Candid Diabetes

Hiatus

While I know that I haven't been a very committed blogger for some time now, it wasn't a conscious decision. I never decided to take a break from blogging, it simply fell by the wayside, what with everything else I do.

I don't even know if there is anybody left following this blog...all I know is that I recently decided to make some pretty significant changes in my life. And one of those changes is learning to let go of things that I don't have time for. Like this blog.

I'm not taking it down - I am too proud of the things that I've done here, the great people that I've met, the doors that Candid Diabetes opened for me. I don't want to lose this blog. I just really need to relieve some of the load. I do plan on doing some feature posts - taking my personal favourites and featuring them for a time.

I'm also working on getting CD switched over to Blogger. The url will remain the same, but the 'dressing' is going to be a bit different. This will be my last project here for a while. I'll still be over at Insulin Pump Forums, and I'd love to see you there!

So there it is: I'm on a break from blogging. I hope that you've enjoyed Candid Diabetes, and if this is your first visit, please do take the time to browse this site. You may just have a good laugh!

Thanks for stopping by - see you soon!

Rapid Improvements

Today's average BG was 7.5.

I am absolutely ecstatic. I've been logging all my nutritional activities for the past four days, and the resulting improvements are almost tangible.

I felt happier today, less moody and more even-tempered. Though my stress level did ramp up significantly at about 3 pm (thanks to month end - I'm in finance) I was able to de-stress quite easily when I got home (late, I might mention).

I have a job interview next week, and I'm really interested in the company and the position. Not only is it closer to home, it also seems to be a good deal less stressful. Please wish me luck - I am beyond hoping that it turns out to be the right place for me!

Only Human

It's difficult being fallible.

Last week I went to see my Doctor, both to get the results of my yearly blood tests, and also to talk to her about my life for the past six (or so) months. I had composed a Memo in my Blackberry, a list I'd made of everything I've been experiencing or feeling recently. One item that wasn't on this list was how I've been avoiding my own blog, my friend's blogs; eschewing them completely and having an internet affair with animal grooming websites. And yet I'm writing this because it seems that my avoidance of my own, personal journal is highly symbolic of the avoidance game I've been playing with my very life for the past several months.

And oh, how I've wanted to step from under this mantle of shame and just tell you, the people who would probably understand best. But I am, after all, my worst critic and the self-flagellation I'd imposed wouldn't let me.

Until last week, when I sat in front of my Doctor, looked into her ever compassionate eyes, and read this list:

- I used to be an insomniac; three hours a night was my norm and I'd jump out of bed the next morning refreshed. Since the beginning of this year, my sleeping patterns have flipped a complete 360: I sleep ten hours a night and am exhausted the next day. I have a hard time not falling asleep in the car when I am driving home from work!

- I have been sick more this year than I've been my entire life.

- I've gained a massive amount of weight. A shameful amount of weight. My feet often feel swollen too...is it fat or something else?

- I have no motivation. I've lost interest in activities that I used to love, like swimming and walking and gardening.

- When I lay in bed at night, my heart pounds out a series of irregular beats and for a moment I feel breathless. Until it stops. And starts up again...

- I'm extremely irritable, with frequent mood swings. One minute I am the bitchiest bitch from hell, the next I am a sobbing pile of oh-woe in the corner of the room.

- Something felt wrong with my life so I CHOPPED my hair off. I, who am well known for my over analyzing of choices, made an appointment out of the blue and a week later was practically bald. It's a small thing, but significant.

- I have night sweats every night, so badly that I've taken to washing my bedding almost daily.

- Hot flashes. I swear, I feel like I'm menopausal. I cook at night (thus the night sweats?) and freeze during the day.

We had briefly discussed a few of these issues during my appointment prior to the blood work, and had decided to do the standing blood panels that I get yearly....which are supposed to include thyroid. Given that my Grandmother has hypothyroidism, my Mom has Grave's disease and I have an autoimmune disorder, thyroid is something my doctor checks regularly. This one, for some reason, had been missed. I'd also spoken to my doctor about the difficulties I've been having over the past three-ish months with BG's that just Won't Go Down (they've been running consistently in the 8 - 9 mmol range, with excursions above 12 which is almost unheard of for me!) in spite of a 40% increase of my TDD and a recheck of all basal/bolus/correction ratios, and an exponentially horrible standard deviation. During that initial visit, we suspected infection, thyroid or the endometriosis. Even stress came up, and of course there's the whole cocktail of it all.

So when I went back for my follow-up appointment last week, I was expecting an answer to the Thyroid question and a slight elevation in my A1c.What I did have was no thyroid results, and the worst A1c that I've had in more years than I can ever remember, with the double-whammy of a huge, off the chart increase (my last yearly A1c was in the upper 5's).

This year's A1c: 7.6.

I don't like seeing that number here. It's amazing that a simple number can inspire these feelings of loathing and shame. 

I feel like a failure.

How on earth did it take getting to this point, being this unhealthy, to finally get my ass kicked into doing something about it? How could I have been so Stupid?? Of course I feel like crap, of course I sleep more, my A1c rose by 2% within a span of Months! That A1c is telling me that, for at least the past three months, my average BG has been 10.7. Ten point Seven. It's no wonder I have a litany of issues right now.

But you know what? I'm not a failure. OK, so I screwed up somehow. I let a small weight problem become a huge weight problem because I did nothing about it to begin with. Fine, I dropped the ball for once in my life. I did nothing about my overly-stressful job because I was too worried about the economy. I didn't ask for help months ago, when I should have. Fine. Because I can fix all of it.

So I joined Sparkpeople. Right now I have two priorities: get the BG's under control and start eating healthier (ie: kill two birds with one stone!). And I discovered that I didn't have any eating habits left except one: Eat anything I want in excessive amounts. And while I was busy figuring that out, I stumbled upon a pretty significant problem: I haven't been counting carbs correctly. I got lazy and figured I was so old hand, I didn't need to check myself. Big mistake.

OK, so I screwed that up too. But I can fix it, I've already started fixing it. And I'm happy to say that on Friday, my first official day of checking the nutritional values of my meals/snacks, I averaged a 6.2. All Day. I've also eaten over 5 vegetables every day since Friday and burned over 600 calories to date doing cardio! Gratuitous Plug: Sparkpeople is the best healthy lifestyle website I've ever seen! I've started looking for a new job, something closer to home and a good deal less stressful. I want to be happy again. I have a job interview lined up for next week, and I'm remaining hopeful that even if this one doesn't work out, someone else will be interested in me. I start Grooming school next month and it is the bright lining on the horizon, something to look forward to when I'm feeling down.

It's going to take time, nothing's going to be fixed tomorrow, but I'll do it. And in the meantime, I'll try to forgive myself for my mistakes.

And I'll try to remember that I'm just human.

Dog Days of Summer

Been a while. Again.

Things in Tiffany-land are awesome-crud.

Awesome:
- not only am I going to be an auntie, but I'm going to be an auntie to TWINS!
- chopped off my hair. Short. I feel five lbs lighter!
- I've been able to make time for training with Mollie herding. I love it and would go everyday if our trainer wasn't so far away.
- going on a road trip to Drumheller this weekend. I've lived in Alberta practically my entire life and I've never seen dinosaur valley. I can't wait for the weekend.
- I start my grooming course in October. Woot!
- I'm getting back in the saddle. Finding a stable with lesson horses is hard (since I'm now sans horse) but I've got some names.

Crud:
- BG's have been horrible for the past couple of weeks , for reasons unknown. So mystifying is this situation, my doctor is sending me for a battery of tests. I am so frustrated by the whole thing that I even blamed it briefly on my new pump (until I hooked the old one up with the same results). The theory right now is 1. Infection, 2. Thyroid, or 3. The endometriosis is getting worse. All I know is that hanging in the 8 - 9 mmol range is killing me and I hate it.
- I cut my hair really short which means I fight with chia-pet-head every day. And I miss ponytails!
- I am burning out. And having a hell of a time changing positions. And being suitably vague on purpose.
- Candid Diabetes may be moving to blogger. Which means another import. Gah.

Since this is CD's first crackberry post, that's all folks.

Anti-Tiffany

I was in a meeting this afternoon and didn't hear the paging for me to answer the phone line. My co-worker interrupted the meeting.

"Your sister is on line 101."

I ran. Part worried out of my mind, part anticipating good news.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.

"Anti-Tiffany!" she replied in a high tone.

"Why are you calling me Anti-," was my response. It's a common joke; except this time it wasn't what I thought.

"AU-N-TIE Tiffany," my sister spelled out. And there, suddenly, I understood what it meant to feel my heart to burst out of my chest.

I'm going to be an Auntie. My sister, my beautiful, generous, kind older sister is going to be Mommy. My brave sister, who went through hell all for this one thing, is going to have a baby.

Or, quite possibly two babies.

And I had the honour of being there with her in Vancouver on June 28, when the fertilized embryos were transplanted into her uterus. I was not at the clinic with her (because that was for her and my bro-in-law) but I was sitting right there when she was finished.

I was there for her, a part of her special moment. And this morning I was a part of it again. And now I get to see her dreams come true. I can't stop smiling.

My sister, the Mommy.

Change of Plans

So it looks like the move from Typepad may not be happening. And boy, I am MaD. After all of the work that I did importing the blog and fixing links and pictures, I went to set up my domain on the new blog software and could've cried.

Wordpress (dot com) supports domain forwarding but apparently not domain email - though there is a google app, the move itself supposedly results in lost emails. Since I use this domain email for everything, even the forums, that is a big problem. A huge problem.

A Wordpress-won't-work problem.

I'm evaluating my options (and would welcome any suggestions!) but for now, Candid Diabetes will remain here. I'll continue to pay too much for this blog that I don't post enough on, while hoping that the Canadian dollar goes back up to par (yeah.......right).

*sigh*

Iris Surprise

The blog transfer is moving along. Every single link is broken, and every picture I inserted is stored on the typepad blog...meaning that when it's been canceled, unless I have everything fixed, links and pictures will disappear. What a PITA.

But hey, I'm taking a holiday! To Vancouver, British Columbia for three days. I leave on Friday, which cannot come soon enough.

And since that's about all I have to say....I leave you with the supreme coolness that I found when I went outside in my backyard tonight. To check on my Siberian Iris's.

Aren't they beautiful? Except wait, what is that, under there...?

Hello, my pretty!

When faced with the demise of an established Iris or the murder of poisonous-looking-butprobablyharmless spider, well......

Holy creepy Spiderman!

.....the iris won.

But not before I knocked seriously-cool-spider off of the iris onto a leaf in the sunlight. And proceeded to take nineteen pictures. I was foiled by wicked spider, who scuttled under the leaf...and was in turn foiled by me. Or, my foot, to be exact.

And if you're wondering, I didn't take any pictures of smooshed-spider. May he rest in peace.

Candid Diabetes Turned Four (And I Didn't Even Notice)

On May 9, this blog celebrated its fourth birthday. And I didn't even know it.

(Of course, I'm the one who forgets anniversaries and birthdays and Mother's Day...yes, I forgot Mother's Day this year. I should be flogged with a wet noodle, I am a horrible daughter.)

I'm not going to reminisce oh-so-dramatically (as is my habit heh) about the past four years. They were awesome. They also sucked. Life. Too little too late at this point, if you ask me. I'll try to make five the magic number.

But are you at all interested in how I found out that Candid-D passed a fourth blogging birthday?

I'm moving Candid Diabetes. To Wordpress. Because I'm sick and freaking tired of spending ten dollars a month (!) on blogging software. Especially one I don't use every day. And it very recently occurred to me that Candid Diabetes has cost me almost five hundred dollars over the past four years.

FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. What the bleeping-bleep was I thinking?? 

While importing 145 posts and over 600 comments, I noticed the date of my very first post. And Wow. Four years and a month and some days or so....but who's counting? Definitely not me. Heh.

The domain will stay the same, so any current links will continue to work (yay). But it's going to take me some time to transfer everything over to Wordpress (boo). In an effort to KISS and save some more money I'm going with the free version, plus a few upgrades. So the format isn't going to look so fab but hey, no more wasting money!

Did I mention that I'm saving up for a downpayment for a house?

Anyway, I'm going to try to have everything transferred and this Typepad account closed by the end of the month. 

Who knows, maybe I'll actually find time to do some posting now....

CGMS - Three Years Later

This past Tuesday, June 2, marked year three of my adventure with Minimed's Paradigm 522 continuous glucose monitoring system.

Three years seems too short - it feels more like ten years ago when I inserted my very first sensor, connected my beloved old Gen 1 transmitter and began blogging about trying to figure this system out. All by myself. I bled copious amounts in the beginning; I can remember worrying anxiously that the blood would ruin the transmitter. But that never happened. I figured out that I could change the angle of insertion, in spite of what my trainer said, and that doing so was often crucial to having a successful sensor. I learned, the hard way, that the sensor/transmitter had to be taped down, really really well. And, thanks to the little angel who was so briefly in my life, whose colostomy bag I covered with Opsite Flexifix for years, I found a tape that worked like glue.

But what I've really gotten, over the past three years, is normalcy.

I hate the word 'normal'; it is and indefinable word that puts individuality in a box. But it is the only word that can properly describe how I've felt for the last 1100 days. Normal. I can go for long walks now without having to make sure I have my glucometer, and I no longer get interrupted by spaghetti leg-lows...just like everyone else. When I go out for drinks with girlfriends after work, I don't have to check my blood sugar in public or in hiding - I just glance at my pump, eat and bolus accordingly. When I get horribly ill, I don't have to end up in the hospital on an IV.

And I am no longer worried that I won't wake up in the morning. That I'll have a hypo overnight, while I'm sleeping, that will put me out of commission. I don't have to feel that way anymore. I don't wake up in the morning a seriously high blood sugars and a migraine anymore - I haven't in three years. I don't have to feel that way anymore.

I was gardening a few nights ago. I'd taken my sensor and Minilink off and hadn't inserted a new one because I was feeling lazy. Knees in the dirt, weeding my perennial garden, I suddenly started to feel light headed and weak. And mad at myself, for so many reasons. Because now I had to get up, walk all the way inside the house, walk all the way to the fridge, to get some juice. Sheesh, I just didn't have the energy! All because I'd been too lazy to put a new sensor in...a sensor that would've warned me that my BG was dropping, so that I could've prevented it.

So that I wouldn't have to feel that way. So I could just be a normal woman, weeding her garden.Instead of a lazy diabetic crying in self-pity as she drank a glass of juice.* Even just the absence of those interruptions has been a blessing.

And the best part: the CGMS has helped me to get my A1c's under 6.0 again.

Here's to three years, and whatever the future may bring. I'll face it head on, as normal as possible, Minilink on my thigh and pump on my hip!

*Hypo's make me extremely emotional, and it can go either way: bitch or baby. There's no rhyme or reason.

Technology Whore

If I liked Christmas, I’d say that it was better than December 25. But  I’m a dyed in the wool grinch, so I’ll say that it was better than getting a DQ ice cream cake for my birthday. And almost as good as finding a pair of Arturo Chiang spike heels that make my short-person legs look miles long. For Half price.  Just in time for the office Christmas party (AKA that event where Tiffany, in spite of various warnings, gets hammered, becomes a giggling fool and almost exposes her breasts in public).

Two big boxes came from Purolator. I opened the one that was clearly marked “Medtronic” and squealed. Four FREE sensors. My very own brand spanking new 522, a new glucometer, reservoirs and infusion sets and pump clips – Oh My!

And the cherry: a Toshiba Satellite Laptop. I’m not ashamed to admit that I squealed and bounced when I saw that box; what can I say, I’m a technology whore. And this is my very first laptop computer, my foray into wireless. I am sitting in bed as I type this – how cool is that?? Of course my expanding ass won’t thank me but hey, everything needs a purpose! I even have the perfect case in mind! Eeeeeeh!!

It’s even more exciting than my first digital camera (which I purchased three years ago and regret to this day – Cybershot sucks my big toe), and my first flat screen LCD television. Though when I finally get my Canon Xsi it’ll definitely be the coolest thing on the block. ‘Cause hey, I’m fickle like that.  But back to what I was saying.

Did I happen to mention that I’m WiFi-ing at this very moment? (I don't know how Wifi is spelled and I'm too lazy to google it, so whatev) Writing my second, yes you read that right - Second post of the day. Two posts in one day. Guiness beer book, here I come!

As for the pump and related paraphernalia, well, they remain unopened and will until my insurance claim is approved. Which will hopefully be finalized within the week - fingers and toes crossed, people. (Yeah, I opened the laptop and booted it up – sympathy please; it was too much!)

In the meantime, my new little laptop and I are going to head on over to The Best Blog. Ever. Why don’t you join us?

 

It's Not The Pork On Your Fork

It snowed last week, for three days straight. An appropriate setting for The Sickest Of Sickness. Ever.

On Monday, I sank to my knees, bowed my head, and prayed fervently to the gods of the porcelain yak-bowl. For hours. A communion which lasted through Tuesday; at one point, I fell into a fever-induced sleep during which I dreamed that I gave birth to sextuplets after a feverish (heh) affair with Commander Charles Tucker the Third*. What a Trip! 

And she slams it out of the park! (Whatever, it's punny to me!! Bahah!)

My blood sugars were predictably stubborn, sitting between 12 (during bad moments) and 8 with little relief. I played the same old tune - I overbolused, I temped my basal up to 180% (!!). Nothing helped. In an extremely frustrating way, this trend has a helpful side; I can often predict a sinus infection by how my blood sugar levels are behaving. I can tell when a virus or infection 'breaks' by the sudden drop in blood sugars. Of course, when one is vomiting every internal organ out of her body on top of a fever, this whole trend isn't much fun. Luckily, I've always been able to avoid DKA.

On Wednesday morning, after finally having enough gravol in my system to prevent even the smallest of gags, I dragged myself to work (whomever said that copious amounts of gravol, advil and driving don't mix was bang on) for three hours, polished the floor with my knees in the bathroom there (a more ignoble experience even than revealing one of my most guarded secret to the whole world wide web) and drove back home after finally breaking down and calling my doctor's office. I couldn't get in to see her, they told me, which was no surprise. So I booked to see a random stand-in Right Away.

I got poked, prodded, and sacrificed my boobs on the alter of an X-ray. Stand-in Dr. sent me home with nothing but my barf bag after assurances that it was not the swine flu (it's so much more melodic than H1N1, I just can't help myself) but sounded like it might possibly be Pneumonia. Wham. Bam. Thank you ma'am. This is what I get for living in a redneck town with a population of zero, in the country, in good ol' redneck Alberta. Two days later, I was still sick as a dog with the added bonus of Not. Being. Able to. BREATHE. And dizzy, so dizzy. It was time to see Stand-In Doctor number Two. It had morphed from the flu into a lung infection and this time I was sent home with the requisite drugs after I demeaned myself by kissing SID#2's feet and offering my first born.

I slept. And slept. And just when I thought that the Sandman would surely desert me for someone with better breath, I slept some more. And, though I'm still not bouncing off the walls in typical Tiffany-fashion, I did manage to drag my sorry ass in to work this week.

But I've gotten a rare and minute glimpse into the hell that people with lung problems must have. I Couldn't Breathe. Is there anything scarier? The slightest of physical exertion would wind me. I didn't even have the strength to put my garden in this weekend and there is little that I enjoy more. Wearing a bra, an unfortunate requisite of working in an office and being BoobEd, has been somewhat restricting. But the pure and utter panic of not being able to breathe...the feeling that I can't get enough oxygen when I'm simply walking...it has reminded me how human I am. Somewhat ironic, isn't it, considering the whole chronic disease thing? Funny how something pretty damn significant can also be so mundane....

And yet, it's times like these that remind me of how far we've come, and how lucky I am to have access to technologies that I couldn't even have imagined 18 years ago. My pump and CGMS kept me out of the hospital last week, and I am extremely grateful for that because I Hate. Hate. HATE. hospitals. Without my trusty smoke sidekick that let me temp basals, without the CGMS (our relationship will hit three years on June 2!) that warned me when I needed to bolus Right Now or when I Had to choke down some Ginger Ale, I probably would've ended up in a hospital bed.

Puking into bed pans. Can we imagine anything more fun?

Next time, somebody just flay me to death with a wet noodle, wouldja?

*I just admitted one of my biggest secret to the internets. I have officially come out of the closet. Though not my favourite of sagas, he's extra smoking hot. And apparently my libido will not be stopped even by near-death experiences.

Eighteen Years

18 years.

Today.

I'm not sure why this year is different. Or if it even is. All I know is that this year the anniversary of my 18th year with Type 1 diabetes didn't pass quietly. This year it was remarkable, whereas each year leading to now I've gotten through April 23rd without even realizing the significance of the day.

And now I'm wondering at its significance.

Why do we 'celebrate' or commemorate or even keep a mental reminder of the date of our diagnosis? Unlike birthdays or marriage anniversaries, the date of diagnosis is not a happy day. For me, it was an awful day; the skies were not blue, the sun was not shining, and though I received gifts, I could well have done without them. Sure, the following days had some fun mixed in - sitting on my bed with Mom, sucking water into syringes and shooting it at unsuspecting passing nurses (instead of injecting the practice oranges, we ate them). Making a parrot that I named Kira, in honour of my little roomie, watching Disney movies and Eating. In Bed.

But April the 23rd itself was tears. From the skies, as though the grey clouds cried in sympathy, and from me, in the car on the way to the hospital as I tried to understand my life. Life. You know, I had to ask my Mom what date I'd been officially diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. That was a few years ago, after which I proceeded to forget again. If she hadn't made an offhand remark this week after I mentioned that Moo is turning 4 on April 22 ("that's the day after the date you were diagnosed") I'd have erroneously written April 28 in this post.

Would it have mattered?

Every year is another year that I've grabbed my Type 1 diabetes by the tail and kicked it's ass. I have always tried my best, and when that wasn't enough, I tried harder. And I've always succeeded. I could care less what the exact date is - but ask me what year, and I will tell you proudly.

Eighteen.

Today is April 23rd and I have been Type 1 diabetic for Eighteen years. I am healthy and have no related complications.

And tomorrow I'll be a healthy, complication-free Type 1 diabetic for Eighteen years.

And one day.

Comedy of Errors

During a lunch hour, a co-worker and I went shopping. Technically, she went shopping - I went along for the ride. Any excuse to leave the office for an hour!

 

Ye old trusty CGMS warned me before leaving that my BG was slowly dropping, one arrow pointing down towards 4.0 mmol, which led to a 30 minute temporary decreased basal. An almost faultless fix-all.

 

It should've worked. But the best laid plans....

 

We were in London Drugs when the pump cop started blaring: BEEP Beep beep. 3.6 mmol and dropping fast. Two arrows down on a roller coaster of spaghetti legs. I opened up my purse and dunh dunh dunh duuuuuuuu-OH - glucose tablet tube empty. For the first time in I don't know how many years, I had no glucose tabs (Idiot).

 

Luckily, I (Idiot) was saved by the juice cooler sitting at the checkout registers. I grabbed a grape juice and drank it as I stood in line, *Gulp* rationalizing that even though I hadn't paid for it yet, it better mine then I fall anywhere. Right? *Gulp*

 

(F&*# when is this stuff gonna kick in)

 

I paid. I stumbled over my tongue and my feet. *Gulp* I dropped my shopping bag and in a hypo-induced fog, leaned over to pick it up from the floor....... 

 

.......and proceeded to dump something liquid all over. After which I stood up, looking at the bag in my right hand, and wondering what on earth had leaked from my shopping bag. I mean, honestly, there isn't even anything containing fluid in there!

 

Ish thish a trick?

 

I actually walked away. I could feel my blood sugar rising and my brain clearing, but it wasn't until I was outside, drinking the remaining dregs of juice, that logic snapped the pieces together in my brain.

 

The cap was off the juice when I leaned over. And I had walked away in a daze, leaving the girl at the register to clean up after me as the other customers gave me strange looks.

 

Right.

 

I think there's a blonde joke in here somewhere...

Sharing The Burden: Married To A Type 1 Diabetic

When I was a child, my mom used to tell me that being the loved one of a type 1 diabetic is harder than being the diabetic. Most times, I think she's right. Nobody understands me quite so well as my type 1 diabetic friends; they know the spaghetti-legs of lows and the Hyperphobia of highs. Family, friends, past boyfriends...all are on the outside looking in - and I have no idea how that feels.

But Laurie does, and she posted the following in response to Linda's Story:

I have been married to a type 1 diabetic for 32 years. He does not take good care of himself and I know more about diabetes than he does. I have read the books, he has not and will not read even one of them. 5 years ago, he was very sick and almost died dr.'s could not find out what was wrong, finally they found out he has gastroparesis and he had to get a gastric pacemaker put in his stomach to help digest his food. This is common in diabetics.
So if any of your diabetics are vomiting uncontrollably, and can't keep food down it is probably gastroparesis. He has been in and out of the hospital so many times that I have lost count. We had a home that we built and lived in for 14 years on 3 acres but we lost it, because of hospital bills, and him not being able to work. I can't tell all of you how important it is to take care or your diabetes! My husband fights me when I ask him to do his test, or eat when I know he needs to. It is a constant battle to keep him half way healthy and it is about to do me in. I am depressed because of it and don't care much about myself. I have told him for so many years that it is bad that he has diabetes, but he is also lucky that he does not have a disease like cancer, that he has NO control over! He can control his diabetes, especially if he would take good care of himself!
Linda, I know exactly how you feel! I/we can't go on a trip or a weekend away, if I go away for the afternoon, he will go work in the yard and not stop to eat and he will have a sugar low. If we go on a trip he will more than likely end up in the hospital, I don't know why? I is something about going away?
I have called from a store and had to rush home to find him doing flip flops on the front porch with his sugars at 37!
With what I have gone through with this man, I would guess that it has taken a good 10 to 20 years off of my life and it just keeps on going as of yesterday when he had a low of 40 because I wasn't home for 2 hours while I went to the grocery store and he couldn't take the time to get himself some lunch! He scared our 14 year old daughter half to death and I almost got in an accident driving about 80 mph to get home.
OK, I am done complaining, I wish so bad that I knew a way to get him to take care of himself? I have tried everything I can think of. I don't know what to do.
Thanks for listening. Lauri

Lauri, thank you so much for sharing your story. And please, remember to take care of you.

Comments, as always, are open.

Pimp My Pump

Just after Christmas I had to buy my very first box of glucose sensors. Well, not my very first box considering I've been using the Paradigm RT for almost three years; but the very first box that I've actually had to pay for myself. My insurance reimbursed me for 80% - it was a hard thing to swallow since I'm used to having them covered direct at 100%.

So I decided to buy myself a little apres-Christmas present for being such a good girl all year (what Santa doesn't know won't hurt him, I always say).

Pimp My Pump

A little Hawaiian flavour for my plain old grey pump. I've been impressed by how nice the skin looks - not cheap or phony - and how well it's standing up to daily wear. It was also a cinch to put on!

I'm even considering buying another one...maybe the bubble skin. Though it's so girly that I'd have to give it the title of prom queen rather than a pimp job...

Of course, given that I will likely have a new pump shortly I may have to do a little gender reassignment which gives me the opportunity for a cool new skin. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention, I am in the hellishprocessinwhichtheinsurancecompanywantsmyfirstborn process of getting a new pump to replace good old Mad Max (the cross-dresser) who has been out of warranty for two years-ish and decided to up and die on me one night when I was changing batteries.... Fortunately, a new battery cap fixed that problem, but practicality insists that it's time to get a new pump with a spanky new warranty. Just. In. Case. Unfortunately, word on the streets is my insurance company will only pay 80% of reasonable costs of the new pump. Leaving me to foot the bill for about $1400.

To make matters worse, my Minilink is officially kicking the bucket after an astonishing 21 months of continuous use (the longest I didn't wear it was ten days). The test plug ISIG value tonight was 190 point something. They call this Bad Timing. Because according to my insurance company, that little piece of technology that I rely on so much, that has saved my butt more times than I can even remember over the past three years, is not a reasonable cost. They are immovable. We tried. Others have tried before us. We are all big fat failures. Medtronic of Canada will give me a new transmitter with the purchase of a box of four sensors. For half the price. $350. Gah. And we mustn't forget the 20% I'll have to pay for that box of sensors. Gah Gah. Oh, and the $50 I pay into that benefit plan every month. Gah Gah Gah.

But life is not only about insulin pumps and rotten insurance plans - it's also about the tires that I have to purchase in the spring when I take my winter treads off, the money I'm trying to save for a downpayment for a house, the increasing and disgusting price of groceries, vet bills and car payments and mortgages and possible second jobs and blah-de-blah-blah. It's also the package that I received from the Alberta Diabetes Institute for the Edmonton Protocol that I opened, read through, and have not looked at since. I have a strange mental aversion to the whole thing right now and am playing the avoidance game.

The winter blues have hit me extra hard this year, leaving behind a whiny, motivation-lacking downer of a lifeless pessimist in place. Since that all means I'm even more bitchy than normal, there will be no apologies.

Instead, a gratuitous dog picture will follow. Because even through all of this, I must remember to smile.

Border Collies To The Rescue!