The Walk Of Shame...To The Dietician.

So it's Wednesday again and you know what that means? It's blog posting day! Yes, that is right. If you have not yet noticed, I have limited this blog to once a week and Wednesday happens to be the lucky day! Congratulations, Wednesday.

I see my dietician tomorrow morning. This is the first time in months that I am not looking forward to it. Last time I was there, she gave me instructions to keep the log and she recommended things to add to my diet. You might know, if you have been reading my blogs, that the log went out the window a little after the 4th of July. Forget about the diet suggestions. I can't afford the things she wanted me to eat. Not to mention she recommended milk. And I hate milk.

I feel so awful. It is like I am going to school the day a huge project is due, but it was a project that I never got around finishing. I am so ashamed. When she asks me how I did, I will bow my head in utter shame and tell her that I failed miserably. I won't even be able to look her in the eye because I am afraid of what she will say. I am going to have to try and prepare myself for the disappointment that I will hear in her voice.

Her reaction isn't the only thing I am worried about, though. You see, she is trying to work with me to figure out what me insulin to carb ratio is. In order to do this, you have to keep track of everything that goes into my body. I have to keep track of what my blood sugars are at least four times a day. Basically, I have to see what food is doing what to my body and my sugars. What I have written down would have been a really good snapshot. I had a good two weeks of information. The only problem is that the day I stopped logging was the day my sugars went bonkers. I should have kept it up but I just couldn't do it. All that work for nothing.

I could give her what I have, but what's the use? It has lost all relevance. Now I know what she is going to have me do. Start again. Start fresh. But the just means that I have been wasting months waiting for this appointment with nothing to show for it. Now I have to wait a few more months and hope that I can do it. Again. I hope I don't aggravate her too much. I understand how important this information is. I just hope that she realizes that I do.

Or maybe I could just tell her my dog ate it. Sigh.

Thanks for reading and the comments.

What Have I Got To Lose?

I went to the clinic today. I had made the appointment a few weeks ago with the nurse practitioner for a diabetes check up. I went in with two clogged ducts in my eyelids, one being infected, and an infected big toe. Why am I telling you this? Well, had I been an average person, these ailments would not have me worried so much. But alas, I have Type 1 Diabetes, which means that I do worry, and I am worried. An average person would have went in, got some meds and be sent on their way. Me? I left with 2 more appointments--one with a podiatrist, the other with an optometrist. Ugh.

I have had all sorts on infections in my past, but ever since being diagnosed two years ago, every single time I get any type of infection, I red flag them in my mind--especially when I get them on my feet. I am sure you have read all about my catastrophic dog bite. (If you have not, you can read all about it here.) When the doctor mentioned the word "amputation", I will not lie, it scared the crap out of me. Who wouldn't be scared? Now, every little thing that goes wrong with me, I think the worst.

I do realize that not everything is going to be life threatening, or even limb threatening, but my imagination has a tendency to run wild. And it does. Every time. I used to think I was invincible, but I have met a few people who made me come to terms with the fact that I, of course, am not.

Shortly after being diagnosed, a man became one of my coworkers. He had one leg. Everyone stared at him, and I, being the understanding person that I am, looked passed it, and he eventually told me that he lost it to Diabetes. Another man, who I have mentioned before, had a few of his toes removed, and then his entire foot. He eventually lost his life. It is so sad and so so scary to think about. I don't mean to frighten anyone, though. I really don't.

I know, that things like that happen to those who have poor control over their diabetes. People tell me all the time not to sorry so much because these are circumstances where their blood sugars were too high for way too long. Well, let me tell you, when I was bit, I had dreadful control, so it was definitely something that could have happened.

Now that I am in control (for the most part, at least) I am calming down a bit. I don't freak out over everything. Just over some things. Like my big toe. I am quite attached to it, thank you, and I would like to keep it.

Thanks for reading and thank you for your comments!

I Just Can't Get It Right

Last month, as you all know, I turned over a new leaf. I really started to focus on my health and my diabetes. It was seriously a night and day change. I was excited. My boyfriend, family, nurses and doctors were all excited. I even started this blog to keep myself going. I was doing so well. My blood sugars were down (sometimes too much, but we all know that.) and I was completely ready for the long haul. Until recently.

Recently, I have been getting very discouraged. I was keeping a log book for a while, but I skipped a week and I just can't seem to get myself back into the habit. I still test, as I should, and take my shots like I should be doing. There is a problem, though. Something went wrong. It is as though the dosage of insulin that used to be perfect for me, has failed me for the past week or so. The other day, I went to sleep with a blood sugar reading of 85. When I woke up the next morning, it had skyrocketed to a shocking 150--for no reason. No reason that I can come up with, at least.

Today, I woke up a bit late, so I had no breakfast. I didn't check my blood sugars, either. It wasn't until after 3pm when I actually ate something. I checked my blood sugar, and again, it was in the 300s. The night before that, I ate a banana before I went to bed. A banana! I could understand a little bit of a spike, but this was ridiculous.

I mentioned to one of my diabetes educators that I tended to go low while I was at work, so she told me to lower my dose on the days that I worked. I tried that, but it was as if that tiny unit deduction I made resulted in a radical high blood sugar reading a few hours later. It was awful. I felt like no matter what I did, I couldn't win! Either have my sugars drop too low, or have them skyrocket! Where is my happy medium?

I am really at a loss of what is going on with my body. What does it want from me? I wish it would just let me know! I feel like I am failing as a pseudo pancreas. It is becoming an extremely difficult job to keep up, and I feel as though I am not qualified for the job. I hope I don't get fired!

Thank you so much for reading and for your comments.

Barbecues and Indulging

I would first of all like to say that I am very proud of myself lately with keeping my blood sugars in control. I have been keeping an eye on it and am doing better than I ever have before. I went to the endo last week and she was so excited about it that she wanted to take another A1C just to see how low it was compared to the last one, which was 13. Not good. They say that it should be lower than a 7, so that is my goal, now. 7. She decided, though, that it was too soon to take one, but if I keep this up, it will be excellent. It is always a great feeling to know that you made your doctor excited.

Today, though, I was nervous. It was the 4th of July and for me and everyone else living in the USA, it was filled with great food off the grill and a lot of fun. I went to my mother's for a little cookout and there was so much food that I got a little overwhelmed. Since I love to eat, I would hate to restrict myself, especially on the holiday with so much to eat! I took my shot of insulin and had a great time. I even gave myself a little extra after when my mom brought out the cupcakes. a few hours later I tested myself and I guess my estimates were right on the money because I was in perfect range. I'm getting good at this!

I got a little worried and depressed today, though. If the 4th of July was like this, I can't even imagine what it will be like when it comes to the holidays this winter. Especially when my specialty is making pies. I really want to be able to enjoy myself without having to worry so much about my sugars getting too high. It is just so much easier on a day-to-day, hour-to-hour basis. When it comes to feasts, though, all bets are off. How do people do it? The main course, the finger foods, the cookies, the pies.... Add some alcohol beverages into the mix and you've got yourself a messed up diabetic. Sure, it's half a year away, but it will get here before I know it and I want to be prepared. If anyone has any tips, feel free to leave a comment and share your wealth of knowledge and experience! I am ever so thankful that there aren't too many holidays in a year or else I would go crazy.

I think I did really great today and tomorrow, it is back to work and back to my normal diet.

Thanks for reading, guys!

The Cost Of Being Sick

Life gets really tough when you don't have any money. I don't think there is anyone out there who would disagree with that. Let me tell you, it is even worse when you are broke and have a disease like Diabetes. It isn't like you can skip out on your medication until you can afford it. You do that--nothing good will come of it, to say the least. When you have to add a healthy diet to the equation, it almost seems impossible. The bottom line is: things are getting really tight, and if I don't find a job soon, I really don't know what I am gong to do.

Something that I did not mention earlier is the fact that when I first got diagnosed in 2009, I had no insurance. It sounds like that would be a bad thing, but I was helped--a lot. The social worker did everything she could to make sure that I got everything I needed and she looked up every free program she could find. The hospital had a free program for people like me so that I could go to the outpatient clinic there. The program also extended to the Endocrinologist. I was also was told about a free prescription program that would send me whatever medications I needed. I was all set.

Since everything was just sent to me for free, I didn't even really think about it. Life went on, as you read, for better or worse. When my efforts began to dwindle, my medications began to accumulate. I didn't even notice when my coverage stopped. They sent me something to reapply, but to be honest, I don't even remember getting it. I guess I was just too depressed.

When I started school, since I did not have insurance, I was required to buy the student insurance they offered. It didn't sound like a bad idea anyway. I also stopped working completely to just focus on school and I was living off of students loans. I wouldn't quite say I was doing alright. My diet consisted mainly of things that cost $1, and as you can imagine, that can't be healthy. After my few months of complete denial, when I decided to start taking care of myself, I called the prescription program to see if I can get some meds sent to me. I was not eligible anymore because of my new insurance. I called the hospital to ask them to write me a prescription. Of course, I had to be seen first. 2 or 3 weeks later, I finally got an appointment. They wrote my prescriptions out and when I went to go pick them up, I began to really worry. It was $25 for one of my insulins. That may not sound like a lot since without insurance it would have cost about $150. I shouldn't complain, right? Well since they both cost be $25, that means I needed to pay $50 a month just for my meds. When you don't have a job, that is a lot of money.

So, as of right now, I am not out of my meds yet, but it will happen. I have already began digging into my rent money to buy food. I guess I will just have to keep digging. I am desperate to find a job and I am getting extremely worried. I will not let that stop me from keeping myself healthy, though. I am determined.

Ike's Momento

Over the summer of 2010, my whole life, once again, had turned upside down. When my mother let me sleep on her couch, she gave me the chance to quit my current job (which I honestly hated) and go back to school. I took the chance and was so excited to quit, I did it within 2 weeks. Of course, I still needed a job, at least until I started school, so I found a job at a local water park for the summer. Other than that, I was doing my best to fully enjoy my time before I started school. As the end of the summer approached, I realized that I needed to find some way to make money while I went to school, so I found a place who was hiring and they called me in for an orientation, but it almost didn't happen.

A few days before I had to go in, I had a few friends over. Now, usually this was not a bad thing, but my mother's dog, Ike, decided he wasn't up for company. Ike's an English Bulldog how has a history for biting feet. When my friends came over, there was utter chaos, and Ike came charging down the stairs. He made his way into the crowd and his teeth barely brushed my friend's foot. I jumped in front of the bullet and before I knew it, he had his teeth sunk into the top of my foot and he wouldn't let go. My brother tried to pull him away, although no one realized he was gnawing on my foot until I yelled as loud as I could. What would you know? I ended up in the ER once again. They stitched me up and wrapped it and sent me on my way.

The next day, I took the wrap off and it was red, swollen, and obviously infected and for a diabetic, that is never a good thing--especially when it is on your foot. That is how limbs get amputated. I went back to the ER 2 more times until they finally admitted me. I was there for a week, again. While they were admitting me, I let them know that I had an orientation in a few days and asked if they thought if it was a possibility that I could still go. They said it was ok, and they would send the message along.

My stay at the hospital this time was less than ideal to say the least. When the day came for the orientation, I took a shower and got dressed, knowing that the day before I told 3 doctors about it and they all said ok. I called my brother to come get me and 10 minutes before I left, another doctor came in and thought I was crazy and said that it was not ok, and that no one should have told me that it was. I made a huge fuss, and he finally let me go. Talk about a communication problem.

Another huge problem I came across at the hospital was the nurses and their lack of knowledge about my condition. You see, I take Lantus, my once-a-day insulin, in the afternoon. It is just easier for me that way. The hospital decided they wanted to give it to me a night after a few days. They had given it to me at 3 one afternoon, and that night some ditzy little nurse comes in and starts to fill a syringe up with Lantus. I told her that I take it at 3 and that I already had my shot for the day. She insisted that it was doctor's orders and that they were switching me to night time. She walks over with the syringe and I told her again. She wasn't listening to me. She began to prepare me for my shot and I pushed her hand away and I was getting angry. She finally said "I'll go talk to the doctor" and left. An hour later she comes back and told me that I was right and she was wrong. Pardon my French, but that bitch could have killed me.

After a week, the swelling went down and the infection diminished. They sent me home on crutches and I was finally free. About a month later, my mother came to accept the fact that Ike had to be put down, and she set up an appointment for him to be put to sleep. As much as he was a danger at times, though, he really was a sweet dog and I still miss him sometimes. At least I have a scar on my foot to remind me of him, and I will have the scar for the rest of my life.

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Driving In The Breakdown Lane

Anyone who has Diabetes can tell you that the period of time after the initial shock is a difficult one. Some call it the honeymoon period. I'm not sure I have a name for it, but it was anything but a honeymoon. The biggest problem I had in the beginning was getting constant blood sugar drops. I mostly got them at work, and to tell you the truth, I really didn't mind. I sort of liked taking more breaks and not to mention--it was another excuse to eat which I love to do. It was also a relief to me. I figured that it was better to be too low because I had been so high for so long. According to my doctor, this wasn't the case. Oh well, I suppose.

It was soon, then, that my personal life began to fall apart. I lost my car, my apartment, and above all, I lost control. I found a new home on my mother's couch and depression set in. My Diabetes got too much to handle for me, and my health concern began to slip through the cracks. That is when the suicidal thoughts began to pull up a chair in my mind. The "lows" that my doctor warned me about seemed to sound like a better idea every time I thought about it. More and more I found myself considering filling up my syringe and just injecting as much insulin as possible into myself. One night, I realized that I needed help.

I remember that night vividly. I had taken my mother's car out for a drive because I just needed to think. I couldn't believe this had happened to me. Why me? I wasn't strong enough to deal with this sort of thing! My life was a mess as it was. I couldn't handle anything else. I began to cry hysterically. I yelled and screamed and pounded on the steering wheel. I almost drove myself off the road. I pulled over and let it out as much as I could. When my fit had calmed, I drove back home to my mother. I woke up her and told her everything I was thinking and feeling. She felt that it was best to go to the ER.

That night was the last night I had those horrible thoughts. Perhaps it was just another step that I needed to take in the long road ahead of me. Just thinking about it, though, brings tears to my eyes. It will still be a long time until I accepted the fact that I am a diabetic. Stay tuned for more of my story!

A Brief History and Introduction

Let me introduce myself. I am Mary, I am 29, and I am a diabetic mess--or at least I have been up until now. Before I get into the "now", though, let me take you back two years to where my ominous adventure began.

I was 27 and my life was going fine. All of the sudden, everything started to change. I was getting these strange symptoms that I had never experienced before. I was always thirsty and was taking more bathroom breaks than anyone at work. This went on for about a week or so and I finally decided that there was something wrong. I wasn't exactly sure what, so I went over my mother's house and talked to her about it. Being a Type 2 Diabetic, she immediately recognized the problem and quickly got her meter out and pricked my finger. Sure enough, my blood sugar was well above 500--not that I knew what that meant at the time. Concerned, she rushed my over to the Emergency Room where they did test after test. They eventually diagnosed me as a Type 2 and sent me home with a prescription for Metformin. I was very confused how this could have happened. I was a relatively healthy 27 year old woman who was not in the least obese (which I thought at the time you had to be to get Diabetes). They assured me that it was possible .
I took the Metformin for about a month, thinking "this isn't so bad". Everyone that I told said that it was a good thing I didn't get the "other type". I didn't know much about the "other type" except that it was the kind children got and it had nothing to do with lifestyle or diet. Basically, Type 1 wasn't your fault. I guess I sort of wished deep down that it had been, so that I couldn't blame myself for giving myself the disease.

During this month, I began to drop pounds like crazy. Everyone complemented me and I felt great. I figured it was because of the new diet I was on. One day at work, I had some sudden back pain. I had decided it must have been from lifting a heavy box at work and my boss sent me over to the clinic to get it checked out. It would be two weeks until I returned back to work. At the clinic, the doctor was very concerned and he admitted there was nothing he could do, and so he sent me to the ER. I was in Diabetic Ketoacidosis with an new, official diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes.

I set up residence in the hospital for a week after that. For the first 3 days, they wouldn't let me eat a thing and just gave me fluids and insulin through an IV. It was excruciating. Every hour, they came in and poked my fingers. My room was swarming with nurses, doctors, and CNAs on top of all the social workers, educators, family and friends. Everything happened so fast that I felt like a deer in headlights. I didn't even have time to feel anything--emotionally that is. It wasn't until one of my last nights there when I finally broke down and cried. I felt safe in the hospital and I was nervous to go out on my own to fend for myself. I knew that I didn't have the strength and will power to do it with no one there watching me. Nevertheless, I had to move on.

They sent me home with a goody bag of stuff, including my very own testing meter as well as pamphlet upon pamphlet of information that would end up just collecting dust. I stayed out of work another week and when I returned, everyone was my new best friend, assisting me in any way they could. I assured them I was fine, but was thankful for all the support.

This was probably one of the worst moments of my life, as you can imagine. My story goes on, though. I will continue it in my next few posts to get you up to speed with my situation. What I hope to do is help others through this blog who have gone, or are going through, the same thing as me. I am here for you, if you need me. Feel free to comment to message me with anything you want! And please, keep coming back to hear more of my story!