Monthly Archives: October 2013

The Diabetes Spooktacular

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I love Halloween. Not because of the candy, I love Halloween because of the opportunity to be creative when it comes to costumes. I love to make my Halloween costumes each year and I get really into it. People’s reactions to my costumes is the true reward for all the time and effort. This year, I wanted to extend the costumes to a new subject, my diabetes.

Let’s meet the monsters:

Dracula
Glucose meter

“I vant to suck your blood!”

That’s all I could think about when I decided to dress my glucose meter up as Dracula. I mean isn’t that really all a glucose meter really wants, lots of blood? This Dracula’s prefers to have blood that has the perfect amount of glucose, not too much and not too little.

The Mummy
Insulin Pump

Keeping my diabetes “under wraps” or making sure things are “all wrapped up”. I decided to dress my insulin pump up as a mummy. It was also kind of playing off of the idea of preserving organs and the fact that my pancreas is not preserved in its original working form (yea, that part was kind of a stretch).

Ghost
Continuous Glucose Monitor

I decided to dress Gigi, my CGM, up as a ghost because it seems like my CGM is always disappearing and then randomly showing up. I love how the ghost “glows” with the light of the meter shining through.

Wishing everyone a very spooky Halloween! May your sweet tooth be satisfied and your blood sugar stay in range!

Revolving Relationships

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I have various relationships to my diabetes, relationships that seem to constantly be changing. When you live with a chronic condition, a 24/7 job, you’re bound to have different feelings towards it throughout the day, week, or your life. Here are a few of the relationships I  have with my diabetes:

The Annoying Sibling– There are days when it feels like my diabetes is being purposefully bothersome, pestering me and getting under my skin the way only a sibling can. It’s days when you are in a rush, running late, and then you get a “no delivery” sign on your pump. Or you’re out shopping and need to test your blood sugar and realize that your test strips must have fallen out back at your house. Not the end of the world, but annoying none the less. It’s the times when you just want to tell diabetes, “Leave me alone! Go annoy someone else for a while!”

The Obligatory Friendship- I think there are people in everyone’s lives that you are friendly to because you have to be or because you want to be nice. It could be a work relationship, a person that you’ve grown up with, or even a family member. You put up with that person because you have to, but it doesn’t mean that you necessarily enjoy your time spent with them. You just know that they aren’t going anywhere so you might as well make the best of it. Until there is a real cure, I’m stuck with my diabetes. And while there are moments when the familiarity is comforting, I would not say that I enjoy the time spent with my diabetes. I just try to make the best of it.

The Stubborn Child- I had the pleasure of dealing with this relationship this past weekend. I had a high blood sugar that for hours would not budge. I spent the night constantly giving more insulin, waiting for some sign that I was in the clear. But my diabetes decided to be stubborn. I would see the arrows on my CGM head downward, only to plateau at a level still too high. I felt like I was yelling to a child, “Get down from there right now! Are you listening to me? I’m going to count to 3.” And then my number would come down a little bit, enough that it was still following directions, but not enough to be helpful. “You stop that, you cannot be that high! Come down right this instant!” Then just to prove a point, my number did come down, and down and down. It dropped below 55 and despite waking up 3 times during the night to treat it, it stayed low. I could hear it saying, “You wanted me to come down. Well I’m down now, you got what you wanted.” Ugh, so infuriating sometimes!
The Coach- Living with a chronic condition has taught me a lot of different things and in many ways it has helped shape who I am today. It’s taught me about persistence, responsibility, perseverance, hope, determination, independence, and about taking an active role in my health and my life. Sometimes my diabetes acts like a coach, pushing me when times get tough. “You can do this, you’ve dealt with worse.” “Don’t give up, there’s hope yet.” Managing diabetes is not easy, but living with it has helped me grow in many ways that I am truly thankful for.

The Popular Friend- We all have or know that person that everyone seems to want to hang out with. When you’re with them, you get invited to the best parties, you get drinks sent to you at the bar, you feel like you’re on the inside and everyone wants to be your friend. Your association with this person is your ticket, and you are glad to be along for the ride. It’s odd to think of my diabetes this way, but there are times when it is my golden ticket. Ticket to what exactly? It’s hard to say. Sometimes it’s being able to relate and connect to someone in a way that others can’t. “Oh wow, that must have been so hard to grow up with (fill in with some autoimmune disease/chronic condition/difficult illness/food or physical restriction/other)! I can’t imagine what you must have gone through, but growing up with type 1 diabetes, I know that it’s not easy.” Having type 1 diabetes has been my ticket to the DOC (diabetes online community), a community of such supportive, informative, and inspiring people that I feel lucky to be a part of. It has led me to diabetes related events, causes, committees, and friendships that I otherwise may have never been involved with. This popular friend has been the subject of many school essays, interview questions, and hey, it even has a blog dedicated to it!

The Distant Roommate– Luckily, I spend most of my time in this last type of relationship. Yes, we spend a lot of time in each other’s business, but we’ve for the most part figured out a system that works for both of us. We live our lives intertwined, but without too many issues. We’re respectful of each other’s needs, we keep our distance when we need to, and even though we may not be friends, or even like each other sometimes, we still find a way to make it through together.

What kind of relationship do you have?


Disclaimer: this post was written in the abstract. It does not refer to any particular person in my life, but is instead meant as an archetype of possible relationships that may exist for others. 


The Voices in my Head

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I have voices in my head. And I would argue that you do, too. I have an inner dialogue that to me is the voice of reason, logic, health and morality. It’s the voice that tells me to offer to help the woman who has her hands full as she tries to open the door, to help those that are less fortunate than I am by giving my time or money, to right the wrongs that I see happening, and to be an overall good person.

It’s the same voice that tells me that I should probably order the side salad instead of the fries, that I should turn off the TV and go workout, that one cookie is enough. Oh actually, it’s telling me that one bite is enough.

This voice is not always a popular one. After all, it’s usually telling me not to do something that is inherently pleasurable: eating unhealthy but delicious foods, sitting around being lazy, not drinking too much. Instead, it’s telling me to do something that isn’t always the most fun, easy to do, or popular: getting enough exercising, eating more vegetables, putting on sunscreen, wearing a seat belt or helmet, the list goes on. But what I have to remember is that this inner voice always has my best interest in mind.

The thing is though, I don’t always listen to this voice. I mean I try to, but I have my moments of weakness. This is especially true when it comes to food and my diabetes.

“You probably shouldn’t eat that, it’s going to make your blood sugar soar.”

“You are going to eat pizza now?? Your blood sugar is already high, what are you thinking?!”

“Pasta!? Tsk. Tsk.”

“DO NOT order that frozen coke. Walk away.”

Enough already. I get it. I’m probably not making the best choices all the time, but I know the consequences of my actions. It’s just hard to ignore that inner voice, especially when I’m staring at a table full of treats and just want to indulge.

Which is why what I’m about to tell you is maybe one of the only perks of having diabetes and the rare moment when my inner voice has no choice but to shut up:

Low blood sugar when you are right in front of a dessert table/bake sale/ice cream sundae bar/etc.

This rare event is the holy grail of type 1 diabetes. You see, when you have low blood sugar, your body needs sugar. It’s not a choice, it’s a medical necessity! And it just does not make sense (to me at least) to find glucose tablets or a glass of orange juice when there is a plethora of food items with the sugar that you need right in front of you. Which baked item to eat doesn’t become a pros and cons list of taste and size versus calorie consumption, it becomes the sustenance for survival. And my inner voice cannot not argue this fact. So for these rare occurrences, I take extreme pleasure in my inner silence and relish the permission to indulge.

Of course after a few bites, that inner voice begins to warn me not to overcompensate for the low, but those few indulgent moments are just so very sweet.

The Case of the Missing CGM

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Gigi was no where to be found!

This is not good. Not good at all. Now I have to be honest, I’m not always the best at looking for lost items. My mom used to tell me not to bother her to help until I had really looked for something three times first. But this just wasn’t one of those times. I was sure of it.
I was getting ready to retire for the night and realized that I had no idea where my CGM was. My first thought was to check my bags. I had a kickball game that night so I checked my kickball bag, I checked my purse, and I checked the bag that held my clothes from changing after work. I checked all my pockets, in my pants and jackets. I couldn’t find it in any of them. I walked over to the couch thinking it may have fallen into the cracks. I lifted all the cushions, but no luck. 
I checked all the counters, I checked the garbage, I went outside and checked my car. It was lost. 
What if it fell out of my bag at kickball?! I don’t really remember taking it out of my bag, but what if it’s lying on the grass somewhere? Or maybe it fell out when I was walking to the car! Would someone pick it up? What would they do with it? 
So far I’ve been really good at keeping track at my medical devices. Granted the pump is connected to me so it’s a little difficult to lose, but I’ve managed to hold on to all my meters and supplies over the years. This just wasn’t like me.
I carried all my bags to my room, checking them all a second time. It felt weird to go to sleep without Gigi on my nightstand, but I had a plan. Most nights I hear Gigi vibrating from either having a high or low blood sugar. I would just wait until I heard it vibrate and then figure out where the noise was coming from. And if I didn’t hear it, then I would know it’s not in my room. 
The next morning, I awoke refreshed from an undisturbed night of sleep. I never heard Gigi go off. It couldn’t possibly be in my room. Now I was really starting to get worried. Where could it be?! There are only certain places where I keep my CGM, and it wasn’t in any of those places. I did one more sweep of my house. I was getting ready to walk out the door for work, without Gigi. I stopped to write a note for my family to see, “Can’t find my CGM, help!” 
I would just have to go through the day without Gigi and look again later. I reached my hand into the small outside pocket where I keep my keys, but it wasn’t my keys I grabbed. Gigi!! It must have fallen into that pocket by mistake. I looked through this bag 3 times, how did I miss it?! Relieved and a little embarrassed by my inept searching skills (*sigh* you were right, mom), I crumbled up the note. 
So it was in my bag the whole time. But why didn’t I hear it vibrate that night?
This is why:
Of course I would have a night of great blood sugars the one time I actually wanted it to vibrate! I’m just glad it wasn’t lost! Also, maybe I need to work on my searching skills…

A Melody of Hope

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I know my beeps. I know my beeps similar to the way a parent can recognize the cry of their baby. I know the sounds that my insulin pump and meters make. I don’t get them confused with other alarms, dings, and noises of everyday life. And since I’m usually not surrounded by other pump wearing diabetics, I know that the beeps are for me. That is until I go to a diabetes event. What a strange phenomenon it is to be surrounded by dozens of other diabetics. My beeps become lost in a sea of similar noises, mixing with the sounds of countless other pumps and meters. My unique identifier becomes a unifying force, a sound signifying a shared experience.

My contribution to this year’s mosaic mural

The past two weekends I’ve had the pleasure of attending 2 different JDRF walks, one in Chicago and one in Ann Arbor/Dexter. In Chicago, I was volunteering with an amazing organization called Project S.N.A.P, collecting artworks drawn at the walk by T1Ds, their families, and their friends to become part of a giant mosaic mural. You can read more about my experiences with Project S.N.A.P in this post, or on their website. The second walk I attended as a representative of the Young Leaders Committee of my local JDRF chapter. It was the second JDRF walk that I’ve ever attended as a walker.

I attended my local diabetes walk with my mom. The walk was in a beautiful Metropark, the path winding through trees with changing colored leaves. Although it was raining, it was still a beautiful and enjoyable walk. At one point my mom turned to me and asked if I was sad/upset that we didn’t really do these walks when I was growing up. I wasn’t mad. Mostly because I knew that my family always supported me. The walk that day was a perfect example. Knowing that I wanted to go to the event, my mom skipped her normal Sunday plans to wake up early and drive 45 minutes to walk in the rain with me.

But even though I am not upset, I know that I did miss out on some amazing experiences. When I looked around at the walks, I saw teams sometimes with 10-30 people all there for one special type 1 diabetic. They were there showing their support by physically coming together, by putting on their team t-shirt with their creative names and bright colors, and spending the morning dedicated to that one child with diabetes. I can only imagine how special that child must feel. Yes, they were being singled out because of their diabetes, but in a positive way. For at least one day each year, that child isn’t alone in their experiences. They aren’t the only child with diabetes. They are able to come together and see other children just like them, to meet and talk with them.

My parents had their own reasons for not pushing to go each year, but I know that if I had expressed an interest to attend these walks when I was younger, that we would have gone. Perhaps I didn’t know at the time what I was missing out on. I was content with the support from my friends and family and with the few other diabetics that I knew.  But these past two weekends while I stood in a sea of other diabetics, I heard those beeps, my beeps. And while it was confusing and odd to hear them, each beep seemed to say “You. are. not. alone. beep. We. are. in. this. together. beep.”

It was the melody of hope, of support, and of all the efforts to find a cure.

Strange Familiarity

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Over 1000 people filled the performance center, all of us sitting with our eyes focused on the dancers on the stage. No one was talking, no one was on their phone, everyone was staring straight ahead.

I had gone with my parents to see a contemporary dance performance by a professional dance company that was touring. It was the middle of the second dance, about an hour into the show. I started to look around at the audience instead of the dancers moving across the stage. What are all of these people thinking in this very moment? Here we all are, physically in the same space, listening to the same music, watching the same dancers, yet each of our experiences could be completely different. Unlike a play or a movie, there isn’t a real plot. While the dances are open to interpretation and inspired by different things, there isn’t a narrative to follow. What I feel and think watching these dancers could be completely different from the person next to me.

Hubbard Street Dance Chicago
Image from TimeOutChicago.com

My mind had been racing the entire show. My thoughts drifted from the dancers and my fascination with their strong bodies and graceful movements, to thinking about the different relationships in my life at the moment: the ones I had, the ones that I wanted, and the ones that I had and didn’t want.

I looked around again. How many people in the audience were thinking about a fight that they had earlier? How many people were there celebrating some happy occasion? Who was dragged there by a significant other? I looked up at the dancers, moving perfectly together, each movement beautifully synchronized. I wondered if anyone in the audience had been moved to tears.

Feeling nostalgic, I thought about all the times in the past few years that I had been sitting in those very same seats watching this same dance company. I reflected on all the ways that my life had changed in those years, from where I lived, who I was dating, and whether I was in school. But I also considered all the ways that it was still the same. My mind then drifted to the current transitions that I’m going through and the uncertainties and anxiety surrounding them.

Then I felt it. The familiar feeling. My blood sugar was dropping. Waiting until the applause between dances, I opened the crinkling plastic of my fruit snack, pouring the contents out into my hand. It was a process that I had mastered over the years, sneaking fruit snacks while making as little noise as possible.

A lot has changed in my life, and a lot more is in the process of changing. But as I chewed my fruit snacks and admired the dancers, I found a strange comfort in the familiarity of my diabetes.