to hear that I hated her, had to watch me scream and cry, as she struggled to ensure that I got everything that I needed to stay healthy. My father endured some of the same.
At a year after my diagnosis, my parents took me to the Clara Barton Camp. That changed everything. By the time I left CBC after a family weekend program, I was not only NOT fighting testing or shots, I was doing both myself. My mother credits CBC with saving me -- and saving her and our family life. I credit CBC with showing me how strong I could be, assuring me that I wasn't alone, and helping me to stop feeling so angry and start enjoying all of the things in my life that had nothing to do with and were not affected by my diabetes.
I am thankful during this Holiday season.
Thankful for my mother, who showed the courage and strength of a mythic warrior and whose gift of love has gone unmatched by any other in my life. And thankful to the Clara Barton Camp -- that gave me courage and strength to match my mother's and helped me to fathom the depth of her love.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Tagged
I've been tagged by Kerri. Here are five random facts about me... Since I'm new to the OC, I'm not going to tag anyone on this one; but rest assured, as I get to know you all better, I'll be a-tagging you...
1. I'm a mad punk rock fan. I love the Ramones, Social Distortion, Rancid, X, MXPX, NOFX, etc... I'm also a huge fan of local music -- in part, because my boyfriend plays in a local rock band called The McGunks and in part because there's a huge number of talented, fun, and cool bands that live, work, and play in and around Boston and Providence.
2. I'm a bit of a slob. I can't keep myself organized -- it's sort of pathetic. Amazingly, the only piece of my life that my sloppiness doesn't effect is my diabetes care. Also -- it's not that everything's a mess and I can't find anything; it's that I have lots of messes around me, but *I* know where everything is.
3. I carry a dictionary around with me pretty much everywhere I go. My love of language makes me somewhat compulsive. I can't stand to not know what something means -- and when I need to know what something means, the need is immediate -- I don't like to wait around.
4. I'm a clothes-hound. I love fashion. If I had the body and the money, I'd wear haute-couture ALL THE TIME... I love fabric and textures and buttons and shoes and hats. I live by the motto "We're all born naked. The rest is costume -- and costume is fabulous..."
5. I'm not the best driver in the World. I don't really like driving, for one thing. For another, there are OTHER people on the road -- and they are always in my way, really in my way. I like to go fast and I hate being stuck behind what my boyfriend and I refer to as "turtles." Also, there are far too many "orange" lights that I should be able to boogie right through, but that I end up having to stop at because the people in front of me like to follow the rules...
For today, these facts and tomorrow a real post.
1. I'm a mad punk rock fan. I love the Ramones, Social Distortion, Rancid, X, MXPX, NOFX, etc... I'm also a huge fan of local music -- in part, because my boyfriend plays in a local rock band called The McGunks and in part because there's a huge number of talented, fun, and cool bands that live, work, and play in and around Boston and Providence.
2. I'm a bit of a slob. I can't keep myself organized -- it's sort of pathetic. Amazingly, the only piece of my life that my sloppiness doesn't effect is my diabetes care. Also -- it's not that everything's a mess and I can't find anything; it's that I have lots of messes around me, but *I* know where everything is.
3. I carry a dictionary around with me pretty much everywhere I go. My love of language makes me somewhat compulsive. I can't stand to not know what something means -- and when I need to know what something means, the need is immediate -- I don't like to wait around.
4. I'm a clothes-hound. I love fashion. If I had the body and the money, I'd wear haute-couture ALL THE TIME... I love fabric and textures and buttons and shoes and hats. I live by the motto "We're all born naked. The rest is costume -- and costume is fabulous..."
5. I'm not the best driver in the World. I don't really like driving, for one thing. For another, there are OTHER people on the road -- and they are always in my way, really in my way. I like to go fast and I hate being stuck behind what my boyfriend and I refer to as "turtles." Also, there are far too many "orange" lights that I should be able to boogie right through, but that I end up having to stop at because the people in front of me like to follow the rules...
For today, these facts and tomorrow a real post.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Landmines... Averted... Sort of.
What a great time we had at the Holiday Party last night. We met some nice folks, I got to see good friends that I don't see often, and I pretty much averted any major BS disasters.
By the time we arrived, I had decided that my course of action would be to get the most information I could about the food and make a carb/sugar/fat estimate from there and that I would avoid those oh-so-innocent sounding cocktails. I talked with our hostess, Sheri, before digging in to the latkes... I thought 15 carbs for each given the ingredients, with the bolus slightly extended because they're fried in oil. I had four, plus some shrimp cocktail, a few bacon-wrapped scallops (mmm....) and two small pretzel sticks dipped in semi-sweet chocolate and caramel (carb/sugar estimate, 15 grams a piece with 6 grams of sugar...) I ate at around 8:30. Pre-'meal' test at 123. After bolusing, I didn't think much about it at all, confident I had taken a smart tactical approach.
As we were packing up to leave at 10:45, I retested. I was feeling slightly dizzy -- but I thought I might just be tired. Bloodsugar (drum roll, please....) 62. Ooooo.... Overshot by a few hairs. Sheri -- who is nothing less than wonderful -- got me some orange juice. Alrighty then. At 15 minutes later, wth my bloodsugar at 78, Bob and I climbed into the car and trekked home.
Another science experiment I would have probably gotten about a C- on if I were being graded. But, I tell you, internally, I give myself a B, maybe even a B+. I didn't not enjoy myself, I didn't not have any of the delicious food spread out before me... I took a risk. And I came pretty close to succeeding. Better yet, I have valuable information that I can use next time around.
Yeah, I give myself a B with the words "Nice Job!" penned in red ink next to the grade.
By the time we arrived, I had decided that my course of action would be to get the most information I could about the food and make a carb/sugar/fat estimate from there and that I would avoid those oh-so-innocent sounding cocktails. I talked with our hostess, Sheri, before digging in to the latkes... I thought 15 carbs for each given the ingredients, with the bolus slightly extended because they're fried in oil. I had four, plus some shrimp cocktail, a few bacon-wrapped scallops (mmm....) and two small pretzel sticks dipped in semi-sweet chocolate and caramel (carb/sugar estimate, 15 grams a piece with 6 grams of sugar...) I ate at around 8:30. Pre-'meal' test at 123. After bolusing, I didn't think much about it at all, confident I had taken a smart tactical approach.
As we were packing up to leave at 10:45, I retested. I was feeling slightly dizzy -- but I thought I might just be tired. Bloodsugar (drum roll, please....) 62. Ooooo.... Overshot by a few hairs. Sheri -- who is nothing less than wonderful -- got me some orange juice. Alrighty then. At 15 minutes later, wth my bloodsugar at 78, Bob and I climbed into the car and trekked home.
Another science experiment I would have probably gotten about a C- on if I were being graded. But, I tell you, internally, I give myself a B, maybe even a B+. I didn't not enjoy myself, I didn't not have any of the delicious food spread out before me... I took a risk. And I came pretty close to succeeding. Better yet, I have valuable information that I can use next time around.
Yeah, I give myself a B with the words "Nice Job!" penned in red ink next to the grade.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Holiday Landmines
So, today I've been thinking about the Holidays. Mainly, because tonight we attend another Holiday affair centered around food and drinks. In this case, around latkes (Potato pancakes = Carbs galore.) and cocktails (How does that word manage to sound so harmless?).
Over the past year, I have successfully stopped drinking almost altogether. I may, on rare occassions, have one or two drinks, but I'm not having drinks every weekend as I did for awhile in my twenties. I have also started an exercise program. And, I have managed to consistently achieve A1Cs in the low to mid 5s. Two years ago, my A1Cs were mostly between 6 and 7. As you can imagine, keeping the A1C in the 5s has taken a good deal of testing, recording, and tracking of bloodsugars and patterns and a good deal of not eating foods that I might like to consume more often than I do. Well, here come the Holidays and the landmines.
I like cookies, and cakes, and pie, and I like a good hearty meal. But my enjoyment of these things is often hampered when I wonder - compusively - what kind of messy bloodsugar I'll be dealing with in two hours.
I've come up with some strategies for bolusing that seem to work fairly well -- most of the time. But there are times when my body just doesn't cooperate; when I eat the same things, give the same insulin, have the same amount of stress, activity, etc -- and my bloodsugar does two drastically different things. And, there are so many different strategies around my eating, it's hard to keep them straight. Cake and cookies for me, require careful bolusing of both carbs and a percentage of the sugars contained in them. Fatty meals require a combination bolus -- with the amount of the bolus given up front vascillating, depending on what exactly the food is. A drink or two require bolusing for only a percentage of the sugars contained in them.
Damn it, sometimes I just want to eat a cookie with frosting on it and candy canes and have a white russian or a strawberry daquiri -- and not have to worry about counting and calculating and testing and retesting.
The landmines are here, though, and they must be dealt with. I've given up on just trying to "estimate" the number of carbs and sugars in things. I usually try to email or phone our host(s) ahead of time and talk with them about the food and drinks we'll be having -- that way, I'm not in the bathroom with my Calorie King book trying -- usually in vein -- to figure out how to bolus for what I'm eating. If the hosts are not close friends or if it's a function that doesn't offer the option of calling ahead, I simply try to stick with food that I'm familiar with carb/sugar/fat counts for or I eat something small ahead of time and nibble while I'm there.
I love the call ahead strategy. I used it at Thanksgiving this year. Easy enough -- we were eating at my mom's house. I thought about what I would eat ahead of time and looked everything up. I had a strategy going in. I sat down to my carefully planned dinner, ate, bolused half way through meal time, ate some more, I even had a piece of cake. And I was actually able to enjoy my meal. I felt comfortable that I wouldn't be dealing with a 250+ BS in the hours after it. My highest sugar that day was 143 and I didn't drop below 79. Not a bad day, not bad at all.
But tonight's holiday party is not a "call ahead" sort of deal; I don't want to be a bother. I have looked up latkes on the internet and not been able to get any sort of accurate estimate of carbs/sugars/fat in them. So, I have a few choices. Revert to estimating and deal with the consequences, use the one carb/sugar/fat count I was able to find for latkes and hope it's close to or on the money, or not eat latkes -- sticking with the things I know. I haven't decided what I'll do yet.
I guess the point of this post is not necessarily to get advice or answers -- though I welcome either. The point is that I know we're all navigating our own Holiday minefields. The greatest challenges with diabetes for me are these sorts of choices. I know what the 'best' course of action in terms of bloodsugar would be, but I'm not sure it's the 'best' course of action for my mental state, for my enjoyment. No matter what I do, I'll be making a selfish choice -- serving my diabetes well or serving my own needs for physical and mental enjoyment and satisfaction. The Holidays are really one of the only times of the year when I think... "Can we just find a cure for this already?" Because I grow weary of quandries like this one.
What are your landmines? I know you must have some.
Over the past year, I have successfully stopped drinking almost altogether. I may, on rare occassions, have one or two drinks, but I'm not having drinks every weekend as I did for awhile in my twenties. I have also started an exercise program. And, I have managed to consistently achieve A1Cs in the low to mid 5s. Two years ago, my A1Cs were mostly between 6 and 7. As you can imagine, keeping the A1C in the 5s has taken a good deal of testing, recording, and tracking of bloodsugars and patterns and a good deal of not eating foods that I might like to consume more often than I do. Well, here come the Holidays and the landmines.
I like cookies, and cakes, and pie, and I like a good hearty meal. But my enjoyment of these things is often hampered when I wonder - compusively - what kind of messy bloodsugar I'll be dealing with in two hours.
I've come up with some strategies for bolusing that seem to work fairly well -- most of the time. But there are times when my body just doesn't cooperate; when I eat the same things, give the same insulin, have the same amount of stress, activity, etc -- and my bloodsugar does two drastically different things. And, there are so many different strategies around my eating, it's hard to keep them straight. Cake and cookies for me, require careful bolusing of both carbs and a percentage of the sugars contained in them. Fatty meals require a combination bolus -- with the amount of the bolus given up front vascillating, depending on what exactly the food is. A drink or two require bolusing for only a percentage of the sugars contained in them.
Damn it, sometimes I just want to eat a cookie with frosting on it and candy canes and have a white russian or a strawberry daquiri -- and not have to worry about counting and calculating and testing and retesting.
The landmines are here, though, and they must be dealt with. I've given up on just trying to "estimate" the number of carbs and sugars in things. I usually try to email or phone our host(s) ahead of time and talk with them about the food and drinks we'll be having -- that way, I'm not in the bathroom with my Calorie King book trying -- usually in vein -- to figure out how to bolus for what I'm eating. If the hosts are not close friends or if it's a function that doesn't offer the option of calling ahead, I simply try to stick with food that I'm familiar with carb/sugar/fat counts for or I eat something small ahead of time and nibble while I'm there.
I love the call ahead strategy. I used it at Thanksgiving this year. Easy enough -- we were eating at my mom's house. I thought about what I would eat ahead of time and looked everything up. I had a strategy going in. I sat down to my carefully planned dinner, ate, bolused half way through meal time, ate some more, I even had a piece of cake. And I was actually able to enjoy my meal. I felt comfortable that I wouldn't be dealing with a 250+ BS in the hours after it. My highest sugar that day was 143 and I didn't drop below 79. Not a bad day, not bad at all.
But tonight's holiday party is not a "call ahead" sort of deal; I don't want to be a bother. I have looked up latkes on the internet and not been able to get any sort of accurate estimate of carbs/sugars/fat in them. So, I have a few choices. Revert to estimating and deal with the consequences, use the one carb/sugar/fat count I was able to find for latkes and hope it's close to or on the money, or not eat latkes -- sticking with the things I know. I haven't decided what I'll do yet.
I guess the point of this post is not necessarily to get advice or answers -- though I welcome either. The point is that I know we're all navigating our own Holiday minefields. The greatest challenges with diabetes for me are these sorts of choices. I know what the 'best' course of action in terms of bloodsugar would be, but I'm not sure it's the 'best' course of action for my mental state, for my enjoyment. No matter what I do, I'll be making a selfish choice -- serving my diabetes well or serving my own needs for physical and mental enjoyment and satisfaction. The Holidays are really one of the only times of the year when I think... "Can we just find a cure for this already?" Because I grow weary of quandries like this one.
What are your landmines? I know you must have some.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Something Different
So, I thought tonight I'd take a break from diabetes-related writing and do something a little different.
This one, I'll call "The High Dive..."
I could feel my heart beating. I could feel it everywhere. My fingers and toes pulsed, the rhythmic beat occupied my throat, I thought my eyes would leave my head with each throb. I looked up at the white ladder, climbing into the summer sky. I looked at the pool and at the shadow of the high-dive that danced on its surface. The sun was just starting to set, an orangey wafer dipping into the pink-yellow west.
It was a perfect day. In my ten year old mind, it was the only day that would ever matter. I had spent most of this summer here at our town's public swimming pool. The sunny, humid days had left their mark - my skin was freckled and a little peely, my hair shot through with streaks of red-gold. I had decided that this was the summer I would start training for the Olympics. Instead of frolicing with the other kids in the shallow-end of the pool, I chose to swim laps in the deep-end. Lots of laps. I'd leave the pool pruney and exhausted at the end of each day, whispering to myself "It'll be worth it when you win a medal..."
The thing was, I knew I might not become an Olympic swimmer. So, I had a Plan B. If swimming didn't work out -- I was going to be an Olympic diver.
Our public pool had two diving boards -- a low dive, set about three feet above the pool's surface and a high dive, set about ten or twelve feet above the surface. My plan to become a diver good enough to compete with the best in the world was a simple one. Step one -- step onto a diving board. Any diving board. I took that step on day one at the pool. I stepped out onto the low dive, and I walked all the way to the end. Then I walked back and right down the ladder onto the side of the pool, petrified. The idea of jumping head first into anything was just too scary. But I knew I had to do it, if I was going to have a Plan B.
On day two, I ventured again to the end of the board. I was afraid, but not as afraid as I'd been the day before. I held my nose, and jumped into the water -- feet first. OK. Step one, check.
My next goal was to actually dive off of the board. It took me a month to even try. And that first dive wasn't exactly swanish, it was more walrushish. But I was pretty proud of myself.
I decided that in order to have a viable Plan B, I would need to put my swimming on hold and really dig in with this diving thing. So I did. I dove and dove and dove, I swam some, but mostly, I dove. Once, I even climbed to the top of the high dive board -- then I climbed right back down again. The line of divers waiting at the base of the ladder weren't happy. Not happy at all. The next day, following the same pattern I'd followed with the low dive, I made it to the end of the board and jumped off, feet first.
"Well, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" I thought to myself.
With three weeks left in the summer, I had to work on my final step -- really facing the high dive. I knew an Olympic diver had to be able to dive -- not just jump -- from boards higher than three feet from the water. Each day of those three weeks, I climbed the ladder over and over, contemplated a dive -- and without fail, I jumped off of the end of that board feet first.
It came down to that last day -- near sunset, no less. That last day of the summer and my heart was beating as it never had before.
Sweating and shaking and queezy, I climbed the white-painted metal rungs, counting each one as my right foot hit it, then my left. Onto the board, its warm, sand-papery top tickling the soles of my feet. Slowly, I stepped to the end of the plank. I looked down at the water below, out at the low-end of the pool where my friends and brothers were playing, at the roof of the buidling that held the shower and bath rooms. I stood straight as a pin at the edge of the board, arms at my sides, knees slightly bent. I rocked onto the tips of my toes and gave a bit of jump, pulling my arms above my head and leaning into my dive. Oh, and it was swanish, folks. Yes it was. It was perfect. It was my moment. It was my proof that I could compete with the best in the world.
Obviously, I did not become an Olympic diver. And, no, it wasn't because Plan A actually worked out (you know, my becoming an Olympic swimmer). Instead, I tried about a million other things in my quest to be the best in the world at something. I tried football, baseball, softball, gymnastics, chess, Atari, hula-hooping, spelling... Too many more things to name. And I never became the best in the World at any of them. But it doesn't really matter, does it? It doesn't matter because I'm the best I can be. It doesn't matter because even after all those tries and all those things, I still set goals and have quests and adventures. I never give up and I never think that I'll NEVER be the "best" at anything -- I never limit my own potential. I climb the high dive as often as possible. And I dive.
This one, I'll call "The High Dive..."
I could feel my heart beating. I could feel it everywhere. My fingers and toes pulsed, the rhythmic beat occupied my throat, I thought my eyes would leave my head with each throb. I looked up at the white ladder, climbing into the summer sky. I looked at the pool and at the shadow of the high-dive that danced on its surface. The sun was just starting to set, an orangey wafer dipping into the pink-yellow west.
It was a perfect day. In my ten year old mind, it was the only day that would ever matter. I had spent most of this summer here at our town's public swimming pool. The sunny, humid days had left their mark - my skin was freckled and a little peely, my hair shot through with streaks of red-gold. I had decided that this was the summer I would start training for the Olympics. Instead of frolicing with the other kids in the shallow-end of the pool, I chose to swim laps in the deep-end. Lots of laps. I'd leave the pool pruney and exhausted at the end of each day, whispering to myself "It'll be worth it when you win a medal..."
The thing was, I knew I might not become an Olympic swimmer. So, I had a Plan B. If swimming didn't work out -- I was going to be an Olympic diver.
Our public pool had two diving boards -- a low dive, set about three feet above the pool's surface and a high dive, set about ten or twelve feet above the surface. My plan to become a diver good enough to compete with the best in the world was a simple one. Step one -- step onto a diving board. Any diving board. I took that step on day one at the pool. I stepped out onto the low dive, and I walked all the way to the end. Then I walked back and right down the ladder onto the side of the pool, petrified. The idea of jumping head first into anything was just too scary. But I knew I had to do it, if I was going to have a Plan B.
On day two, I ventured again to the end of the board. I was afraid, but not as afraid as I'd been the day before. I held my nose, and jumped into the water -- feet first. OK. Step one, check.
My next goal was to actually dive off of the board. It took me a month to even try. And that first dive wasn't exactly swanish, it was more walrushish. But I was pretty proud of myself.
I decided that in order to have a viable Plan B, I would need to put my swimming on hold and really dig in with this diving thing. So I did. I dove and dove and dove, I swam some, but mostly, I dove. Once, I even climbed to the top of the high dive board -- then I climbed right back down again. The line of divers waiting at the base of the ladder weren't happy. Not happy at all. The next day, following the same pattern I'd followed with the low dive, I made it to the end of the board and jumped off, feet first.
"Well, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" I thought to myself.
With three weeks left in the summer, I had to work on my final step -- really facing the high dive. I knew an Olympic diver had to be able to dive -- not just jump -- from boards higher than three feet from the water. Each day of those three weeks, I climbed the ladder over and over, contemplated a dive -- and without fail, I jumped off of the end of that board feet first.
It came down to that last day -- near sunset, no less. That last day of the summer and my heart was beating as it never had before.
Sweating and shaking and queezy, I climbed the white-painted metal rungs, counting each one as my right foot hit it, then my left. Onto the board, its warm, sand-papery top tickling the soles of my feet. Slowly, I stepped to the end of the plank. I looked down at the water below, out at the low-end of the pool where my friends and brothers were playing, at the roof of the buidling that held the shower and bath rooms. I stood straight as a pin at the edge of the board, arms at my sides, knees slightly bent. I rocked onto the tips of my toes and gave a bit of jump, pulling my arms above my head and leaning into my dive. Oh, and it was swanish, folks. Yes it was. It was perfect. It was my moment. It was my proof that I could compete with the best in the world.
Obviously, I did not become an Olympic diver. And, no, it wasn't because Plan A actually worked out (you know, my becoming an Olympic swimmer). Instead, I tried about a million other things in my quest to be the best in the world at something. I tried football, baseball, softball, gymnastics, chess, Atari, hula-hooping, spelling... Too many more things to name. And I never became the best in the World at any of them. But it doesn't really matter, does it? It doesn't matter because I'm the best I can be. It doesn't matter because even after all those tries and all those things, I still set goals and have quests and adventures. I never give up and I never think that I'll NEVER be the "best" at anything -- I never limit my own potential. I climb the high dive as often as possible. And I dive.
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