BG meter

We Interrupt This Irregularly Scheduled Diabetes

I’ve been running high lately, and I don’t know why.

BG 220

That’s a lie. I know why. I eat too much, too often, and too late. Or I don’t eat, and then I go low or get super hungry, and then I eat all the things. Dang those holiday treats!

Eat All The Things

I haven’t been working out, exercising, or bringing sexy back. I have a gym membership, so accessibility to a place to exercise certainly isn’t the problem. I always find some seemingly good excuse for not getting there. First I was busy trying to find a new place to live. Then I was busy moving. Then I hurt both hands during the move.

Hurt Hands

Then I got even busier than usual at work creating something that I am extremely excited about. We are starting a new diabetes journal, available to all, and we’re now accepting research and volunteers to be peer reviewers. Check out The PLAID Journal. You can see a couple of videos and news articles about the The PLAID Journal on the Announcements page. Also, the Facebook page for PLAID. (Lots more to come on PLAID, so stay tuned.)

PLAID - Start the Conversation

Then the knee that I hurt while cycling several years ago flared up again. Add to all of that an ever-growing to-do list, and there is always something that keeps me focused on something other than me.

I hate it. I hate the feeling of my blood sugar being high. I hate that I can’t get my BG to stay where I want it. I hate when I prick my finger and see a number that is dramatically higher than I feel because my body is getting used to it. I hate being thirsty. I hate waking up in the middle of the night to go pee. I hate thinking about it. All. The. Time.

I also hate being overweight. I hate feeling like I am the overweight that I am. I know that we’re in an age where we are supposed to accept our bodies and all that jazz, but this is not normal. I can’t just accept this. I don’t feel like me at this size. I feel like I’m stuck in a heavy fat suit, and everything I do is just that much harder because of it.

But for whatever reasons, I can’t seem to change it.

Before April of this year, I was on Weight Watchers, and I was doing pretty well with it. I had lost over 10 pounds in three or four months, and was feeling pretty good. I was on track to get back to a weight and size that I wanted to be. And stronger. And back to a more human shaped geometry, instead of just round.

Martin and Amanda on Bicycles

Today, I’m the heaviest that I’ve every been. Almost 207 whopping pounds. I put that out there for no other real purpose than to make it real. I should be about 170, in an ideal world. And I’ve seen a human skeleton. Short of an anatomical anomaly, there is no such thing as “big boned.” I’m just plain old overweight right now.

As joyous as April started out with Amanda and I tying the knot in beautiful Key West, it ended in tragedy with the loss of our precious little cat Squirt, and I know that losing her has played a role in where I am now. To some it may sound silly (she was so much more than “just a cat”), but she was a part of my life every single day for nearly 14 years. It feels like the loss of an immediate family member, because that is exactly what it is. I think dealing with that loss, on top of everything else already mentioned, has made me do things like eat my emotions and talk myself out of doing fun active things.

Squirt in the Window

Working out and exercising has always been like therapy to me. Be it gym, walking, running, or cycling, it’s a safe place for me to get out all of my stress, frustration, anger, aggression, sadness, and any other negative emotions that I’m dealing with. Some days I only need 30 minutes or so. Other days I might need a couple of hours. It also makes sure that I have a few minutes during normal human hours of the day that are just for me, Martin Wood, where I’m not making sure that the needs of everyone else are being met.

It’s my career choice to help people, and it is a major part of who I am, and I love it, but sometimes in order to help people we have to make the time to help ourselves. I haven’t been doing enough of that. Now that we are in a neighborhood where there is less chance of going for a walk or run and interrupting a drug deal, I finally feel that spark of motivation to get out of the house and move around.

I also enjoy doing other things, like reading, video games, movies, and basically anything that doesn’t involve repairing yet another kitchen appliance in my house. Sometimes it’s hard to make room for those things, but we have to. Down time is as necessary to life as to-do lists and full calendars. A friend said recently that “cancelling a holiday commitment is like heroin.” Try it. Substitute an evening on the couch with the dog and the first half of this season of The Walking Dead. (Beth…noooooo!!!)

Life with diabetes is freaking hard, man. Life with diabetes is about so much more than just diabetes. Life with diabetes is a complicated balance of biometrics, medical therapies, activities, unexpected events, important considerations, random emotions, bright sides, dark places, and things left unsaid that have to be factored into an inarticulate equation that hopefully results in a personal definition of success.

All of this is what it takes to get my A1C where I want it, to get my BG’s on a more level plain instead of high or bouncing all over the place, to get back to Weight Watchers and better control of all of the delicious things that I’ve been cramming into my face hole, to develop the strength and stamina to avoid future injuries, and to drop some pounds and be able to haul ass without it taking two trips. That is what it takes to focus more on the things that I do have in my world that bring joy, for me, Martin Wood. Like these two…

A and H

That is what it takes to start to feel better. To feel happy. To feel able. To feel normal. And if I can’t do it on my own, then I’ll have to figure out who the right people are and get them on my bus to help me get further along down that road. For now, it’s one mile at a time.

–MW

Just Ask

It’s the 4th Annual Diabetes Blog Week! If you want to participate, or if you want to see what other diabetes bloggers have to say about the daily topics over the next seven days, head over to Karen’s blog at Bitter~Sweet and jump in.

Diabetes Blog Week Banner 2013

Today’s blog prompt comes from Melissa over at Sweetly Voiced.

Often our health care team only sees us for about 15 minutes several times a year, and they might not have a sense of what our lives are really like. Today, let’s pretend our medical team is reading our blogs. What do you wish they could see about your and/or your loved one’s daily life with diabetes? On the other hand, what do you hope they don’t see?


Unless I’m traveling or just too busy to stop what I’m doing (or in denial…yes, that happens), I see my endocrinologist (endo) and CDE every three months, my ophthalmologist (eye doctor) every year, and my dentist twice a year. That amounts to, at the very least, four hours a year in the office of my healthcare team with my pancreas hanging out, my pupils dilated, or my mouth wide open. Sometimes at the same time.

Considering that there are 8760 hours in a year, I spend about .5% of my year in doctors offices in various compromising positions (not counting labs, time on the phone with insurance, time spent hooking so that I can afford my copays, etc.), which begs the question… How the heck am I still alive?

There are plenty of other doctors that I could spend time with too. Presently on my list of docs to find include a dermatologist, a podiatrist, and a psychologist. That last one will likely make my doctor time (and spend) increase exponentially, but that’s a conversation for another day. When I’m less crazy. Because that happens too.

Bank - Saving Up For Therapy

The thing is, I need all of the services and advice of all of these doctors in order for me to stay at my optimal health status and achieve my health goals. Yet, I struggle. What little bit of time I have with each of these doctors, we don’t have a chance to talk about some of the things that they could really help me with probably better than anyone.

At my endo, we talk about diabetes, pump settings, high and low blood sugar trends, A1C’s, prescriptions, and sometimes even new diabetes research and technology. We don’t talk about my struggle with my weight, and how it affects me both physically and mentally. We don’t talk about my depression, and how sometimes I’m smiling on the outside and absolutely falling apart on the inside, and nobody ever truly knows the extent of it. We don’t talk about stress, and ways to manage being overloaded, and strategies to cut it down so that I don’t have to add hypertension and heart disease to my laundry list of sh–stuff to deal with on a daily basis.

At the eye doctor, we talk about diabetes, A1C’s, and the importance of keeping and EYE on things (see what I did there?) in the back of my eyeballs. We don’t talk about how prescription glasses are expensive, especially when you need multiple pairs (stylish regular glasses, plus sunglasses that make you think you look stylish, plus sport sunglasses for when you play volleyball on the beach with no shirt on all Top Gun style). We don’t talk about how much time I spend staring at a computer screen, and whether or not that is good or bad. We don’t talk about anything to allay my fears and anxiety from potential and, in reality, way over-exaggerated diabetes complications. We don’t even differentiate between Type 1 and Type 2 diabetes, but rather treat it as just this overarching definition of diabetes that sucks and makes you go blind, your feet fall off, and your wenis not work properly. And I need my wenis to continue to work properly dangit! (I don’t even know how I got from eyeballs to wenis, but I’m mildly impressed and entertained with myself right now.)

I want my healthcare team to know that, just because it isn’t their area of expertise, all of these various other things in Martin World impact me, and are related in some way, and have the potential to impact my health in both positive and negative ways. Because I’m stressed out that my BG’s are running higher than normal may mean that I don’t check my BG as often because I don’t want to deal with the stress that I feel when I see that high number on my meter. So then I go get something awful to eat to feed the stress with, and then my pants start fitting a little tighter, and I feel like I’m the size of a whale and the idea of an 19th century style corset sounds like a pretty great idea if it will make my pants fit better. Then my pants get too tight and the pressure makes my eyeballs fall out and my teeth point forward.

What I also want my healthcare team to know is that I have absolutely no clue how to bring these things up and talk about them in the time limit and in a way that makes sense to them before they have to run off and see the next patient. I’m doing good to remember to even show up for the appointment most days. If it’s not on my Outlook calendar with an alarm, don’t expect me to be there. If there was one thing I wish they would all ask, it might be, “So all of these numbers aside, how are YOU doing? Feeling okay? Any particular issue not related to insulin, BG test strips, and pump supplies that I can help with?”

Just ask. The answer might be no most of the time. But sometimes it might be yes. And that’s when it is most important that you asked, and that you are there to listen.

Dblog Week 2013 Button

To view other posts on this topic, click here.

Low Interrupted

At first, I was thinking that I would toss out this post, or save it for later, in order to respond to the news from the Diabetes Research Institute. I know that a post like this, full of words on a screen, risks getting lost in the mix. But maybe it won’t.

If you read my last post, you know that A-Flizzle surprised me with a birthday trip to Jacksonville to tour the Budweiser brewery, hang out with Jacquie and the gang, get a massage, and go to one of my favorite restaurants in the whole wide world called 13 Gypsies. And my blood sugar spiked sky high. So now you’re caught up. As Paul Harvey would say, this is “the rest of the story.”

I’ve been sitting on this post for a few weeks now. It’s been a really hard thing for me to share. It’s the post I’ve been waiting to write for, like, 23 days.

My blood sugar was sky high, but I couldn’t very well call in diabetic and cancel a quality birthday celebration. Nor did I want to. I bolused for the high, but having been unplugged from my pump for as long as I was, there was really no telling how much insulin it would take to turn things around and get my BG’s back to normal. I knew I would need to feather the insulin over time in small doses so that I didn’t get a big ball of insulin hitting me all at once. It sounded like a good idea, at least. Until it just wasn’t working. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

So, I did what any abnormal person with a nonfunctioning pancreas would do in the situation: I rage bolused the $h!t out of that high to show it who was boss. And I did too.

Later that night, after we had gone out to a rooftop bar and then to one of our favorite hangouts in 5 Points, Birdie’s, A-Flizzle and I trekked back to our hotel to call it a night. We settled in, I stretched out on the bed, propped my head up on a stack of pillows, and started watching one of the greatest movies of all time that just happened to be on TV that night: Con Air. What? You know you love it!

A-Flizzle was sound asleep, and I was laying there in bed messing around with my iPad and watching Cyrus the Virus battle The Man of Nomadic Eyebrows from the Land of Forgotten Forehead (aka, Nicholas Cage) for a shot at freedom via a crash landing on the Las Vegas strip (don’t blame me, I didn’t write it) when it hit me. Hard. And I remember every single part of it.

In an instant, I had absolutely no clue where I was. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing, even though I was doing nothing. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t help overanalyzing every next thought that was popping into my head, and I had no control of what was popping into my head next.

I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. I sat there, in a complete panic, trying to figure out what was going on. I knew what was going on. I just couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. But everything was so serious. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, what was next, what I should do.

I stood up. I walked over to my BG kit, and sat it on the table. I walked off. I started pacing around the room, stomping hard, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. I could see A-Flizzle in the middle of the king size bed, sound asleep. I tried to yell for her, but I couldn’t. No sound would come out. I started hitting my diabetes tattoo, indicating, trying to make noise and get her attention. Anybody’s attention. But it wasn’t loud enough.

And that’s when it hit me: I was low. Really, really low. And I was standing in the room with the one person that I trust more than anyone, and I could not for the life of me (literally) figure out how to get her attention. What would be so simple any other time, to simply yell or reach out and shake her awake, I could not figure out how to tell my body to do. I just knew that this was really, really serious, and I had to figure out something through my garbled thoughts.

I paced around the king sized bed like a tiger walking a perimeter, establishing his territory. Back and forth, from one side to the other, for I don’t even know how long. All the while I’m trying to figure out how to wake her up. I was fading. The panic was wearing me out. I was starting to think about what A-Flizzle would do without me, and how much it would crush her to lose me when she was right there, so close. What would happen to my Hopper (dog), Squirt (cat), and Bindi (A-Flizzle’s dog) back home without me. How their little hearts would break when I didn’t come home from a weekend away. How my Hopper would continue to look for me at the door long after Amanda got home, just waiting on me to get there to give him a doggie hug.

All I could think was, “This might be the one. That one low blood sugar that I don’t survive. The big one.” I was also thinking, “Dammit, I don’t want to go to the hospital on my friggin’ birthday!” I started punching the corner of the bed because I was so frustrated that I couldn’t get my body and brain to communicate and work properly. Then I thought of big ones, like the big earthquake in California that everybody always talks of but hasn’t happened yet. The hurricane that will come and sink Florida. The importance of having an emergency plan, a parachute. A parachute? A PARACHUTE! For when I fall!

No Brain

I managed to figure out that if I passed out from the low, it was my pump that would continue to give me insulin and keep me low. I snatched it from my PJ pants pocket, and unhooked it, not bothering to suspend it, and threw it on the bed. I went over to my bag, and found the glowing bright red rectangle that contained glucagon, and held it tight in my left hand. I knew that if I passed out, A-Flizzle would likely hear me hit the floor, and hopefully see the glucagon in my hand and know what to do. If she didn’t, at least my pump was off, so hopefully I would survive long enough for my blood sugar to come back up naturally before…well, before I died.

As I was digging in my bag for that, I uncovered a Level gel. I ripped off the top with my teeth and managed to get most of the gel in my mouth through the lack of motor skills and shaking that I didn’t realize was happening. Once I got the Level gel in me, and gave it time to work, I was finally able to figure out how to reach over and wake A-Flizzle up to help me. By then I was back on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, shaking, still holding the glucagon case in my left hand, and completely physically and emotionally exhausted. Half asleep, her training that I taught her in case I ever go low kicked in, and she was able to retrieve two more Level gels and help me get them down before I had to lay down, else pass out from exhaustion. Still, I wasn’t up to a normal and safe BG level yet.

A-Flizzle set a timer on her phone to wake us up every 15 minutes for me to test my BG again. After an hour of that, I was still only at 70. Not too low, but certainly not high enough to go to sleep after such a bad low. I took one more Level gel, and then I was out for the rest of the night. I woke up the next morning at 96. Normal. And completely hungLOWver, worn out, physically and emotionally exhausted from the night before.

I’m thankful that I taught A-Flizzle what to do when I go low. I’m thankful that we have a plan and always know where things are to treat a low, even if half asleep. It’s so important to have something available to treat a low blood sugar, and know where it is even in your subconscious. That is what may save you in the event that you have to build your own parachute. I know it did me. It’s been extremely hard for me to admit to myself, but I know that I wouldn’t be here right now had I not had those gels, known where they were, and the fact that they were easy for me to get into when it was literally life or death for me.

Tomorrow, the DRI is set to share some big news about steps toward an eventual cure for diabetes. I really hope it is everything that we hope it will be. I’d be lying though if I didn’t admit I’m skeptical. Don’t confuse that with negativity. I’m positive that there will be a cure someday, and I’ll be the first one to celebrate tomorrow if there is something to celebrate. I’ve just heard that a cure was coming since my mother was told that there would be one when I was diagnosed at age two, 32 years ago. A cure for diabetes is exactly what every one of us with diabetes, and every parent of a child with diabetes, wants in this world. Nobody should have to see their life flash before their eyes on their birthday because of a low blood sugar like I had to. However, hoping and praying and wishing doesn’t get us closer to that day.

I’ve learned to keep myself grounded in reality. Maybe that’s a defense mechanism so that I’m not constantly let down, but experience says to be patient, diligent, and steadfast today so that we can make it to tomorrow. The absolute best thing we can do is take care of ourselves today, support each other in the diabetes community, both online and offline, and not let our fellow person with diabetes stumble. You can do this, and so can I. Then, when that cure does arrive, whether it’s tomorrow or twenty years from now, we’ll be ready.

Keep Calm And BG On

FFL12 - Team Type 1 Session

Team Type 1 and Life With Diabetes

Friends For Life is not just for children with diabetes. It isn’t just for adults with diabetes. It is also for parents, grandparents, siblings, significant others, and friends of people with diabetes. Friends For Life is for those who need hope, who need help, and who need reassurance that anything is possible for people with diabetes, whether they themselves have diabetes or not.

Phil Southerland, founder of Team Type 1, lives to prove that anything is possible with diabetes. I’ve seen the presentation of the story of Team Type 1 several times, but Friends For Life was the first time that I’ve seen it directed to parents and caregivers of children with diabetes.

FFL12 - Team Type 1 Session

Phil started by introducing himself, and sharing the story of how he and his mom dealt with the reality of the diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes when he was a small child. I can relate to Phil’s story, as I was diagnosed at about the same time he was. I was two years old when I was diagnosed, and though doctors tried to fill my parents with hope that a cure was on the way, the reality of the diagnosis at that time, and for me at such a young age, was not as optimistic as it is today.

But Phil and I both made it, and we got to experience the Team Type 1 session at Friends For Life 2012 with one of us on stage, and the other (me) out in the audience observing how parents with the same diagnosis as our parents received about us were trying to figure everything out.

I was so happy to see the room full of orange bracelets (worn by those without diabetes). Friends For Life is ultimately a Children With Diabetes conference, and with the exception of an Adult T1 Track, it is geared primarily to children and their caregivers. For this session, I was actually the one in the room that wasn’t where I was supposed to be. Not really a surprise, as I’m rarely where I’m supposed to be, but still, it thrilled me to see so many parents who were interested in learning that their kids can do ANYTHING with diabetes.

Several of the parents in the room had specific questions for Phil about how to manage their child’s diabetes in various situations, such as while swimming, playing soccer, and other sporty situations. Something I see often with parents, especially those parents whose child is recently diagnosed, is that they want black and white, straightforward, no argument answers about how to deal with some aspect of their child’s diabetes. They don’t want it to be as “bad” as it is.

The truth of the matter is that diabetes is not black & white. It is gray, purple, green, yellow, and every other color of the rainbow. Although it has its tough days, living with diabetes is one of the best things that ever happened to me. If you ask Phil, he will tell you the same. With diabetes, you have to really know your body, pay attention to it, and as a result many people with diabetes (PWDs) are as healthy or healthier than a lot of people without diabetes. I find a lot of strength in that.

The specifics of diabetes varies for every single person. Honeymoon periods (the period of time for some recently diagnosed Type 1 diabetics where their body is still producing small amounts of insulin, which typically decreases as time goes by) last for weeks, or months. Low blood sugar symptoms show up at a BG (blood glucose level) of 110 mg/dl or 45 mg/dl, and sometimes not at all. Every single person with diabetes varies.

Phil’s best advice to the parents, and something I agree with him 100% on, is to let children become the CEO of their own body. Keep focused, but learn and let children learn from their diabetes successes and mistakes. Blame does not breed learning.

If your child has a low blood sugar, it’s not your fault, and it’s not their fault. If your child has a high blood sugar, it’s not your fault either, nor is it their fault. The same applies if you have Type 1 diabetes yourself. That is diabetes, and over three decades of living well with diabetes has taught me that it is critical to remove the emotion from diabetes numbers, such as blood sugar levels and A1C values.

It’s just data, and it isn’t telling you that you are doing it right or doing it wrong. Only a human can assign emotion to math. A blood glucose meter cannot do that. Take diabetes data with the same face value as a road sign or a traffic light: It is a cue that some sort of action needs to take place, whether that action is to make an adjustment, stop, proceed with caution, or keep going and you’re doing great!

The next time your child comes home from school, resist the urge to immediately ask them what their last BG reading was, or how they are feeling, if they need a snack, or how many carbs did they eat for lunch. Instead, ask them to tell you about the most exciting thing to happen to them that day. You may be surprised to learn that diabetes is not the most exciting part of their world, so don’t make it the most exciting part of your world either (unless you’re at Friends For Life).

Life comes first.

Friendly Neighborhood Tyrannosaurus Rex

Just Another Day

This past weekend was a good weekend. No deadlines except that one that made a nice whooshing noise as it went by, nowhere to be, just an opportunity to enjoy things at a leisurely pace.

Saturday, A-Flizzle and I got a wild hair and decided it would be fun to go on a six mile urban hike, which is a more adventurous way out saying that we walked through a few neighborhoods and down a few sidewalks. It’s kind of amazing the things you notice when you are on foot that you never see from driving around in a car. We found a house with a dinosaur in the front yard, several Florida rooms off the sides of houses with beds in them that we were hoping to catch someone dozing in, a new sports bar and restaurant being built, and we learned that the pedestrian crosswalks have absolutely no rhyme or reason for when they decide to let you cross the street.

Friendly Neighborhood Tyrannosaurus Rex

Throughout the day, I thought I had done a really good job of counting carbs, factoring in activity, and doing a good job of keeping tabs on things so that I didn’t go low from the activity or high from any of the delicious things that I ate, like the banana and Nutella crepe that I may or may not have had for lunch at about mile 4.5 of our urban hike. And by the way, this is my blog post, and I call it Nutella, not Noo-tella…because there’s a freakin’ “nut” in it. YPONMV. (Your pronunciation of Nutella may vary.)

After a day of near perfect BG’s, around bedtime on Saturday night I realized that I wasn’t feeling too well, so I did a quick check to see where things were. 342. I was pissed. Are you for real?! I counted everything! I know I got the math right, or at least in the ballpark enough to not merit a stupid 342 BG. What the #$@#%#$?!!!!

After I got done pitching a fit, I tried to think what might have jacked my BG up so high. Surprisingly, I don’t think it was the banana and Nutella crepe. There was nutritional info, and I’m pretty sure I was in the ballpark on that one. Since it was sunny and over 90 degrees outside when we were urban hiking all over town, I settled on the idea that the insulin in the tube of my pump probably got a little too warm during the activity and had lost its effectiveness. Insulin is supposed to be kept cool or at room temperature, and let’s face it, late Spring and Summer in Florida is far from being room temperature by any stretch of the definition. Something you have to be aware of if you’re going to sport an insulin pump is that, every once in awhile, heat happens.

I dosed down the 342 BG with a shot of insulin via the old faithful syringe, and then switched out the insulin in my pump. Either I overestimated how much I needed to pull that 342 BG back down to normal, or the activity of the day finally caught up with me, because I woke up around 3:00am at BG 35. After a juice box and a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter (which I may or may not have shared with Hopper dog), I woke up in the morning with a perfect BG of 88.

Diabetes is a total game of numbers. In order to stay alive we have to count everything. And guess. A lot.

We have to know how many carbohydrates are in everything that we put in our mouth, what our blood sugar (BG) level is at the time, and guesstimate how much activity (or lack thereof) is going to affect our metabolism and BG level. Then, on top of that, there are ever present questions about how accurate our BG meters are, we never really know for sure how effective the insulin that we’re injecting is going to be (especially after it has been in an insulin pump for a few days), and our bodies sometimes process that magical life elixir differently than yesterday, when we had the same food, the same activity, and the same BG levels.

My endo says that “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is insanity…unless you have diabetes.” In Martin World, it’s just another day.

Gummy Bears

Twas A Gummy Bear Night

Twas a night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a CGM was beeping, all sensors were out.
The transmitter was stashed amongst the pump supplies with care
In hopes that my insurance company soon would say, “Clear!”

The gummy bears were nestled all snug in their bag,
Patiently awaiting for diabetes to attack.
The cat under covers, the dog taking a nap,
It was only a matter of time before diabetes would snap.

When just down the hall there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed in a soaking wet lather.
Panicked and stricken, I searched for my glasses,
Hoping to high heavens my feet weren’t molasses.

The moon in the window lighting my way
Leading me to the kitchen where the gummies await.
Like a chorus of Hungry Hippos my teeth were a chatter,
Am I low? Or just cold? Truthfully, it doesn’t matter.

Flicking on the lightswitch in a soaking wet fury,
“Get in my belly you gummies!” I said, a bit slurry.
More delicious than glucose tabs and easier to swallow,
The red ones are best, and what makes the clear ones so hollow?

The clock ticks, the minutes pass, waiting for a fixin’
It doesn’t seem to be working, my brain says as I listen.
I think, “Let’s chase the gummies with a bottle of soda!”
“Diet, that’s not,” a voice says, kind of like Yoda.

As the bottle is emptied I start to stop shaking,
This all will have consequences in the morning upon waking.
Tired and worn out, I drag my carcass to bed,
Where visions of semi-coherent boluses dance in my head.

And then, in a moment, the sun starts to shine.
Morning already?! It was only just five!
As I sit up in bed, and try to shake off the fog,
I realize I feel like a rotting old log.

Time to get dressed, from my head to my foot,
“I think I wore these clothes yesterday,” I think as I look.
A bundle of sweaty clothes, a shower is needed.
What happened last night, and why am I still seated?

I make it down the hallway, shuffling feet in my slippers,
When all of a sudden I spot movement that’s chipper!
When, what to my sleepy-filled eyes should appear,
Those gummies are partying, and one of them has a beer!

I shake, and I tremble, and rub my eyes in disbelief.
A gummy bear palooza, in MY kitchen sink?!
I grab my pump quickly, and notice the last,
A bolus, SWAG-worthy, taken blindly and fast.

I reach for my meter, and check without fear,
Hoping that some sense in those numbers will appear.
Double-digits, that figures, at least now I know
Those gummy bear phantoms were all because I was low.

Gummy Bears

Photo by Pato Garza (CC license)

Time

Progress Takes Time

National Health Blog Post Month, Day 28: Say WHAT?! What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve heard about health or your condition? Was there any context? What did you think at the time you heard it – and what do you think of it now?NHBPM_2011_Day28

People say the darndest things, especially when it comes to diabetes. Most all of us have heard about how cinnamon can cure diabetes, how Halle Berry managed to wean herself off of insulin, and even how Chuck Norris’s tears contain the cure for diabetes. (Too bad he doesn’t cry. Ever.)

I can handle the ridiculous and imaginative ideas for curing diabetes that people in the publishing business come up with in order to sell copy and get clicks on their websites. I know, as well as they know, that they are often full of crap. Just look at the Reader’s Digest issue from a few months ago. It’s capitalism, and it’s meant to make money. We, as people with diabetes, regardless of type, have to make sure that we are smarter than the fly-by-night snake oil salesmen.

I get extremely upset with doctors who tell parents and children who are newly diagnosed that there will be a cure within five years. Or ten years. Or that it is just around the corner. I was told that when I was diagnosed at age two. That was 30 years ago. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t all have hope, but our efforts would be much better suited if we focused on living well with our diabetes (regardless of type), rather than surviving just long enough until there is a cure. What’s the point in a cure if we don’t make it that long?

If there was a cure for diabetes, it would not require me to buy someone’s book off of a TV infomercial or sign up for an annual subscription to a website. A cure would be grounded in science, and would include known experts in the field of diabetes who live with and work with this disease every single day that would be more than willing to vouch for whatever form and type of diabetes the cure is for.

I also believe that we would see it coming. True researchers dedicate their lives to finding a cure for diabetes. They don’t accidentally mix up samples and say, “Oh, wow, a cure for diabetes. How’d that happen?” So many people are stakeholders for diabetes improvements, and they have their fingers on the pulse of the research that is being done towards better treatments and a cure.

The things that I’m excited about right now are insulin pumps with low blood glucose suspend functionality. Basically, if the continuous glucose monitor (CGM) senses a blood glucose that is below a certain level, then it will automatically suspend the insulin pump for a period of time. I have low blood sugar unawareness, so this would be helpful to me to ward off severe lows, like the 35 that I had while I was at Epcot last week, and maybe even prevent me from having a low BG related seizure.

I’m also excited about CGM sensors that aren’t as invasive as what we have now. My biggest hurdles in wearing my CGM are the components themselves. I love the results, and the data that I get from it, but having to harpoon myself with a fat needle to insert my sensor and then attach a big honkin’ transmitter to it and tape it down so that it doesn’t fall off is really a burden sometimes. I remember the first home BG meters. They were huge, and heavy, and slow. Today they are tiny, and can report BG’s in five seconds, so I know we will get there with CGM technology as well.

As long as research and development is being done, and we are advocating for our needs, progress is inevitable. It just takes time.

Time

This post was written as part of National Health Blog Post Month (NHBPM) – 30 health posts in 30 days: http://bit.ly/vU0g9J

National Health Blog Post Month