Bundle of Contradictions

Incredulity

2007-05-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

Freshly gussied up after my work out, I proudly show up at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles on day before by license is set to expire.

I am ahead of the game. And I am going to look damn good for my photo.

I get right in and give the lady my license and proof of address. I revel in my good fortune.

I take my eye exam and do just fine.

She tells me I have to take a driver's test--but just the written.

My stomach falls a bit. But it's just the written, right?

But wait--

She is writing something on a piece of paper. She slides it toward me.

"You need to call this number to get reinstated. Your license has been suspended."

"But why? Nobody told me!"

"Do you have any unpaid traffic violations? Speeding tickets?"

"I haven't had a speeding ticket in years. My parking tickets are paid up."

"Call the number and they'll tell you why and what you have to do."

So I call.

"Ma'am--we never received proof of insurance for a traffic accident that you had...June 22."

"I sent everything in right away."

"We never received it. You'll need to go to to your insurance company and get proof. Send it to the reinstatement office."

So I do, stunned that I have been driving illegally for almost a year, and that I had never heard from the BMV or the insurance company. Thankful that I had not been caught. Laughing at the incredulity that it is by trying to stay legal that I have discovered that I have been illegal.

But there is more to come.

After I visit the insurance office, I call the reinstatement office to see if I can take care of the paper work locally.

"No, ma'am. You can mail it in to the Indy office, where it will take 72 hours to process. Or, you are welcome to drive down and do it in person."

Molasses in my veins

2007-05-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

Molasses in my veins.
Sluggish, I test. 518.
Tubing not hooked up.

But these are the least
of my woes. One month of good
now 3 days of high.

Not two-hundred high.
Three-hundred, four-hundred, five-
hundred high. Testing a lot.

Insulin doesn't help.
4 units bring me down
only eighteen points.

Insulin is fresh.
Sites have been changed. Too often.
I'm not eating much.

Sweet Feet

2007-05-05T15:03:00.000-07:00

I have a weird-looking thing on my right foot (from sandal season) and (unrelated) shooting pains in my toes. Although these are probably nothing to worry about, I find this story quite comforting: "Honey Could Save Diabetics from Amputation." See, sweet things aren't so bad for diabetics after all!

Things are looking up

2007-04-30T16:51:00.000-07:00

The sun is shining and it's warm out, and with the clearing of Lafayette's clouds comes the clearing of my head, heart, and soul. I am thankful that the blood sugar gods have been kind to me this last month, because it has been a hard one in other terms. That crazy cycle of "is the writer's block and weather causing depression" or is "depression causing the writer's block (and the weather!?") manifested itself throughout April. I did not post because, honestly, all was fine on the diabetes front and everything else was a mess. Well, not everything. I am so blessed with a wonderful husband and a supportive family, as well as a network of academic and Christian friends. But depression and writing are, ultimately, just-me things, and both depend on how I see myself at any given moment. And though I try not to see myself, believing that God would prefer that I see Him and the needs of other people, it was a miserable month, not least because my dissertation in its entirety is due on June 18th. And throughout April, I kept thinking "I have X days to go...now X days..." and I'd stare at my screen and...cry...because I didn't know what or how to write, and with no productivity there was no progress and with no progress there were only X days remaining...

Thankfully, God has allowed encouragement in my life. My advisor read portions of the chapter I am working on and muttered the glorious words "fine" and "good"--enough to make me think that maybe my work isn't so fruitless after all. There is the opportunity of employment in the fall, a possibility that has done wonders for this dissertationless, job-less self-image of mine. My students have expressed gratitude for my teaching and one emailed me to say that mine was the first class in which she thought that learning--as opposed to grades--was the true objective. My husband continually tells me how proud he is of me, and encourages me verbally and through his deeds (he cooked tonight and it was good!).

And today, although the body-impacting anxiety has visited me a few times, with the shortness of breath and utter panic that comes with deadlines and wavering confidence, it is much less, much less frightening, and much less powerful than it was one week ago. I am so thankful. Things are looking up.

Easter

2007-04-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

Generally I don't dig Easter. I treasure it for what it celebrates--the death, burial, and resurrection of our Savior and Lord--but the whole trappings don't do much for me. Maybe because I was diagnosed with diabetes over the Easter weeken of 1989, and I remember being given a toned-down Easter basket with strict warnings to make those sweets last. Easter in the hospital stunk, but worse was the pity that accompanied my diagnosis. I itch just to think about it.

But this Easter I will treasure as one of the best and most meaningful I've experienced. Each year my church produces and performs a Passion Play for our community, and for the last seven years I've declined to participate because...well, it's a time drainer, it comes near the end of the semester, yada yada yada. But I realized this year that this might be my last chance, and that to not even try it, just once, might be something I would regret. So I signed up for the choir. Now, I love to sing, but this was a bit risky since...well, I can't harmonize. I sing what I hear. And I am, I like to say, "An alto masquerading as a soprano."

Last Monday through Wednesday was spent at the theatre rehearsing--songs, "stage pictures," entrances and exits. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights we performed. And this was so wonderful. While the performance itself was exhilerating, what was so cool was the way the cast and crew came together. I didn't socialize a lot "below stage," but I loved observing how believers co-exist in a close environment...offering encouragement, joking, praying. How when we were told we'd have to do a second run-through on the night of dress rehearsal, after little to eat and a long day already, nobody argued or complained but just did it and did it well. Most heart-warming, though, was seeing a group of 15 year-olds praying together in a corner doing their down time. I was so humbled, for I was in the corner breezing through a very good, but certainly not very edifying, book. Also humbling (and edifying) was the thanks that people gave--people who've been coming to the show for years, and others who had never seen it before, hugged us, shook our hands, and thanked us for this ministry. It is hard to begrudge a week and a few weekend rehersals with that kind of response.

I also learned some things about diabetes and diabetics this week.
1) Never rely on food. I ate full meals on Monday and Tuesday even though each night people are slated to bring food for supper. You never know what will be provided, and on the nights I ate the pickings were good. So I ate twice. Wednesday, then, I didn't eat beforehand...and I discovered that a meal of cookies is not such a good thing. There were lots of sweets and no savories, certainly nothing substantial. Not ideal for a diabetic!
2) Never rely on others for your diabetes supplies! I didn't intend to do that...but I walked off with my meter lying on the kitchen table, and my CGMS needed to be calibrated. So I did what anyone else would do, and asked Diabetic #1 if he had his meter with him. He shook his head in a guilty "no." So I asked Diabetic #2 if he had his meter with him...and he, too, had left his at home. We laughed pretty hard at the fact that none of us 3 diabetics were "responsible."
3) Stage fright screws up those blood sugars! Before each performance I would start to climb, climb, climb. I ranged from 250-350 each performance, beginning about an hour before curtain. Saturday I got smart and cranked my basal to 200%--and it made absolutely no difference. So I was cranking in the boluses each night, to no avail...until it all caught up with me on Saturday!

This is my brain off Paxil

2007-04-04T13:37:00.000-07:00

I've been quiet this last month. And anyone reading should be glad. You see, I get a little stubborn about going to the pharmacy and dealing with prescriptions. And so, when my prescription for Paxil ran out, I dragged my feet on refilling it. I not only had to call the doctor to have her refill, I had to switch pharmacies. And so I just didn't refill...and didn't refill...

And soon each day was cloudy. I'd open my computer and start crying. To get anything done was impossible. And I would watch myself, knowing full well that something was wrong. I would say, "Nic, you're not thinking logically. The glass is half full," and although my brain knew the glass was half full, my heart was telling me that the glass was shattered, broken in thousands of pieces. I was a broken beaded necklace and I could not get the beads restrung in the proper order.

And I was angry. I had some reasons to be angry, I think. I am not making progress on my chapter. I got my last official rejection from my interviews. My husband was unemployed. I was angry that those who interviewed me strung me along for months beyond their promise. I was angry that I've been on the job market for 8 months and that it has consumed my life. But the degree of my anger did not match the circumstances. And it did not help that people were telling me that. I knew that. I just couldn't fix it. And it's terrible to blame people for your (non-existent) problems and know that it's wrong but do it anyway. I hated myself. The river (flooded) seemed appealing. And I hated that, too.

I love Paxil. I hate Paxil. I need Paxil. I hate that I need it. But now I am back on it...clearly it's not all about Seasonal Defective Disorder. Clearly there is something fundamentally wrong with my system. I hate that, too.

Amidst all of the ridiculous emotional turmoil there have been many good things. My husband has a job. He's on week three. He likes it and is thinking of it as a possible career. We have insurance. We are getting a tax return that will help us pay down our credit card. My students are wonderful. My blood sugars have been fairly good. I know that we will not be moving to CA, OK, NY, or WV this year. My friends have been so encouraging. And God is always here.

All Aboard (In other words, the "7")

2007-03-07T17:13:00.000-08:00

Seven Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Finish my dissertation!
2. Knit something other than scarves
3. Go on a missions trip
4. Learn to speak Spanish fluently
5. Live abroad
6. Cultivate a quiet spirit
7. Learn to play the guitar

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
1. Sew. Or anything creative or artsy, really. I aspire to creativity, though.
2. Be articulate
3. Tolerate sloth
4. Tolerate incompetence (if it's my own, it's different, of course)
5. Understand why people don't discipline their kids
6. Resign myself to nylons (which is why I was bare-legged in 20 degree whether yesterday)
7. Curl my tongue

Seven Things That Attract Me to… The Mr.
1. His gentlemanly qualities
2. His gentleness
3. His hysterical, out-of-control guffaws when he's really tickled
4. His problem-solving-spirit
5. His sense of style
6. His rebelious streak
7. That he doesn't want six kids!

Seven Things I Say:
1. Praise the Lord!
2. I'm not complaining, just observing
3. Darn tootin'
4. Good grief!
5. Oh, for Pete's sake!
6. It's alright, it's okay (picked up from my two-year old niece who whispered it to her cheesecake before plunging her fork in!)
7. You're "special"

Seven Books That I Love:
1. Bodie Thoene's Zion Chronicle and Zion Covenant series
2. Ursula Hegi's Sacred Time
3. Fitzgerald's Great Gatsby
4. Coetzee's Disgrace
5. Austen. All of Austen. But I really love Emma. Well, I love Knightley. "Emma, if I loved you any less..." sigh.
6. Elizabeth Stoddard's The Morgesons
7. You mean I only have one choice left? This is hard...Willa Cather's O Pioneers

Seven Movies That I’ve Loved:
1. Fletch and Fletch Lives
2. Mrs. Doubtfire
3. Hotel Rwanda
4. Love Actually
5. Sense and Sensibility
6. Life is Beautiful
7. Stranger than Fiction

Resolved!

2007-02-28T14:11:00.000-08:00

I am a rule-maker and a list-maker, and am a very big fan of post-it notes. As of Monday, each time I open the pantry, a notecard greets me with a question: "Nic, have you eaten a fruit today"? And on the refrigerator is my exercise checklist, which reads: Curves, run, Curves, aerobics, Curves, cardio.

These two reminders are the result of some serious body image issues, issues that have nothing to do with my body and everything with what I am doing to it. I am no heftier or pudgier than I was one month ago, but in my mind I am. Due to car problems and motivation issues, my Curves attendance has been once a week instead of 3 times a week; due to snow, I am not walking; due to diss and job-related things, my mouth thinks it needs to be chomping all the time. And it is.

I can be quite disciplined when I want to be. I ask, "Nic, do you really want that trail mix?" And if the answer is no, I can usually turn away. But there are times when the "I deserves" or "I needs" trump this discipline, and this has been the case for the past month. What I am not getting in contentment and security I am getting in calories.

But no more. Those calories have been replaced by a lot of Extra Sugar-Free gum. I've been to Curves twice this week, and I ran on the treadmill yesterday. I am still struggling with snacking, and with a string of lows that make calorie consumption necessary, but I am trying to get this under control. I am resolved to do so.

They like me, they really like me!

2007-02-23T16:46:00.000-08:00

Well, they don't necessarily like me. They like it. My committee, that is, liked my latest dissertation chapter. Now, the last time I met with them, I cried. In front of them. So I was understandably a little nervous about this most recent meeting, especially because I couldn't tell if my chapter was good or bad. I thought it was good but I was so close to it that I didn't know anymore. Imagine my joy when Prof. R said, "I loved the part where..."

Other things or people that like me (or things about me):

My friend SJ! She just drove down from Rochester, MN to see a Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with handsome hubby and I. We have been friends for 10 years, and she is (and has) the most lovely soul. She is a wonderful listener, and a wonderful friend to the diabetic me. When we travel, she travels with candy for my low blood sugars just in case. She makes me check my sugar. She asks, "is that enough" if she thinks I'm skimping on food. But she does it in such a SJ way that I don't feel harassed or babysat. And it's very few people who manage that.
My nieces and nephews. All 12 of 'em.
My hubby, who apparently likes me enough to stay married to me even though I am at my most insecure, annoying, neurosis period in our marriage. Ever.
My students. One even emailed me to tell me that yesterday's exam was "good." Whatever that means!
My blood sugars. I've been in the 80s-170s...except for...

Things that don't like me so much:

My insulin pump, or the cannulas, or something. Hence,
My blood sugars. After changing out my pump on Wed., I woke up 2 hours later trying not to toss my cookies and at a stunning 501. I of course shot up and changed again, only to be 466 at 7 am. With a purple pee-stick. And then higher. And then 300. And then, after rage bolusing my heart out, 62. Whereupon I rose above 100 only once the whole evening and have in the course of the last 24 hours been on the low end ever since.
The scale. I've gained 3 pounds since Feb. 1st. My motivation to get the gym went the way of corded telephones. And my motivation to watch what I eat? Well...

Snow Day!!!!!!

2007-02-14T06:49:00.000-08:00

I am originally from Minnesota. I spent the first 21 years of my life, more or less, in the snow state. Snow does not impact me. It's snowing? Okay, get out the shovel, put a blanket in the car, and keep on trucking. I am, moreover, from Brainerd, which historically does not cancel school with major snow falls. All of the school districts around us would close but not ours. The only time I really appreciated Governor Arne Carlson was when he cancelled school for most of the state because it was snowing and 60 below.

It has been a major adjustment moving to Indiana, where schools shut down based on the threat of snow. As of Monday night, all of the schools had been closed except my University. I did not cancel Tuesday's class because as of midnight Monday, no snow had fallen. By morning, 2 inches had fallen. And it was windy. I got to campus and headed to the coffee shop to find it closed due to "inclement weather." (This did not sit well. I NEEDED MY COFFEE. The weather was wintery, not inclement). In my department, which had exactly four people in it, I was asked "if we were crazy to be there." My response didn't sit well. "I don't think so, but I'm from Minnesota."

By noon, however, we were crazy to be there, as the snow had picked up and the wind was blustery. So I headed home. By noon, the University had cancelled classes for only the fourth time its history. My sour, "Indianans are wimps" softened to, "now this is really snow, and it's a snow day!" We spent the day being goofy--driving to Walmart in my brother-in-law's 4-wheel drive jeep, building snow forts, drinking cocoa with marshmallows, watching Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Today is also a snow day. Yay for wimpy Indianans!

Raging Bolus

2007-02-10T13:34:00.000-08:00

My tale begins at 3 am, when I awoke with a start. Usually when I do that, it means my blood sugar is out-of-control. And sure 'nough, it was. It was a nutty 423. Bleary-eyed, I did a shot of 3 units and went back to bed. At 9 am, I was an equally-out-of control 363. Clearly, my pump was malfunctioning--I had had that suspicion last night. But I was still sleepy. So I did a shot of four units and crawled back in bed. When I changed my pump, there were little globules of blood and fat in the cannula, so I think insulin simply wasn't able to deliver and absorb. That makes sense. What doesn't make since is that gazillions of units later, I am still high. I limited my breakfast to a piece of toast and did a more-than-enough bolus of 6 units. Two hours later? In the 300s. Another shot. After a nap, because it was all I was up for, I had come down to a more respectable 253 and gave into my stomach's demands for lunch. Again, I did plenty of insulin and then I braved the cold (with my loving, sacrificial husband) to try to walk off the high and the lingering high blood sugar idiocy. I am now 319.

This sucks. As does being unable to figure out if the problem is: insulin (likely, I'm room-templing a new bottle now); bad sets; a virus...the same old, same old. And as I try to play detective, I am waiting, waiting for the inevitable rage bolus low to catch up with me.

Who-hoo!

2007-02-05T16:27:00.000-08:00

I am celebrating. 68 pages later and chapter 4 is finished! A dissertation chapter should be 50 pages so that when the diss is published it will be a 25-page chapter. Any longer is the kiss of death (at least for me, of short attention span fame). So, my chapter is at least 18 pages too long, but it is done and I am happy.

I am also happy because the Trumpeter Malbec wine that has been in my pantry for 3 months has now been consumed. I bought it in October and the deal was that I couldn't drink it until the chapter was finished. Handsome Hubby was a strict enforcer. And tonight we enjoyed it together, and I enhanced it with some espresso-flavored Ghiradelli.

In other news...nothing has changed in the diabetes front. But things have changed in the insurance front. My husband lost his job last week. They are closing his office. And while I am insured under my graduate student insurance, it only covers doctors' visits to the student health center. No endo, no Minimed. Handsome Hubby has a couple of job leads, but nothing solid. And my car decided to freeze up today (literally--it's cold!) and had to be towed home. When it rains, it pours.

Sometimes I like Doctors

2007-02-02T18:15:00.000-08:00

Usually I don't. Usually I need help with somethin--usually my basals or boluses--and they are unable to help me. And this inability (I usually take it as unwillingness, though this is wrong) makes me suspicious, and so I don't call for help when I need it. But my awful blood sugars prompted me to rethink my suspicions (spelling? too tired...) The thing is, despite my attempts to get my basals under control I have been skyrocketing after breakfast and then plummeting...right as I am teaching my English students. Then I have been yo-yoing the whole day, for a fabulous 38-41 finale at about 1 am. This is not acceptable.

My doctor agreed. And yesterday at my endo appointment she took my pump in her hands and redid all of my basals. She did the math on the spot (it takes me forever), adjusted the times and the rates, and...I am in love with her! Number of highs today: none. Number of lows: none. I went up to 194 after breakfast, which after the 300s is great by me.

All of my highs from the last two months are evident in my A1C. It was (as I said it would be!) 6.8. I'm happy when I'm between 6 and 7, but since I've been 6.4 for 6 months I'm a little disappointmed. Although the 6.4s were because I had a good string of 30s...so I guess it balances out.

My life in trash

2007-01-30T16:30:00.000-08:00

Detectives often look in people's trash to get clues regarding their lives, habits, secrets. So I thought it would be interesting to keep track of what I threw away today...

1. 1 Starbuck's Venti cup (one day old; "calm" teabag included")
2. 1 foil creamcheese wrapper (Walmart brand; 1/3 less fat)
3. 1 medium coffee cup from campus coffee shop
4. 1 hershey's kiss wrapper--the silver and brown striped kind
5. 1 Snickers "fun size" wrapper
6. 1 USA Today (money and sports sections intact; cover and life sections disheveled)
7. 1 piece of plastic wrap, with tomato sauce on it

I'm noticing a food trend here, so I might as well continue the list. My munching pattern, today:

1. 1 Hershey's Hug
2. 1 fun-size snickers
3. 3 tablespoons cajun trailmix
4. 3 chocolate-covered almonds
5. several handfuls of chocolate chips and marshmallows
6. 2 Jello Jigglers (I had to eat those, my nieces and nephews made 'em for me)

...the above list is why I should not work at home.

Number of low blood sugars today:

1.

Number of high blood sugars today:

too many.

Next doctor's appointment:

Thursday.

Projected AiC: 6.8

Weight: Too much.

CGMS Update

2007-01-26T14:05:00.000-08:00

I have been abandoning my blog as I try to finish a chapter and keep up with course prep and grading. And I am really at a loss for words at the moment (this is what happens when you write all day). I do, though, have some CGMS discoveries to share.

1. I can only make a sensor last 6 days. Day 5, the sensor starts to hurt. Day 6, the numbers go wild. Day 7, the many warnings--CAL Error, etc--drive me bonkers and I rip the sensor out in frustration.
2. I like the sensor on my rear/back thigh the best. It's a little difficult to get to, but it isn't as uncomfortable as the abdomen.
3. The transmitter should be moved every 3 days. The first time I hooked up, I left it in one place and when I removed it my skin went with the tape. Ouch! It should also be moved because a tape residue builds that is very hard to wash off. The big grey circle on my thigh is proof, because I have scrubbed and scrubbed.
4. No one tells you how much removing the sensor and transmitter smells. Yes, smells. You know the damp, fleshy smell that accompanies the removal of a band-aid? Mulitply that times 7 days of very big tape (3 strips, to boot), and you'll have an idea of what I mean.

The things we have to learn...

Three Cheers!

2007-01-17T17:20:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Julia, for telling me how to get the title field. I feel legit now. Three cheers for you!

And three cheers for my blood sugars (and for all of the prayers that I know have helped them straighten out). I increased my daily basal from 13 units to 18, but they're level (hear me scream!). Today I did not go above 200, and I haven't been able to say that in a long time. (Maybe ever?) In fact, I think I might need to cut back a bit, since I've been maintenance suspending all day. But...the numbers are just so beautiful.

Because I made such drastic changes to my insulin, I cancelled my appointment with the CDE to discuss carb counting. It was supposed to be this morning, but since I only had 1 1/2 days of numbers I thought I would be better off waiting. And even with .5 more units of insulin to cover my mornings--I doubled my basal there--I still need 5 units to cover toast, peanut butter, and milk. So maybe I'm just a reject who needs a lot of insulin to cover breakfast and food in general. We're all "special", right?

Speaking of "special"...I have a huge bruise on my thigh from my latest exercise attempt. See, my New Year's resolution was to try a new form of exercise each semester. This semester, it was supposed to be water aerobics. I got as far as putting my swimsuit in my bag. After a week, I took the swimsuit out to use the bag for something else. So, to assuage my guilt I got a TaeBo video, since I've never done TaeBo and I could do it in the cozy comfort. Good gracious! It's only eight-minutes long but I had to stop the video twice because it is so intense. And the elbow-to-knee segments are killers--my sharp elbow and my fleshy lower thight connected. Ouch! My husband says I could be a model if God had given me any grace...

2007-01-12T14:10:00.000-08:00

After whining on Wednesday, I made some drastic basal adjustments. I surveyed my trends and ups and downs and went back to the early pump days, where instead of having a gazillion basals I had four. I decided to make huge changes in the hopes that I could get things leveled out. What a difference a little whining (sorry! I feel guilty!) and basal changes can make. My nighttime sugars have been much better and I've actually been okay--if a little low--during the day.

This is good. But there is always a but...

The but is I'm losing trust the CGMS that I was beginning to love. Why? Because today it had me between 80 and 120 throughout the morning, just kind of hovering there. I was happy. And because I was hovering, and veering low, I had a brownie. And because I had down arrows telling me I was falling, I had a brownie with a bolus. I was not ill-advised to do this, since I munched on the brownie and since I've been falling in the mid-morning. At least, I thought I was not ill-advised. After all, 146 after a brownie without insulin is respectable, right?

Yes, it is, when you are actually 146. But when I went to calibrate I discovered I was not 146. I was not 246. Nor was I 346 or 446. I was, in fact, 530. See my jaw dropping?

One of the problems with the CGMS is you cannot calibrate when you are on a rapid rise or fall--that is, when you have double arrows on the screen, when you have eaten, or when you have exercised. My blood sugars last night were wacked for a different reason, and I couldn't calibrate until this morning. Perhaps something went wrong there. Or perhaps my sensor is starting to come out of my skin--it is a little sore, but I'm not ready to give it up yet. Whatever the reason, a difference of 400 is way to much to account for, and is certainly not healthy. From now on, I will be testing my blood sugar more often.

PS Can anyone tell me how to get "titles" to show up on my blog? I know it's possible with Blogger...I just don't know how to do it. Thanks!

2007-01-10T16:41:00.000-08:00

I am having envy issues. I read blogs in which people say, "I'm so upset, I've worken up above 100 for three days in a row" or, "I've managed to stay between 80 and 120 for 5 days" and instead of saying, "yay" my response is an uncharitable "shut up." Because I am trying, trying so hard to reign in my blood sugars. Yet the more I try the worse things seem to be. For instance: After three days of running high I decided to do an all around basal hike. My numers warranted it. I moved conservatively, only upped each time by .5. So, what happens?

Well, my blood sugar overnight was consistent. As in, ranging a stead 240-300. As in, nothing below 200. So I corrected this morning and had my oatmeal and then began to plummet. Managed to stave off a low because of those handy double-arrows. And this afternoon I was steadily between 80 to 130, which would have had been dancing through the library aisles if not for the fact that steadiness was the result of a whole bottle of glucose tabs, consumed throughout the day; a Snicker's bar; and the handly little suspend function. The whole afternoon I had symptoms of a low even though I wasn't, and let me tell you, very little work got done. This is not good. Dissertation defense looms.

So I must confess I am having the "why me's?" And I hate that almost as much as I hate this disease.

2007-01-06T15:14:00.000-08:00

Potpourri

I read a blog awhile back in which the author wrote diabetes haiku. The haikus were clever and amusing, and have inspired me to write my own. I find it comforting ordering the disorder of diabetes into three lines, 17 syllables. Condensing everything and making in conform. I can't find the blog now to give proper credit where it is due, but if I find it (or if anyone can refresh my memory) I'll be sure to link to it.

Anyway, here is my attempt:

Post-prandial woes
306 after oatmeal
and seven units

...a continuous problem. I can't get my post-breakfast readings under control. I understand a spike is necessary, but really, shouldn't 5 units for 1 piece of toast and a glass of milk be more than sufficient? I keep upping my basals, but it's not working. So I hooked up the 'ol CGMS to see if I could get a handle on things. It was the first time I did it alone and it was really difficult. The soft-serter has a really sticky button and it's hard to push it fast like you're supposed to. The first time I tried to insert the very long needle it only barely went in. The second time my handsome hubby helped, and it worked just fine. I'm thankful for his help--he is calming and smart, and he had to overcome a definite aversion to needles in order to help. Even I find the CGMS needle hard to deal with!

Finally, two more really interesting NYT diabetes stories.

This one--"What's Making Us Sick is an Epidemic of Diagnoses"--is really thought-provoking and provides an interesting compliment to my previous post about to doctor or not to doctor. I agree that we are too quick to think ourselves sick, and that medicine is interested in proving we need "help." At the same time, as one with many friends and relatives with such "questionable" illnesses as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, I think it is imporant to take a balanced perspective.

This one--"New Job Title for Druggists: Diabetes Coach"--I found inspiring. It portrays the kind of hands-on, preventive kind of treatment that is necessary to have educated diabetics. I wish more health insurance companies would get this--that buy investing in measures such as those shown in this story (as well as technologies like the CGMS), we can help prevent the kind of complications that hinder our lives and that they have to shell out for later.

2007-01-04T17:27:00.000-08:00

As diabetics, we have more health problems to worry about than most people. Or maybe I should say, we have the threat of health problems to worry about. Not only do we face possible complications with our eyes, kidneys, hearts, and feet, we face higher risk of everything from gum disease to skin infections to frozen shoulder.

And, I am deciding, we face a higher risk of hypochondriachism, the belief that there is something wrong when, in fact, it's all in our heads. When we're told that we could lose a foot if we have a wee little cut, who can really blame us? My imagination, for one, can run rampant.

And this poses a problem. Because, what it boils down to for me is my imagination versus the probability that I am probably a-okay. As in, yes, my shoulder hurts, but it's probably just me shoulder just hurting. Yes, maybe I should go to a doctor, but it's probably nothing. He will scorn at me (and I hate to say it, but it's always a "he" that scorns) and roll his eyes at another white, middle-class woman with too much time on her hands. But...maybe it is, say, frozen shoulder, and if I go now I won't need surgery later. And what these scenarios boil down to, for me, is a push-me-pull-you of paralyzing indecision about whether to seek medical attention. It's why I had a sinus infection for a month before I went to the doctor, because it had to be a cold, didn't it?

But this post really isn't about a shoulder or a sinus infection. It's about the fact that I am beat. Wiped out. Absolutely without energy. I have had a sore throat for 10 days; I am still trying to get my voice back; I am ready for bed at 7 pm. And while I am aware that yes, I am diabetic, and that it takes a while to recover (though I rarely, if ever get sick), and that yes, a viscious cold is going around, and that yes, I just did four interviews in 2 days and traveled to boot...I am a bit unsettled. Partiuclalry because I am clearly no longer fighting this bug like I was, as is clear from my low-to-normal blood sugars. So I waver. To doctor or not to doctor, that is the question.

Anyone else go through this fear-of-hypochondria, fear-of-mortal illness dilemma?

2006-12-31T16:47:00.000-08:00

What I learned on my Christmas Vacation, by Nic.

I like to talk. I learned this after losing my voice. It's very hard to be rendered mute when you are a story teller and a joke-cracker. And it's hard to lose your voice anyway, when every little interaction requires voice. Especially when those "little" interactions are 4 job interviews in two days. Thankfully I didn't fully lose my voice until after the last one, but gracious, that last one was a struggle!

The Continuous Glucose Monitor is a mixed blessing. I knew this already, but the mixed-ness became more apparent as my journey to Philadelphia for interview drew near. I love, love, love knowing my blood sugar all of the time. It is addicting, and as I prepped to leave I was faced with this debate: "Do I really want to test my blood sugar 10 times a day when interviewing" versus "Do I want my roomates to hate me because the CGM goes off constantly in the middle of the night"? I decided that roomate hate was a bad thing and left the GGM at home. This turned out to be a good decision, becuase between the stress and the illness (a quasi-cold that has lasted 10 days!) my average was 280, with some exciting 45s and 489s thrown in.

Things are not always as they appear. When I approached my interviews I had a ranking of what school I wanted to end up at. The one in dust-bowl, Tornado-alley state was near the bottom, while the one in a city-that-is-300-miles-from-anywhere was near the top. But the interview experience changed all of that. The Dust Bowl school had interviewers who were so nice and human; we had a comfortable conversation and they showed me that they really care about their faculty (and faculty families) as people. This certainly was not the case with the 300-miles-from-anywhere school, which was an unsettingly interview for several reasons. I haven't discounted it totally--for on thing, the poor people probably had interviewed 20 people by the time they got to me--but it certainly shifted my career priorities.

Reading non-school books is fun! This I also knew, but it had been a long time. But between being sick and being fried from course and interview prep, I got to read a lot of books this break that have absolutely nothing to do with my dissertation! I enjoyed my first exposure to David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim--funny and sad and true and twisted all at the same time. Definitley my type of humor. Joanne Dobson's academic mystery novels took a little guilt out of the fun reading since her heroine, Karen Pelletier, is a nineteenth-century American scholar. Dobson gives such a wry and truthful glance at the warped world in which I've chosen to build a career. And I finally read The Kite Runner, a beautiful novel by Khaled Husseini that I continue to think about. And now, the fun reading is over. I only have 4 months to finish my diss!

I love my husband and my family. They are such blessings. Handsome hubby tricked me with my Christmas gift and gave me Love Actually (an all-time favorite) instead of the very pracitcial and un-Christmassy box of glasses that he had wrapped up (with Love Actually inside). He takes great care of me all of the time, but especially when I wiped out with a migraine (Monday); a blood sugar (Tuesday); a cold/larynigitis (now). And he is patient. And my mom and dad are the most supportive parents in the world, calling me in Phildelphia and checking in and emailing me daily. It's a good time to count blessings.

2006-12-25T18:19:00.000-08:00

Check out this New York Times story: "Diabetics in the Workplace Confront a Tangle of Laws".

2006-12-20T15:01:00.000-08:00

The education lady laughs at me when I tell her I'm only going to wear the CGM once a month.

"A lot of people say that, but then they love it," she says.

I can see why. Yesterday I tested my blood sugar twice. Just twice. Do you know how long it's been since I tested my blood sugar just twice? I don't.

I love the trend chart, the arrows, and the fact that I can more or less have a grip on my blood sugar at any time.

I also love that I might finally get a grip on my carb counting.

"You don't use the bolus wizard?" the education lady asks in confusion as we program my pump.
"No."
"Why not?"
I lower my voice to a stage whisper, glancing at the other two nurses in the room who are watching and learning along with me--one of whom trained me on carb counting 4 years ago--"because I don't know my carb ratio."

They all laugh. I leave with an appointment card in hand for a refresher course.

I really do like the CGM. I like how it tells me when I am going up or coming down, and how I can stave off a low because of those nifty little double arrows. But I am also finding it disorienting. Part of this is humorous--it's disorienting because I am always checking it and it's hard not to bump into things when fiddling with the pump. But the fact that it's 10-15 minutes behind my actual blood sugar is proving frustrating. I felt my afternoon plummet--heat waves, shakes, and all--long before the double arrows clued me in. And those arrows and the "68" flashing on my screen 20 minutes after I had treated had be second guessing--do I need more juice? Am I still falling?

This, I guess, is just something to get used to. And I am looking forward to it. Merry Christmas to me!

2006-12-17T18:21:00.000-08:00

Today, in an effort to escape the oppression of blood sugars, grief, and rain, I picked up a Lady's Home Journal. No holiday cheer there. I found an excerpt by Mrs. Edwards, former presidential candidate John Edward's wife, recounting life after the death of their 16 year-old son, Wade. In it, Edwards quotes a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Called "Dirge Without Music," part of it reads:

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

I opened Lady's Home Journal trying to forget, for a moment, the holidays and the memories that for the last two days...last two weeks...last two months...have engulfed me. Of...decorating the Christmas tree with my brother. Of seeing every James Bond movie with him. Of giving each other thinly-veiled clues about what we'd gotten each other for Christmas. Of his inability to keep secrets. Of getting the giggles every Christmas Eve when an elderly woman would sing O Holy Night, straining to reach the high notes with a voice that must have once been beautiful. But in Lady's Home Journal, in that excerpt by Mrs. Edwards, were truth that I cannot escape.

I know God has a plan in taking my brother early. I know He is working. And I can approve--to a point--but I am not resigned. I am not resigned to the fact that each year means one more year without him, means that I must add another number onto the phrase "the last time I saw him was so many years ago." Three is too many--what will it be like when it is 30? I am not resigned to the fact that I cannot say that my brother "passed away." He didn't pass away--he died when he chose to inhale a lethal combination of chemicals, just one more time. I am not resigned to the fact that my parents are broken, that my cousin, a 9-year old red-headed pixie, grieves for his fun-loving cousin so hard. That when we go to Christmas Eve services, there is a space that cannot be filled no matter how closely we scrunch together.

My brother was smart--smarter than me--he was an adorable red-head with a heart that bled for anything hurting or anyone hurt. He brought home injured animals. He bought flowers for friends-who-were-girls because no one had given them flowers before. He had a contagious laugh. He was witty--a fisherman--more Irish than our heritage implies. He was braver than anyone I know, taking a stand when it was hard, and living with depression and addiction and making it through each day with a smile on his face and love on his heart. And he is dead.

I am not resigned.

I am not resigned.

2006-12-06T17:49:00.000-08:00

6:30 am. The alarm goes off and I start. Is it time already?

I stumble to the shower. Luxuriate in very hot water. Begin the pain-staking interview preperation. I eat breakfast in my robe so as not to spill on my "professional" black suit. I stand in my "foundations" as I put on make-up and blowdry my hair. I force myself into nylons and clip my pump to the elastic before finally putting on the suit.

7:30 am. I leave the house, more worried about spilling on my suit, getting chalk on my suit, getting blood on my suit than anything else.

8:30 am-11:30 am. Rolling right along. No suit disasters, nor have I scuffed up my "comfortable but professional leather pumps". My blood sugar is 76 at 10:30, and I sip half a coke. I would rather be on the high end than on the low end when 12:30 rolls around.

11:30 am. My morning's work is done, and panic hits. I have an interview in one hour. And I need to eat. But if I eat, I will spill on my suit and have to dry clean it, again. (Yes, obsessive, I know.) But now the panic is less about my suit than the interview itself. For calm, I eat. But the menu at the coffee shop poses a challenge: grilled cheese--greesy, out. Tuna--er, tuna breath, bad idea. A wrap with onion? I don't think so. I settle on the soup, deciding that chicken noodle is a fairly safe choice. Certainly better than the chili. I burn my tongue. Badly. But then I settle into the rhythms of dipping the spoon, cradling the broth, savoring its flavor. Chicken soup is good for the soul.

I corner a noodle with my spoon, noting that broth won't do me much good if my blood sugar nosedives during the "tell us about your dissertation" questions.

The noodle...
falls off the spoon...
plops into the soup...
and the soup...
jumps out the bowl...
onto my suit!

I set the soup aside.

Buy a Hershey's with almonds to solace my quaking soul.

And gum, just in case.

Arrive at my interview at a steady 136 and my mind and nerves in tact, and chicken noodle soup that has dried invisibly--bless that chicken's heart.

The interview goes just fine.

2006-11-30T16:53:00.000-08:00

This is an S.O.S. Can anyone suggest a cookbook for singles? This query is for a newly diagnosed friend working on portion control and wanting to make recipes that serve one or two people. Tasty recipes would be nice.

Thanks for the help.

2006-11-14T13:05:00.000-08:00

Out like a light at 10:30. A respectable 178 in my blood. Shouldn't have to worry about going low.

One hour later I sit bolt up right, fighting the dry heaves and waves of nauseau. I squint for my meter and realize I left it downstairs. Will I make it?

402.

402? Here are the moments when WTF come to mind.

I change out my pump, feeling miserable. Searching for a tell-tale air bubble in my tubing, or a bent canula, anything to explain how I would shoot up over 200 points in an hour.

Nothing.

My Ketostick is dark purple, a "large" among of keytones. I haven't had a purple stick in years.

I go back to bed; mumble at my husband, who rubs my back and distracts me from the violent nausea. I role over too quickly and rush to the toilet--just in case. I never threw up from a high blood sugar until I got my pump.

Two hours later, I am 278. Still purple. I drink a lot of water.

This morning, 136, and the nagging question: what went wrong?

2006-11-09T16:50:00.000-08:00

The recollection is so strong that I start.

The hasty meal. The rushing. The dishes half done; 1/3 of my pump sumplies in the bedroom and 2/3 scattered on the kitchen table. Interupting packing with household chores that must be done, and interupting those chores with phonecalls and frantic emails about cancelling my class. And interupting all of these with sobs.

Today I am packing for a hastily arranged trip home, borne of homesickness and the strong pull of family. 3 years ago today I was packing for a hastily arrange trip home, borne of the strong pull of my family in the time of need. My brother had died suddenly, and I was going home for his funeral. I was acutely aware that I needed to be "strong"--strong for my parents, strong certainly for my mother, who was shattered. I needed to plan the funeral, to answer the phone. And my diabetes was with me the whole time, the numbers registering my grief in uncanny ways. The gut-wrenching sobs must have countered the cookies and bananas that were my meals--all I could stomach--because I don't recall being high. Or maybe the paradoxically numb antsiness masked symptoms.

As the anniversary of my brother's death has approached, I have been accutely aware of his support for my diabetes. If he resented the attention it brought me on diagnosis, he never complained. He wept for me. He prayed the whole night--a little 10-year old on his knees by the bedside--the night I had a seizure and he was taken to grandma's in the wee hours. We didn't talk much about it, but it was always there and he was always an anchor.

I look forward to heaven. My brother is there. And diabetes isn't.

2006-11-06T17:57:00.000-08:00

It's Monday and I actually got something done! (See me dancing?)

This despite the fact that I woke up at 319 and felt icky most of the day as I wandered from 319 to 332 to 240 to 99. But it was an icky that I could deal with because 1) I was getting things done and 2) I haven't had a day like this in sooooo long. Sometimes the diabetes Gods smile on us. That is all I can think as I review my numbers for the last week. For the most part, they've been between 80 and 130, a fact that I can only think of as an accident. I've had some lows (a scary 34 one night) but nothing terrible--but I have had a lot of juice intake going on just to keep me above low. I'm finding I like--really like--pineapple-Orange juice. Who wouldda thought? And because I declared a morotorium on A.J. for a while, when I do drink it, it's palatable.

I got my new insulin pump a couple of weeks ago. The insurance company and Minimed got everything squared away. So now I have a nice shiny 522 on my hip. The RT technology makes it amazingly heavy to hold, but not to wear. While I breaking my 522 in--trying to get up the guts to try the bolus wizard, which I did not use with my 512 (dare I confess: I don't count carbs. I don't know my carb-to-insulin ration. My head spins just looking at all the numbers the Bolus Wizard requires)--I don't yet have the RT. 1,500 people are waiting for them and they are backorder 8 weeks. I'm glad. Maybe the backlock of people willing to wait so long and pay full price out-of-pocket will help insurance companies get on the ball?

2006-11-03T09:24:00.000-08:00

When I was a political science major in college, I was rapid about voting. I told everyone to vote. I was an election judge. I was passionate about this civic responsibility and I thought everyone else should be, too.

Fast forward ten years, and I am still passionate about voting. Sort of. But I can understand the apathy besetting so many of our young people and our populace in general. Part of this apathy stems from the sense that politics are so inbred and corrupt that there is no way to make a positive change. Voting has become choosing between a lesser of two evils instead of choosing the candidate who will best guide our country.

More than that, though, is that the whole election system seems geared against making wanting people to vote. Beyond the mud-slinging is the fact that it is truly hard to get any information about the candidates. The local newspaper of my hometown regularly publishes information about the candidates for local, state, and national levels in a nice, easy-to-read format. Not so where I am living now. It is difficult to find out even who is running and what they're running for (thank goodness for those obnoxious lawn signs!). I've done several google searches on candidates' stances on the issues, and have learned that if one is an incumbent they feel that their web site doesn't need to share their stance. They're incumbent. They're shoe-ins.

Finding out the polling place has proven even harder. I Googled several search terms and was finally given a map that was divided according to district. This would have been helpful...if I knew what district I was in. The local newspaper had one article archived on polling places, which merely listed the phone numbers for the election boards. At least that was something. When I called, I learned that in order to vote in the proper precinct I have to inform the election board each time I move within my district--even if it's just across the street. Now it never occured to me that I had to inform a specifically-election oriented entity that I had moved. (Call me naive). Nowhere did I learn that. This was an important piece of information that was not given to me in each of the civic classes and poli-sci courses I took.

What I am saying is that people who take voting seriously are discouraged from taking it seriously by myriad factors: media, unwritten (or assumed) rules, candidates who don't care to inform voters about the issues, or who run on just one issue and assume we'll figure out the rest. And each year I have to work harder and harder to care about a vote that I feel is less and less important. This is not the way it should be. And that is why I will be voting November 7, 2006. I hope you will, too.

2006-10-24T12:50:00.000-07:00

Dear readers:

I need your help on a matter that is absolutely not diabetes related. I am preparing for job interviews and am trying to design a sample syllabi for how I would teach a survey course--for example, World Literature or British Romanticism or 20th Century American literature. My question is, if you have taken survey courses in the past, what was effective for you? Did a straight, chronological survey do it (for instance, the Puritans, and then the American Revolution, and then the Transcendentalists) or did thematic groupings (looking at representations of gender, say, before moving on to something else) work better? Did you prefer getting a taste of a bunch of types of literature that were usual just pieces of a whole work, or did you like looking in-depth at a few pieces? What kind of reading assignments and homework assignments did you appreciate or hate?

Please respond, and pass this on to your friends, relatives, etc. I am really stymied as to how to go about this and I have taught a lot of classes before. This just seems like a different beast altogether.

I appreciate your help!

2006-10-20T14:26:00.000-07:00

I had a very interesting conversation with my insurance company today. Apparently, to get my new pump, I need to participate in something called a "Diabetes Advantage Program." I will get my pump and diabetes supplies free through this program, so I should be happy. Free is good.

But I have conflicted feelings about being forced to participate in this program. My sense is that this is actually a program intended to prevent diabetic complications. Since I'm all about preventing complications and all about insurance companies being active in preventative care, I like the idea in theory. This program entails a 24-hour free health helpline, access to educational programs, and check-in calls with a registered nurse every few months. Again, all good in theory. But when I am compelled to enroll in a program to get a new pump and when I am forced to answer a litany of questions ("What was your last A1C?" "How often in the last month would you say your health prevented you from doing something you enjoy?" "Are you on depression meds?") I feel like Big Brother is watching. And this I resent. Deeply.

I also resent being put on hold. Updating my address with one person. Then updating it again with another. And the same thing with my phone number.

And then, "Now, Ms. Nic. What color would you like your pump to be?" Whoa, Nellie.
"I already ordered my pump," I reply hesitantly. "With Minimed."
Silence.
"And they called yesterday to say it had been shipped and would be here Tuesday."
Says the Southern accent on the other end, "...well, that's unusual. Because the pump orders usually come through our program."
"I ordered clear," I say. And silently, I add, "I ordered clear twice, since I talked to two Minimed people."
"I have you down for a Paradigm 722?"
"No. I wanted a 522. I don't need 300 units of insulin."
"Hmm...it says 722 here."
I silently add, "Yes, I went through this twice with the Minimed people, too."

So now I'm waiting for the nice but bewildered insurance lady to sort things out with Minimed. Wondering if I'm getting one pump or two. Clear or purple. Charged once or twice. Or maybe I'll get one free? Because free is good.

2006-10-18T13:03:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine was just introduced with gestational diabetes. Can anyone recommend any good sources for her? I would especially like to know about online resources, particularly blogs by those who have or had had gestational diabetes. I've did a quick search of the OC and didn't see much.

Thanks!

2006-10-11T12:26:00.000-07:00

Gush, gush. I have to share a warm fuzzy story about my class. One of the books we just read is also a movie, but it's a 1994 production and is hard to get. I had to borrow the video to show it as an out-of-class extra credit opportunity, and then felt terrible when the students who couldn't make it were deprived of extra credit because the video is absolutely no where to be found in our area and they couldn't get it to do extra credit on their own.

Well, today a student comes up to me and hands me a videotape of this book. "This is for you," she says. She got it cheap in her hometown and decided to donate it to the cause. And later in the day, a different student informed me that he got a "sweet deal" on the DVD and has offered to share it with me--permanently.

I am so touched!

2006-10-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

This will be a very random post. This post will, in fact, mirror my blood sugars, which refuse to be tamed by insulin. I have changed sites 4 times this weekend trying to get my steady 250s to come down, but to no avail. So, am I stressed? Sick? Recepient of a bad batch of sets? Who can tell? Anyway, back to the randomness.

Handsome Hubby and I went to the Louisville Zoo on Saturday. I haven't been to a zoo in ages and it was so much fun. Such a wide array of animals, including an honest-to-goodness albino alligator. It was so cool. The anacanda...less cool. A tiger made eye-contact with me. That was awesome. I'm glad he was behind protective glass, however.
Handsome Hubby and I are in job limbo. The limbo: he will either be fired or get a substantial raise. Let's just say spending any money (much less a new pump and RT money) is agonizing right now because we might need it. Then again, we might not.
Thinking of substantial raise has me thinking about not teaching next semester. To not teach would be so nice. For just once. I do love teaching though. Especially when I get paper revisions that are as stunning as the one I just graded. I am thankful for that revision, because the next one, I can tell, is going to be depressing. Hence the blogging instead of grading.
I got my first, "Dear Nic, thank you for your application to our University" email today. That was so exciting! I've sent out 20 applications (or close to) by now, and it's the first acknoweldgement. It's so affirming. I have 20 or so left to do. They need either a writing sample or offical transcripts. I am waiting for both (transcripts need to arrive; writing sample needs a proofreader).
It's a no-school day. Tomorrow, too. I'm trying to find a balance between work and rest. And I celebrated by wearing my pjs until 11 am. Now only if I could teach in my pajamas...

2006-10-05T06:38:00.000-07:00

Here is how desperate I am to get my bloodsugars under control: I called Minimed. It's one thing to think about calling them; it's another to actually call. It's a commitment. But I did it. And on Monday, I talked to a very nice lady about the 522 and the RealTime system. I answered her questions about my health, my insurance, whether my pump was functioning properly. And then I waited.

And yesterday, I heard back. And I answered questions about my health, my insurance, whether my pump was functioning properly. And it seems that it is unfortunate that it is, because if, for instance, it was cracked, or the buttons were sticking, they could shave off some pump-replacement cost. But I could not lie. "No, my pump is fine...Well, yes, it does give unexplained alarms."

Insurance (bless them) will cover 80% of the new pump. Which leaves us with a mere $608 to cover. They will not, of course, cover the RealTime system, which comes separately. I learned a few things about this system that I did not know before (and I have researched it extensively, having read all of the blogs and many reports and of course the MiniMed web page). The most stunning thing I learned: after spending $999 on the system, and committing to a 35-month payment plan that covers the RT and the 522, the RT will only last 9 months. 9 MONTHS. This has not been widely advertised, and I was more than a little upset about this. I should not that I don't need a new insulin pump. I don't go for the bells and whistles; I'm too stubborn to learn about them (actually, I'm too stubborn to watch the stupid videos they send). I merely need the new pump so I can have the RT that will only last 9 months -- no matter (I conclude) whether I wear it daily or monthly.

But I am, as I have noted, desperate. So in three to four weeks my expensive, short-lived RT shall arrive, along with my new, clear 522 insulin pump. Stay tuned.

2006-09-30T07:52:00.000-07:00

I was 41 at 4 am last night. I awoke to a pounding heart and what I've begun calling "the wobbles." Responsible for once, I woke my husband and asked him to get me some juice. I discovered, in the haze of 4 am, that orange juice tastes a lot better in the daylight.

I was low at 8 am; after juice, I was 98. After my workout today, for which I left my pump at home, I was 68.

I have a headache that won't quit.

And I am excited. Not about the lows or the headache, but because I had my endo appointment yesterday and she strongly encouraged me to get the GuardianRealTime. She explained how it would work and what we would need to do to get it and hopefully get insurance to cover it. She told me about one patient who within two weeks had been able to get her sugars to "flatline" -- to quit doing that nasty jumping about that mine do. How cool!

I have this fantasy that with the GuardianRealTime (covered, of course, by insurance) my blood sugars will be stable and I will feel well again. But I had that fantasy with the pump. The truth is, these are technologies, not life-changing devices. They only can have a significant impact if you are willing to work with them. Sometimes I am not. But I am still hopeful.

And, I am relieved. I had been expecting an AiC well above 7. But I stayed level -- 6.4! Wooohooo. The lows, at least, are doing their work of counterbalancing the highs. Now to get rid of them both.

2006-09-23T11:21:00.000-07:00

Besides knowing that diabetics shouldn't eat sugar (ahem), and that they test their blood sugars and take lots of shots (eeeewwww), non-diabetics associate diabetics with something else: orange juice. As in, low blood sugar = orange juice. For diabetics, a low blood sugar might also = glucose tabs. Now, in both regards I am not (or, was not) a "normal" diabetic.

I grew up with an utter loathing of orange juice. Utter. It is only now, in my 28th year, that I have begun to use it to treat lows. I thank the nice family I tutored for for getting me acclimated to this drink. Each Tuesday and Thursday, the mother would serve the two kids and I a tray of healthy snacks and glasses of orange juice. I would force myself to chug it down and gradually, over the course of 16 weeks, I learned to tolerate it. I am thankful, becuase I can no longer tolerate apple juice, my juice of choice. 17 years of treating lows with apple juice has resulted in a gag reflex. Even brand-name apple juice, like Juicy-Juice, doesn't do it. And the Walmart brand, a dollar cheaper but alas, more like urine than juice, certainly doesn't do it. And so for the first time in my life I am buying Minute Maid and making difficult choices, like "Low Pulp" or "No Pulp." Can I force myself to handle "High Pulp" for its Calcium Enriched goodness? (Answer, "NO". Low Pulp is pulpy enough.)

And then there are those glucose tabs. When I was diagnosed they came -- as far as I know -- in one flavor. You've got it: orange. And I don't do orange (even now -- OJ, okay, orange anything-else no way). But because of the I-can't-stand-apple-juice turn-of-events, I have lately found myself in the glucose tab aisle. There's watermelon and grape and English toffee and tropical fruit. But I still find that being the glucose tab kind of diabetic is a struggle, because I am not a fan of chalk. And although the English toffee tabs do taste like English toffee, it's a sweet explosion that makes my teeth hurt and that makes me grimace as I swallow the disentegrating tongue-coating stuff. OJ it is.

It's a good thing I'm finding Apple Juice alternatives, because I've been low A LOT these last few days. I didn't break 100 until 5 pm on Thursday (where I finally rebounded to a lovely 303. Ahem.) I had three juices in the course of 4 hours. Yesterday I was 47. And I haven't been above 100 today. All because I've altered my morning basals to try and stave off the peak-to-nader pattern that plagued me all summer and continues to plague me now.

This is a problem, because my low symptoms are mimicking the anxiety I have had all week: wake up with racing heart and near tears. The shakes. Definite stomach issues. A persistent headache, mornign till night? Is it just anxiety? The fact that I haven't been on my thyroid or depression meds for a good months (waiting for the doctor's appt Friday for new scripts)? A combo? And what's with the lows? Anyone's guess at this point. I'm actually looking forward to the endo appointment to find out.

2006-09-19T08:06:00.000-07:00

It's a commonplace that dissertation writing is like giving birth. You harbor an idea, letting it grow, and then labor (through revisions, revisions, revisions) to birth the child of your idea. What this commonplace doesn't tell you is that craving are a part of this birthing process. And throughout this process (I've been "pregnant" for two years now -- more like an elephant, I guess) I've had cravings. I could not have done my first chapter without trail mix; two pounds a week; solid hand-to-mouth movement. My second chapter I must have been okay, because I don't remember eating exhorbitant amounts of one food. Maybe ice cream. My third chapter...CAJUN TRAIL MIX. I literally thought about it all the time. When I would hop my bus home I'd have a huge smile on my face because I'd soon be with my precious trail mix. Now, chapter 4 and job docs, it's all about the carbs. Chocolate muffins, cupcakes, pizza. PIZZA. Gooey, cheesy pizza. The kind I had two nights ago, with sausage and pepperoni and green peppers and mushrooms and black olives. Normally, I'd be set with that. 3 slices would do me for weeks. But now all I can think about is pizza. I can't wait until this "child" is born!

All this is to say that I can relate with Scott's carb struggles. I know I don't "need" this food, but I feel much happier with it. And moderation may be the key, but when your body screams "more, more" it's hard to convince yourself that you don't, in fact, need more. And sometimes, I think, the body knows what it's talking about. At least, I hope so. Pizza, anyone?

2006-09-15T16:24:00.001-07:00

In the real world, when one wants a job, they scour the want-ads, use head-hunters and job search engines like careerbuilders.com, and use their connectiosn and the conventions of their field. When there are jobs that look appealing, they polish their resume, write a cover letter, and wait, anxiously, to hear back from the place they've applied to.

With academia, it's a little different, although the anxiety remains the same. I can't talk about all fields, but I know English quite well. Here is how it works in English: On September 15th, or some other day in mid-September, the professional organization for all English academics prints all job adds for the coming year. This "Job Information List" is the clearing house, so to speak, for all of the jobs in the field. The annual event is simultaneoulsy dreaded and anticipated by graduate students such as myself. "What if there are no jobs?" "What if all of the jobs are in, say, Alaska?" are frequent questions we ask ourselves.

Today was the day that the list was posted. And I am pleased to say that there are 41 jobs available, a number that should increase as other schools get funding for new hires. If only the anxiety ended here. Now, with 41 -- or 4 -- or 400 -- whatever the English subfield, my cohorts and I must churn out our job documents and be organized enough to have them mailed before the "must be posted before..." dates of each job. Back to the resumes and cover letters now. While people who must write resumes are tortured by having to keep the to one page, (would be) academics write Curriculum Vitae that show us off as much as we want -- everything we've taught, published, presented, thought, smoked (er, no) appears on this document because it is the history our academic life. This is kind of a fun document to write. Now, the letter is the pain in the tush, because we have to write about our research so that readers unfamiliar with what we do (say, the Shakespeare scholar who has never heard of Walt Whitman) can understand what we're talking about. And then, talk about our teaching and academic service. This is painful writing; it's all about self-presentation and not annoying our unknown audience. Anything -- a typo, an apparent aversion to lecturing -- anything might be the "nope, we don't want this person" factor. Further, we're supposed to taylor (tailor? I never know) each job letter to fit the job, to let each school know that we've read their add and that we can meet their requirements. So each letter requires finetuing, and each letter requires revision...and...I've revised one letter 12 times.

And there there is the...writing sample. 10, 15, 20, 25, or 30 pages of writing, depending on the school. The writing sample is usually a dissertation chapter or part of a dissertation chapter. The chapter I am using is 50 pages, which means cutting 30...or 25...or 20 pages and making what remains a coherent whole. (This is harder than it seems. Having done this all week, I know. And I am only referring to one writing sample -- the 20 page one).

There is the...teaching philosophy. How I teach. Why I teach that way. What I teach. What I want my students to gain. How I encourage them to make those steps. I like this. This is fun. I can do this.

And this is just round one of the job game. If -- if -- a school likes me (please note that I've shifted from third person to second person first person -- so much for giving an objective overview) they will call me for an interview. And from December 27-30 I will be at the English folk's annual convention, wearing my stiff, black, Ann Taylor suit, interviewing. I will be asked about my research, my teaching, my opinion about the transatlantic trend in early American literature. I will be asked to talk coherently about my research and where it's going. I will be praying for miraculous speaking abilities.

And if -- if -- I manage not to spill my water, trip on the committee chair, have a low blood sugar that causes me to scramble my words -- and if they like my research and my suit, they might just call me for a second interview.

At which point I will prepare a job talk ("this is what I do and why it's important") that's dynamic, scholarly, and relevant and a teaching presentation (in which I will "perform" my teaching for students and faculty alike). The job talk might just remain the same, but the teaching presentation will depend on the school and their needs. "We have a need for a teacher in...Dan Brown and Medievalism, Nic. We'd like you teach that for your presentation." Right. (Note: I don't think it works this way, but I know I could be asked to teach something I really unfamiliar with). Which means a heck of a lot of prep. For each school.

So, on this Friday the 15th, I look forward to adding another full-time job to my list. I don't know how parents do it -- I'm tired enough already. I am excited, though, to be at the point where I can be on the job market and feel fairly (by no means completely) ready. And I've posted this very long, very...well, English-y post to help you all (my 4 readers) understand what I'm referring to when I say "revised my writing sample for the 80th time today..."

2006-09-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

2006-09-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

We have a frog in our house.

I have no idea how he got here.

He greeted us when we opened the door upon returning from our walk.

We tried to escort him outdoors.

He promptly hopped under our closet door and under our washing machine.

He just emerged, announcing himself by consistently bumpking into very solid, very metal doors.

He refuses to be caught.

I cannot catch him.

I am afraid of

...stepping on him in the dark of the night...

...chasing him back under the washer...

...finding his pathetic self dried up and shrivelled in the morning.

Ribbit!

2006-09-06T18:03:00.000-07:00

I am tired -- forget-to-blink tired. I've taught at 8:30 am before but never before have I gotten up at 6 am to do so, in the dark that will only get darker. Never before have I been on the job market, finishing my dissertation, teaching, and having a social and spiritual life (social life, good; spiritual life, suffering).

I'd say never before have I been so worried about my diabetes, but that would not be true. I am worried, though. Over the long weekend, I traveled across two time zones and was exposed to a nasty cold virus. I think my average blood sugar was 250; yesterday, I didn't drop below 300 until 1 pm. Part of this was a faulty insertion sight, but my lingering highs today tell me not all of that was the case. And today I experienced my second, "is this the diabetic complication I've been waiting for moment" as shooting electricity-like pains visited the tops and bottoms of my feet.

I've made a doctor's appointment for the 29th. I'm going to ask my endo to write a letter to my insurance explaining my (I think just) need for a CGM. And I'm going to hope on the Minimed Real Time. And if I am so lucky as to be able to afford these things, I am going to sign myself up for some serious training. Because these highs and lows have got. to. stop.

2006-08-28T17:30:00.000-07:00

The 2-year olds in Sunday School gather round me, focused on the round white disk on my arm. "What's that?" They ask. "Medicine," I say. "Oh..." one girl's eyes widen. "You have a boo-boo."

---

"Why is your cell phone like that?" The little girl's eyes are blue, solemn, serious. She looks up at me, precocious. "It's not a cell phone," I reply, consistently amazed by how often the little children pick up on difference. "It's medicine." "Oh." She processes the information. "Is it in your bottom?"

---

The second day of teaching, and I have drastically changed my basals so that I will no longer skyrocket after breakfast. For once, my body is responsive. Just short of 8:30, my class time, I test in at 63. I rejoice to be low for once. I drink juice, and suspend my pump, erring on the side of caution. Midway through class, I find the sweat gathering at my lip, above my brow. I fumble through, aware that my heart is racing. Back at my office, I test in at 50. Sometimes suspending just isn't enough.

---

Church on Sunday, I am 300-high, resiliently refusing (through no will of my own) to come down. Then, the plummet starts. The humidity blends with the drop, merges with the stops-and-starts of the after-church traffic, augments the exhausted-to-the-point of illness results of my 3 nights of insomnia. It is a wonder that I don't throw up. I spend the day listless, sad, tired.

---

Day in, day out, shaping our responses to each and everything. Teaching becomes dangerous, a chance to humiliate myself before students who admire me for my enthusiasm. Job interviews are worries, not because I am not sure if I am prepared, but because I am not sure if my morning blood sugars will swing too high, or too low, because they are never in the middle. How much juice will I consume in the course of one day? What will the job committees think? Will my diabetes work against me on the one-to-two day campus visits?

The fabric of our lives, indeed.

2006-08-21T15:26:00.000-07:00

Some irreverance is in order.

Alternative careers for me:

Founder of a website called: nakebarista.com. Don't know what it would be about -- maybe no content at all. I just really like the name. I like the suggestion of the name.

Barista (fully clothed) at Starbucks. Their health insurance is better than mine. There's no thinking involved. Just have to get the foam right.

High School English Teacher. I can teach thousands of students to hate The Scarlet Letter.

Any other suggestions?

2006-08-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

School starts in 2 days. Less than that, actually. And I am not looking forward to it.

This was the first summer in 6 years of graduate school that I've actually accomplished something. I researched a dissertation chapter, and I've nearly completely a draft. I've established a routine -- oatmeal for breakfast; work out; hop the bus; hunker down in the library; work two hours; eat my sandwich; work a little longer; get coffee; work until 5; catch the bus home. It has worked.

My routine starting Monday is determined by when the bus comes and when I teach -- and 6 am comes early. I dread the change in routine, particularly because I know that my blood sugars will resist and I will have to try to figure them out while trying to figure this phase of school out, too. And each start of the school year means renogiating household chores, and generally means a couple of marital meltdowns. (AKA I meltdown).

But maybe I am dreading the start of school so much because it is my last year. The last year I will teaching in my department, the last year I will meet my friends for coffee; the last year I am a student after 10 years of student-hood. This is the year that I become a professional. I'm not sure I'm ready. The department has been my home for 6 years; I've checked my mail in the same office; gotten my coffee at the same place; put my feet on the same desk for a good portion of my adult life. I've asked my professors for help and have relied on the fact that I'm not "there" yet. And as I finish a chapter, then finish a diss, and apply for jobs, I'm no longer just going through the motions that I've been through. I'm stepping into a new chapter...and I don't know how it will end, or where it well take me. And that's exciting, but awfully daunting, too.

2006-08-14T18:45:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted recently, mostly because things have been going well. That, and I realized that I use this blog as a complaint forum when in fact I should be focusing on being thankful. And I am thankful:

-Thankful that my bad bloodsugar blitz is over
-Thankful that my husband's graduation party went well, despite the chaos preceding it
-Thankful that we have good insurance
-Thankful for my family and in-laws (who I frequently complain about but who are actuallly pretty cool)
-Thankful for a productive summer
-Thankful that my advisor gave me the go-ahead for the job market this fall

And thankful for the words of friends who help me think about the testimony I bear. It turns out that two friends were talking about me the other day, and one marveled at my empathy toward others, my serenity, and -- hah! my can-do attitude. "I wonder," she said, "if it's because of Nic's diabetes." As the other party was relaying this this to me, I chortled. "I can't believe that! Yesterday, I called my parents and WHINED about being diabetic. I was so sick of it. And serenity? I am always freaking out." "Well, Nic," she said. "You have a calm and encouraging demeanor. You hide everything well."

I frequently worry that I have an opposite effect on people, because I really am a worry-wart, type-A personality. So this exchange was encouraging. But then I thought of the persona I am on this blog, and see that this is my outlet for the worries, the stress, the annoyance of being diabetic. This is where I channel all of these things because here people will understand -- even if they do think I'm shallow and wound too tightly.

And as I begin the new school year and seek to juggle diabetes, wifehood, the job-market, teaching, and dissertation finishing, as well as friends, family, in-laws, and increasing church responsibilities, I resolve to try to be thankful above all...

2006-08-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

I am flumoxxed. Confused. In a dither.

Yesterday, I skipped breakfast for the good 'ol basal test. I looked longingly at the peach on my counter, the oatmeal carton in my pantry, and just said no. I was going to do it. And so I watched as my blood sugar climbed, climbed, climbed. And when it beyond 250 I did a correction and watched it climb, climb some more.

So, this confimed my sense that by bolus rate has been covering (or not) my morning blood sugars rather than my basal. So I drastically upped my morning basal. Didn't know what to do with the continued clib.

Woke this morning at 112. One hour later I was 157. Seeing as I was obviously repeating yesterday's pattern, I gave in and had breakfast. Glorious oatmeal, walnuts, peaches!

Clocked in at 257 an hour later. Corrected. Went nowhere.

Until lunch, when I was a very shaky 100. Suspended my pump. Had some quiche. Was very conservative on my bolus. Came home. Was still 100. Drank a ton of juice and forced myself to wait a half-hour for my much-needed swim. Then I was 114.

Had a yogurt. Am now 260, a mere 2 hours later.

I don't get it. I suspect I should call my doctor, but she'll say -- have you changed your pump? yes. Is your insulin fresh/cool? yes. Have you done a basal test? um...yes? Well, then, just keep increasing your basals until you get. I am, I am, I am. It's not working.

2006-07-29T09:11:00.000-07:00

Boy, it's sure nice to be back, reading thought-provoking blogs that say things just like I feel, only they say it so much better than I do. I've been in Chicago for the last 3 days, having met up with my best friend SJ who I hadn't seen in 14 months and 15 days. We had a jam-packed trip. I went to the Contemporary Museum of Art alone on Wednesday (I will say no more); Wicked the musical Wednesday night (it was awesome); the Shedd Aquarium and Navy Pier Thursday; swimming in Lake Michigain and the Art Institute on Friday. I had envisioned a free-wheeling, fun, girly time -- no worries, no constraints, just fun. And I did have fun...except that I couldn't leave my diabetes at home.

I ran low all day Thursday because of all the walking we were doing. I suspended my pump; I drank maintenance Pepsi and ate so many Hot Tamales that my tongue hurts and I suspect cold sores are immenent. At my lowest I was 46. But then every morning I'd wake up high, and have to decide: do I do an extra bolus? Do I trust the walking to bring it down?

So really, I came home disheartened. And as I write this with a 322 blood sugar and the feeling that my insides are trying to get out of my skin, all the sugar is jumping around so much, I am even more frustrated. Usually I am a stoic diabetic. I have it. I deal with it. I work with the highs and the lows. I don't wish for a cure, usually. But today I wish I could take it off, like the pump, and travel free for a while. See a city without worries. Walk without having to consume 600 extra calories just to keep me going. Lighten the load and leave some of the baggage behind.

2006-07-20T14:08:00.000-07:00

17 Really Cool Things I've Done Since My Diagnosis (in no particular order):

1. Became an English teacher
2. Married the kindest, cutest man in the universe
3. Was baptised by immersion
4. Became a member of a wonderful church
5. Graduated in 3 years with 2 majors (English and Political Science) and an unofficial minor (History) from a superb liberal arts school where I...
6. ...Became friends with S.J., the most dedicated and faithful friend a girl could have
7. Lived and worked in Washington D.C. for 9 months. Hated it. Learned what I valued.
8. Learned how to knit
9. Went parasailing twice
10. Roadtripped to Rhode Island by myself...there and back in 3 days!
11. Roadtripped to the Grand Canyon and Maine, and went to Europe (all with the above SJ)
12. Got an insulin pump!
13. Was able to honor my brother by speaking at his funeral and sharing what a wonderful relationship we had and what a beautiful young man he was
14. Got much-needed treatment for a prolonged depression
15. Stood up to my sixth grade teacher. She needed it. So did I.
16. Started the process of getting over my fear of failure and my insistence on perfection. Note the knitting, and the golfing (!) I did last week
17. ...I'm looking ahead here, but I'm going to think positive: finished my dissertation!

And because I like setting goals...

Some things I will do in the next 17 years...

1. Become a professor! Hopefully sooner rather than later
2. Learn to speak Spanish fluently
3. Own a home
4. Also own a home...in Spain
5. Do Karaoke
6. Be a mentor to ungraduates and graduate students
7. Honor my brother by starting some sort of program that would reflect who he was and what he valued...the details are fuzzy, but it's something I feel compelled to do
8. Learn to play the guitar

2006-07-18T12:48:00.000-07:00

The Diabetes OC motivates me! When I read that some people do their basal tests by simply not eating, I thought, "that's a good idea." I have always hated those tests and have not done one since shortly after I got the pump. It's not so much that they're inconvenient as that they're another reminder of the inconveniences of having diabetes. (Circular logic, maybe, but then, I got a "C" in logic).

So, I was pumped (hah!). I was going to do this. I was going to (gasp) skip breakfast. Today was my day.

I woke up at 204. Yesterday I was 203. The day before that was 124. So either the heat is doing its thing or I need more on the 2:30 - 5:30 am set. I gave a slight bolus to correct the 204, tell myself that if I woke up high I should skip the test, and then ignore my advice. I've prepped myself for this and I am going to do it. (So rarely do I try to be a "good diabetic").

Then I debate -- do I go for a powerwalk or not? On the "Yes" side: It's my Tuesday form of excercise. I will feel badly if I don't. I'm 204. On the "No" side: I'm 204. I might go low. I'll skewer my results. I go with the "yes," and compromise with the fear of lows by suspending my pump.

I come back at 257. Later I am 255.

I throw in the towel. Eat some chicken bryani. Do what I think is enough insulin. Clock in at 258.

So, for once in my life, I am remarkably consistent. But I haven't learned anything. Are my basals off? (They weren't last week...) Did I screw up with the walk/suspend? Did I miscalculate lunch? Are my consistent highs a result of the weather, hormones, a bug I'm fighting? Who can tell?

2006-07-15T13:13:00.000-07:00

Recipes were made to be broken. At least in my book. Substitute here, cut there, make something better....Except that sometimes the recipes know what they're talking about. Which is why I just wasted 2 cups pretzels, 1/2 cup butter, 8 oz. cream cheese, 1 cup whipped topping, and some sugar. Said ingredients are now in a very unappetizing blob in our trash bin, baking in the sun.

See, I was making Strawberry Pretzel Dessert. I love this dessert, and try to eat it, if not make it, every summer. The crust is pretzels and butter and sugar. I decided to cut the butter from 3/4 cup to 1/2 cup. This calculation makes sense; very rarely do we need all the butter in a recipe, just like we don't need all the sugar (which I cut from 3 TBLS to 1). Except, butter adds moisture, and moisture keeps a crust together. So, when I started slathering on the cream cheese mixture, it was very difficult to spread. The crust started coming up like a crumbly carpet. But being the adventerous cook, I decided to see what would happen if I just mixed the pretzels and crea, cheese mixture together. It would still taste good, right? Wrong. The yumminess disappeared to be replaced by the Pretzel Blob. No amount of squishing would make it lie flat. And so, with unceremonious anger and juvenile zeal, I used a spatula to plop the blob into the trash and announced "I'm never making another dessert again." (This is not the first dessert-in-distress I have conconcted).

The butter cutting was ill-advised. But for anyone who decides to make this dessert or has made it in the past, the 1 cup sugar in the cream cheese mixture is more than enough. The whipped topping is really sweet. I think 1/2 cup would suffice (I used 3/4 cup, and the mixture was too sweet). But then, you may not want to take my advice on this dessert.

2006-07-11T13:54:00.000-07:00

This posting is brought to you by the color Gray and the bloodsugar Low.

It is gray, gray, gray out. Pouring rain gray out, although the rain stopped long enough for me to take a very humid walk. A few years ago I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (not so affectionally referred to as Seasonal Defective Disorder), but really, I think I just have an allergy to Gray.

I wasn't motivated yesterday and I certainly am not motivated today. This does not make dissertation writing easy. Nor does the 13th low in 5 days. One day I was only above 100 once. Now, I like good, low-end blood sugars, but perpetual lows are zappers. And although I've cut insulin daily it hasn't done any good.

On a sunnier note, our anniversary get away was beautiful. The Bed and Breakfast was a huge, 150+ year-old farmhouse; the jacuzzi was fair-sized; the champagne was bubbly, and the Nic was happily talkative. I wish we could celebrate our anniversary more often!

2006-07-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

Happy Anniversary to us...

This weekend marks (more or less) our 3rd anniversary. Handsome Hubby and I are celebrating with a trip to a bed and breakfast tomorrow, and a visit to our favorite winery on Sunday. We have visited this winery every annivesary since our marriage. We mosey on down through the "quaint" towns, our cooler packed with Alouette Cheese and strawberries. At the winery, we sit at the tasting counter with our eyes wide, trying to decide: do we taste the same wines? Do we taste different wines and share our opinions? Then the question becomes: which wines do we buy with the money we have set aside?

Having made our purchases and also purchased the requisite bar of french bread, we deliver all but one bottle to our car and grab our cooler. We meander through the winery gardens to the pond, where we debate over the merit of shady v. sunny pincic tables and inevitably compromise on one with shade (for him) as well as sun (for me). Pulling out our real, from-our-house wine glasses, we pop the cork and savor the wine, the cheese, the strawberries, and the sun.

2006-07-05T11:59:00.000-07:00

The Day: Sunday, July 2.
The Time: 11 am.
The scene: Nic is in the kitchen. Her blood sugar is 61. She is shaking, and hot, and more symtomatic than she has been in a long time. Her heart is racing. She has had some juice, but feels it is imperative that she have a ham and cheese sandwich, now.

But first she needs the cheese slicer. She looks under the sink, where some dishes are stored, and starts rooting through them. She looks in the pile of dirty dishes on the counter. She clangs some silverware and bangs around some plates as she looks, frantically but ineffectually. Tears are streaming down her cheeks.

"I'll do the dishes later," her husband says. He sits placidly on the couch.

She is sobbing as she takes out a plate (as she is unable to find the cutting board either) and grabs a knife and starts to saw at the cheese.

"I don't care about the dishes. I need the cheese slicer and I cant' find it. This is why" (deep, snotty, self-pitying breath) "I don't like us [read: you] to pile the dishes like this. I can't find anything." She glares at self-satisfied husband as he refuses to comfort her in her temper tantrum.

The cheese won't cut, a combination of a very dull knife and an uncordinated Nic. It is all hubby's fault.

She throws the cheese into its drawer and kicks the door shut. Sobs as she grabs a knife and bread and slaps on peanut butter. Glares at her husband the whole time. Wishes he knew what it felt like. Inhales the sandwich, very unhappy that it is not ham and cheese, the only real remedy to this egregious low, and sits back down.

It's funny now, but this was the scariest low I have ever had. I am rarely emotional with lows, and I was a mess with this one. And I was 61, not 30 -- which, incidentally, I don't usualy feel and have thus far (but not holding my breath) been fully capable of dealing with in a rational manner.

2006-07-02T07:28:00.000-07:00

Today is Sunday, and my husband and I are missing church yet again. Our summer attendance has been spotty because of travels, and also because we work with the early two-year olds. But today we are missing by choice, choosing to miss the crowds of the community picnic and the pomp and circumstance of the patriotic sermon that we know awaits us.

I am not one of those who thinks that to miss a Sunday is sin, or that God will judge me for choosing to sleep in or take a mental health break during a busy week. But today, I am longing for God. I am hungry for his word. And this is because I know I need it.

I am worshipping finances rather than God. Recently a friend met with me to help me with a budget, and the more I work on finalizing it the more I worry about where our money will come from. Summers are always tight. There are weddings, there is our anniversary, there are unforseen expenses. There is the Handsome Hubby's car, which in the past three months has cost us $2,5000. We picked it up from the shop yesterday, only to have the clutch break 10 miles later. And so I look at our money draining away, away, away...and I forget to look to God to provide. And he always has provided, from the beginning. We were fairly impovershed when we married, but thanks to wedding gifts we were able to repair Handsome Hubby's car, get new glasses for both of us, buy needed clothes, and to sock some away in savings. Money has come from odd, unforseen places ever since. And yet I always worry...

And then there is the matter of insurance. My hubby is a dreamer; I am a pragmatist, partly by nature, partly by diabetes, and partly because the dreamer needs balance. And so, when he thinks of looking for a new job, I say, "but what about our insurance?" We have marvelous insurance, which insures that we pay very little for my pump supplies. What if? What if? What if? And so, in the name of financial security, I am the dour dream-shooter-downer. I do not like myself for this.

And I do not like that I am worshipping finances and financial stability over God. After all, what else is stable in this unstable world?

2006-06-29T12:17:00.000-07:00

Blood sugars are better, thank God!

I notice that I don't post much when I have good blood sugars. Hmmmm. I do have to note, though, that my eye is really bugging me since my blitz of highs. Like there's cellophane over it, and like it won't tear properly. I know there's nothing really wrong with it, but I worry any way.

I've been going to write some real posts, about teaching evals (grrrrrr) and boggling articles in The Chronicle of Higher Education ("Jesus is not a Republican") but instead I have: watched Napolean Dynamite with rockin people; done my Bible study; fought with the microfilm machine; helped a friend with a resume and gotten budgeting help from a friend; thought about writing; and actually written a bit. So nothing "real" here...maybe next time.

2006-06-26T14:14:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, you are looking at a blog that has been fine-tuned today. Deciding that the gothic and sentimental could not hold my attention amidst the waves of high-blood sugar ickiness (culminating at a 421 -- changed pump, again, and this time the canula had a visible problem), I decided to spend time making my blog look pretty. Clearly, it's not there yet, since my template tells me it's lavendar and it at times even acts lavendar (just not consistently). But, please note, I did get blogrolling to work. I have not tested the links, yet, but I consider this a start of something good.

Hoping to continue fine-tuning the blog soon. But not if it means that high blood sugars are my motivation!

2006-06-26T05:48:00.000-07:00

What's wrong with this picture?

9:40 am 214
11:55 pm 214
1:15 pm 83
3:30 pm 170
4:40 pm 214 (change out pump; no room-temp insulin, soooo...)
5:30 pm 313
6:00 pm 404 (change out pump, again)
7:25 pm 109
9:30 pm 124
11:30 pm 76 (this after glass of sugary soda and very sugary homemade icecream)

Sunday, June 25
8:55 am 80
10:30 am 220
12:50 pm 525 (perhaps vastly miscalculated breakfast?????)
2:00 pm 363
3:50 pm 289 (love to see the steady fall, but could it go a little faster? I'm not scrimping on
insulin, either)
5:50 pm 199
8:20 pm 131
9:35 pm 78
10:45 pm 211

7:50 am 290
8:30 am 322 (change pump, again)

2006-06-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

"I used to wish I could be in a healthy body for just one day, just to know what it feels like," she tells me. She is sitting crosslegged on the coffee shop couch, looking, in fact, healthy.

She is one of the most intelligent people I know. Her convictions are strong. She lives and speaks according to what she believes. She loves coffee, knitting, Emily Dickenson, a certain young doctor, her cat. She is passionate and courageous, although courageous may not be a word she wants employed to describe her. It is to close to "brave" -- as in "you're so brave," which she hears too often. It seems, she says, to work toward defining her according to her chronic illness(es).

She was diagnosed with cancer at age 3 months. She has numerous health-related complications. But it is not the anemia, the fatigue, the vertigo, the allergies, that are the most disturbing, the most complicating factors of her life. It is the day-to-day web of emotions and relationships as people are ignorant, unsypathetic, harsh, unforgiving of the limitations the impede her body. Because they can't see them, they assume that they do not exist.

This is driven home as she begins a class on issues of access to education and other basic services and human needs. Much of this class focuses on the American with Disabilities Act, with fabulous readings such as Susan Wendell's "Toward a Feminist Theory of Disability" excerpted from (I believe) her The Rejected Body. Yet when my friend asks for permission to write her papers before the course begins, in expectation of those unsuspected moments when her body simply will not comply with her will, her instructor tells her that he does not feel comfortable letting her do so. He instructs her to get permission from the Dean, implying that she is seeking special treatment rather than the rights granted her by the ADA.

And then there is my mom, who today is celebrating her 29th birthday for the 27th time. How often, with her 15 years of Chronic Fatigue, has she heard "You look so healthy!" as people ask about her health and assume that if she is out in public she must be "cured." They do not know how she has rested a full day or week to make it to an event, how she has worked on her appearance.

My mom is adventurous. She is funny and she is fun. She is strong. She is curious. She wants to know about Seneca, about the Civil War, about herbs, about most things. She likes ideas. She writes to senators. She is a reader. She is a believer in Christ and has one of the quietest, strongest faiths that I know. She is a prayer warrior. She is a thinker and she is real.

Yet 15 years ago the doctors at Mayo Clinic told her, as they have told numerous others, that she was crazy -- that the scratchy throat, the inability to speak, the inability to stand without dizziness, the constant, chronic, painful, debilitating fatigue -- was all in her head.

And over 25 years since Chronic Fatigue Syndrome first made its appearance, the Center for Disease Control only last month concurred that, indeed, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is a real disease. Yet even so, people will continue to say, "But you look so healthy," oblivious to the fact that she is leaning her head on her hands and that her eyes are crying "let me go so I may rest." And they will continue to think that "Chronic Fatigue" means that she is a late sleeper, too lazy to get out of bed in the morning. or that she is exaggerating because, boy, they're "tired" too.

This post is in honor of my mom's birthday and my friend. Thank you, you two, for continuing to fight and live and be yourselves, and to define yourselves according to who you are, and not what others -- and your conditions -- attempt to define you.

__________________________________________

Some "invisible illness" websites:

CFIDS Association of America
National Fibromyalgia Association
Celiac Sprue Association
National Digestive Diseases Information Clearinghouse
Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America

Some real-life stories:

"What Price Glory?"
An interview between Anna Simpkins and Seabiscuit author Laura Hildenbrandt, who has CFIDS
Chronicbabe.com
An awesome site written by and about women with chronic illnesses of all varieties.
Learning Sickness: A Year with Crohn's Disease by James Lang (Link is to the Amazon.com blurb)
Diabetes Wise has two especially compelling posts on diabetes, illness, and identity. Check out "This Post is Brought to you by the Letter E" and "A Damn Big Hole".

I would love to extend this very short bibliography. If you have helpful or related sites, please send them my way!

2006-06-21T05:25:00.000-07:00

3 years ago, just prior to my wedding, I embarked from my midwestern state on a crazy 3-day journey to the last four states I had yet to see: West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Connecticut and Rhode Island. Alone, I cruised toward the ocean because I had to see the last four states before I married ( because who knew when I'd get to see my last four states otherwise?)

I had a deja vu trip this last weekend as my hubby and I set out East to retriever brother-in-law from Ft. Lee, VA. The trip went something like this:

Saturday, 11 pm I arrive home from South Dakota. 12 hours later...
Sunday, 11:30 am We hop in the car and drive, drive, drive.

We follow Route 52 through Ohio and stop at Ulysses Grant's Birthplace.
I am happy to see my husband, after being seperated from him for 5 days. The gorgeous scenery increases this happiness.
My blood sugars are not happy to be in the car. I can't make them come down, and suspect that the 2-hour difference between SD and the East doesn't help matters. Nor does an erratic eating schedule and Walmart's Cajun Trail Mix (the sesame sticks, the toffee peanuts...yum!)

Monday, 9 am We leave Lexington, VA and continue our trek east...

Off to a late start. Not a happy camper. Pretty scenery does not help.
At some point, I tell Handsome Hubby that I'm having a bad wife day and I want a vacation. It's true, but I'm not proud of it.
Stop at Appomatox and thoroughly enjoy the living history talk. Especially the way a Canadian-like accent creeps out of our "Virginian" friend.
Reach Ft. Lee for Family Day at 4 pm (when it officially begins). Bro-in-law sprung at 7. Back at 8:30. I will say no more.
I realize that I can increase my basal rate for long car rides using that handy percentage thing. Feel brilliant. Increase it by 10% only to realize that...umm, I reduced it by 10%.

Tuesday, 8 am Head to Ft. Lee to see bro-in-law graduate from advanced.

Graduation at 9 am.
Go to the Quartermaster's Museum while bro-in-law fills out paper work. He fills it out. Has more. Has to find somebody. Has "just one more thing to do." We stop by the PX because he has a "quick errand that won't take too long" (I think the army warps one's sense of time...).
2:30 pm finally, finally, finally hit the road for a day's drive.
Bad wife day, part II. I decide that the seeds for the fruits of the spirit have fallen on rocky soil. Deciding this does not help me behave better.
Stop 8 million times at rest areas. May I say, as the only woman on the trip, that I did not request a stop once?????
1:30 am, bro-in-law driving. Backs up an exit ramp because there's a long line of traffic going nowhere. Highpoint of the trip.
2:30 am. Back home. After 7 days away I am ready.
Discover that when one increases basal rate by 10 percent, blood sugars are actually pretty good. This is counting the Trail Mix. And the cookies.

2006-06-12T16:25:00.000-07:00

495. My blood sugar was 495. One site-change and shot later, it's 392. Taking wayyyyy too long to drop. The thing is, last night I was 401 (and it was time to change out then), and I was randomly high earlier today. Que pasa? I don't usually freak out at high blood sugars -- especially when I know the source (as with the air bubble, or the major gorging on cookie dough). But this is ridiculous. And I've been really good about exercising, and about exercising to get my blood sugars down when appropriate.

I suspect a mix of things...pump, food choices...stress. Usually stress is the kicker, and I had a very full day today, watched a friend defend her dissertation (she passed with high distinction!) and I am leaving town tomorrow only to come back Saturday and turn around to leave again on Sunday. So, being supportive friend, cleaning the house, packing, errand-running = stress. As does not working on the dissertation.

But still...495?????

Hopefully, when I check in next week (when I will have wild stories about the wilds of my parent's new place in South Dakota and a road trip to VA) I will be able to report beautiful blood sugars. Wish me luck!

2006-06-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

Just watched The Family Stone. The best line: "You have the freak flag, you just don't fly it."

2006-06-09T13:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a beautiful blood sugar day. The highest I was was 118, the lowest, 64. Overall I averaged a lovely 102. I wasn't sure why, but I was happy to accept the numbers.

Today: wake up at 205. Two hours later I'm in the 300s. I take a shot and begin to drop. 204. After lunch, 254. Then, just now, 384. I notice an air bubble that is more than half the pump tubes' length. The kind that alternates with insulin a bit, and then, air. I guess my resovoir has just been full of air, and I've missed it, because that is the only way I can account for the air bubble and my general sense of ickiness.

I even tested for keytones, just to see, and because I wondered if "general sense of ickiness" = protein in urine. This time around, it does not. And anyway, I wouldn't know what to do if it did. I've called the doctor in the past and they just said to drink water and not to worry. Okay.

What do other diabetics do?

And since I'm wondering about other diabetics...a couple of health-related/pump-related questions.

I used to wear my pump in my abdomen until it stopped absorbing. That didn't take long at all. I can make it last about 12 hours before my blood sugars creep up for no obvious reason. I never get a warning signal, it just quits working. My doctor thought it was becuase I didn't have enough fat on my stomach, but I don't think that's the case (having grown some since I got married!)I am now wearing my pump in my arm because my thighs were getting gross and it never lasts anywhere else. My doctor said I could wear it anywhere on my arm, but it hurts like heck in the muscle. Any suggestions about how high/low, how far around to go? Or how to make the thing work in my abdomen?
About three months ago on a totally normal blood sugar day my right eye seemed kind of fuzzy. The fuzzyness comes back on and off and scared me so much that I made an emergencing eye doctor appointment. He gave me a full workup and checked for all the usual suspects, and everything was fine. He suggested maybe it gets fuzzy when I'm having highs, and sometimes that's the case but not always. Has anyone else experienced this?

Thanks for the feedback!

2006-06-06T18:31:00.000-07:00

I am hesitant to post political stuff up here, but consider this a mild rant:

I have a brother-in-law in the reserves. He's been in training for the past few months. The more I hear about the inner-workings of this branch of the army, and the more I experience the tangential frustrations of having family in the armed forces (he's being deployed, he's not being deployed, he may be being deployed, we'll know tomorrow, next week, when he gets back, when he reports to command...), the less confidence I have in our government in general.

Case in point: today was the platoon's last exam of advanced training. Many people cheated. Many people were caught cheating. Many people were punished, but none were discharged. These are the same people who, after X number of months in training, still do not know how to follow orders and as a result have the whole platoon doing extra PT because they're too dense to learn. These are the people who have been threatened, repeatedly, with being sent back to day 1 of Basic training as punishment, but who nonetheless were allowed to graduate on to advanced training. These are the the "Army of One" working as a team (don't get me started on the brilliance of this statement) who are supposed to work with, and help, and protect, my brother-in-law?????

I am no longer surprised at prison abuse or the murder of Iraqi civillians or rape and victimization perpetuated by our troops worldwide. I am only sorrowful that their leaders can't muster the fortitude and character to make the changes necessary to prevent it.

2006-06-03T10:09:00.000-07:00

I'm showing my novice state here, but I have a few questions about blogging that maybe you'll be able to help me with. Such as 1) I really want to respond to specific comments. Is there a way I can do this right after the comment? I havent' been able to figure that out yet. 2) I would like to add a blog roll and a place for links in general. How do I do this using blogger? I see others have done it but I haven't found the magic button yet. Thanks for any guidance you can give!

In other news...the blood sugars are still on the high side, but not nearly as bad. I am a much happier camper. I read a fun book yesterday (How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents) and pretty much ignored the diss, so that was nice, too. Handsome Hubby and I had a delightful evening of "What shall we do tonight?" So, we went to Walmart, which is always an enlightening cultural experience. He made my day this morning by telling me he was going to clean my car! This is the first time in our 2 11/12 years of marriage that he has done this. Judging from my butterflies -in-my-stomach, that-is-so-romantic response, I think my "love language" (per Gary Chapman's The Five Love Languages) is having people do things for me.

My car looks beautiful! And my hubby is great. :-)

2006-06-02T08:54:00.000-07:00

After having writer's anxiety for the last 3 days because I had know "audience" for my blog, I dreamed last night that when I logged on this morning I had tons of comments. And really, I do. Thank you all who have commented and welcomed me to the blogosphere. Your friendliness more than makes up for yesterday's bad day!

Edited to add: This is the third time since I started this blog that I've noted mispellings -- mostly homonyms ("know" for "no" and "breaks" for "brakes," etc.) The other times I've edited them after catching them. But, as my husband and I say, "School's out." If they exist, it doesn't matter! Now, if I start doing that awful AOL stuff, LOL, BTW -- it matters.

2006-06-01T16:04:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days where blood sugars conspire to sabotage everything. Their conspiracy suceeded.

My husband and I have been trying to run each morning this week. I say "trying," because we're trying to adjust my insulin so that I'll wake up about 180 or so and be able to run without plummeting and without needing to guzzle juice. I woke up at 6:30 am at 140, so we forgoed (forgone? forwent?) running. 1 hour later I was 258. After adjusting my insulin and working out, I was 303. Then I noticed the "low battery" sign; so, okay, replace the battery. Bolus. And give a corrective shot, since it usually takes a long time to come down.

Of course, I felt very irritable and not at all wanting to be social, which is what I was supposed to feel like since we had a lunch date. And after lunch I felt a little less irratable, since I was done to something like 280. At that point, I was anticipating a rapid plummet. So I made sure to test frequently.

One additional reason I felt irratable was that I was supposed to meet the two important members of my dissertation committee for comments on my most recent dissertation chapter. I had a deep sense of foreboding, and while they're both nice and reasonable (and smart) people, I was dreading this meeting. Dread+high blood sugar = NOT GOOD.

Right before the meeting (still anticipating a plummet) I was 99. Having done these blood sugar things before, I knew that if I didn't put the brakes on I'd be 40 and sweating and incoherent in front of my committee in no time. So, I sipped some coke and had some chocolate. Had a terrible meeting. The stuff I worked so hard on wasn't good enough and the stuff that I know is wrong they made sure to tell me was wrong. Now, don't get me wrong -- this is what they're supposed to do, and they did it honestly and nicely, and I appreciate it. But dissertating is discouraging. Having thoughts but not being able to articulate them in a smart way or specific way is frustrating. Trying to grapple with the legions of scholars who've written on my topic is frustrating. And by the time they got to the stuff they liked about my chapter I was really frustrated. And so I cried. In. Front. Of. My. Committee. Not weepy crying. I kept it undercontrol by nodding my ahead and keeping my mouth shut. But still.

And then I came home and was 380. After lots of water and a run I was 330. And so I said "shit." I felt a little bit better.

2006-05-30T05:20:00.000-07:00

Telling (A Diagnosis Story)

I'm discovering that being comfortable with diabetes requires telling others about it, a discovery that I came to really late -- only in the last 6 years or so. Maybe it's because everything about my diabetes was secret for so long -- first because I tried to hide it (not knowing fully what "it" was) from my parents, and then because I tried to hide it from my peers.

I was diagnosed in March of 1989 -- Easter Weekend, to be exact. But I had been sick since November, and really sick since January. No energy, general ickiness, rampant thirstiness, frequent urination -- the whole bundle. Now, as a ten-year old, there was a lot I didn't know; but as a ten-year old feeling this bad I knew that something was wrong. And, I didn't read The Babysitter's Club for nothing. Stacy McGill had had all of these symptoms. But it's not like I said, "I think I have diabetes." More like there was a growing conviction that I kept pushing away, the idea that if I didn't say anything to anyone, nothing was really wrong.

There is a lot of shame that goes along with these symptoms, especially when you're ten years old and wetting your bed at your grandmother's, or worse, peeing your pants in the back of the van on a family road trip because you've already lied once to have a bathroom stop just after the last one. I think shame defines my diabetes experience for the first several years -- mostly because I let it.

So finally, Easter Weekend of 1989, I have no gumption to move. Mom takes me to the doctor while dad takes my brother to my grandma's (I think) because they must know what's coming. Blood Sugar is 467. It's off to the hospital.

At the hospital, they poke and prod; they check my blood sugar every two hours (my blood is very dark); a sweet nurse tells me I can never eat sugar again. She really was sweet, just misinformed. The hospital gown is way too big, and the pajama pants fall off of me. I weigh 57 pounds. I look like an alien in pictures from that time period.

Everything is confusing -- like when I feel so light-headed and shaky that I'm sure this must be a "low blood sugar" but I don't know what to do. I certainly don't tell. So I sneak to the snack basket, very carefully, and eat a couple of pretzels. When I mention my small snack to the sweet nurse, she is concerned -- "just don't eat too much."

Back at school, I am the Special Subject of Attention. The teachers fawn over me, the students look at me, and the school nurse comes in to show the class how I have to test my blood sugar. I go to the nurse's office every day before lunch to test, and I visit frequently for snacks.

High Profile Publicity wanes when it's off to middle school the next year. Thank goodness. And that's when my policiy of not telling begins. It's when I begin carrying a large purse with my blood sugar supplies; it's when I sneak my snacks from the desk rather than leaving class to eat them (and when I get caught by a peer, my teacher gets mad at me for offering her a snack); it's when I let myself drop lower and lower instead of excusing myself to get a snack, and when I learn that if you let yourself go long enough, you will come back up (clearly, no knowledge of hypoglycemia unawareness). It's also when I am teased for being a druggy ("what's in that big bag?") by my loving peers, and when I am too stubborn to just say, "Hi, my name is Nic and I'm a diabetic."

Thanks be to God for college dorms and the visibility of insulin pumps! I'm not sure when it exactly began, but it dawned on me that having diabetes was nothing to be ashamed of and that talking about it could help educate people (and by golly, we know that that is needed). And so now I do. This blog is part of the telling.

2006-05-29T11:06:00.000-07:00

Following Kevin's lead, I am transitioning from my lurker status in the diabetic blogosophere to a real participant in the wonderful conversations going on here. So often, I've been stunned by the ways in which those in this blogging community articulate something so perfectly (like Scott's "6 things I hate about low blood sugars" or Kerri's "Minutae of a Moment") and I've wanted to editorialize and comment back, and the comment function just wouldn't cut it. I feel like I have real connections to these bloggers, yet as a lurker I don't really exist. And so here I am.

But...I'm here with some mixed feelings. I have major apprehensions about blogging, in part because of my profession, in part because of the weird ways of cyberspace. So, I'm going semi-anonymous on this one. I also do not primarily identify myself as a diabetic. If one were going to ask me who or what I was, diabetes would not be the first (or fifth or tenth) thing to make my list, maybe because it is just a part of me and has been for so long. But this is the blogging community that I feel most comfortable on. It has none of the pretension of the academic blogging community and none of the vitriol of some of the others I've lurked on or participated in. And I feel like here I can be a person defined by something more than my diabetes, or my profession, or anything else. And that, I am finding, is what is most important.