Seemingly diabetic friendly beverages that lie....

I'm in the grocery store the other day just taking my time going up and down the aisle. it's like a crazy relaxation meditation technique I've been using since I was 9. Don't ask me why or how, but grocery stores soothe me. All the pent up anger just melts away.

So I'm walking down the chips and sparkling water aisle when I notice this new beverage on display. It's carb free and sugar free. But is it aspertame free? My body hate aspertame, all I need is a little and my blood sugar goes sky high for hours. Which means, I have to read the nurtition labels and ingredients to EVERYTHING. Some people look at fat content, others a carbs, I look at carbs, sugar, and what sort of sweetner they use. I don't even go near anything that has splenda in fear of what it could potentially do to me. The only reason why I know aspertame is bad for me is because when i was first diagnosed I started drinking Crystal Light and ate sugar free jello. My blood sugar was always high and I did not understand how it could be so high if I was eating and drinking sugarfree things. And then I cut Crystal Light and Jello out of my life and all of a sudden my blood sugar went from the 500's to the 200's. So anything with aspertame is a no go. No more sugarfree jello, or Crystal Light, or gum. Did you know aspertame is in every single version of gum out there. So frustrating.

I look at the contents and see no aspertame. Immediately I get excited. No aspertame,  no splenda, this might actually work. AND there are yummy flavors like lemonade and strawberry lemonade. Needless to say I'm quite happy and take two bottles home. When I get home, I'm just itching to tear into them but I decide to let them chill for a bit. Afterall, lemonade is the best cold.

Yesterday I opened one, poured it, put it to my lips and realized I made a horrible mistake. It tastes like chemicals. Like rancid car battery acid. And then my stomach goes all blargh causing me to go to the bathroom constantly. I really hate when my stomach does this and the only remedy is to shoot more insulin into my body. This is not good. So I had to dump the rest of one and all of the other bottle out. Cascade Ice....you are not friendly at all.

So frustrating.

Must repeat to myself that I size 4/5 is not fat

So I've gained a bit a weight. Finally added meat to my bare bones. Everyones proud of me and my pouchy stomach. But my size 4 jeans are getting small and I'm having problems dealing with it. On top of that, my boobs are getting fuller meaning I'm growing boobs. Boob growth hurts. I forgot how much growing boobs hurt, or maybe I just don't remember going through this when I was 9.

This is good and I know it. But I'm a female and all women have weight gain issues. I just have to remind myself of the goal. I'm putting on weight to make babies. BABIES! And that's how Bryan and I look at it. Once I have the baby I can go back to that crazy skinny figure we had gotten used to. Luckily he loves this figure too. And to be quite honest, I missed my old body. However with the reimergence of this body comes the potential of old thoughts resurfacing. Bad old thoughts that could bring back an eating disorder. They say once you have an eating disorder, it never truely goes away. I agree, it waits lurking in the darkness for you to put your guard down or submit to an insecurity. Then it strikes and boom what you fought long and hard to pass comes back.

This is why repeat to myself that a size 4/5 is not fat. A) it really isn't fat, B) I'm insecure about my body and know I always will be. Whether I'm down to 104.6 or up to 135, I will have a problem with my weight, C) Women exercise a shit ton to get this body, D) I'm starting to look really healthy and not sort of healthy. This is a good thing and it's only to get to one point of my life. After I achieve my goal and can got back down to whatever weight I feel comfortable. My new magic number is 115.

I've come a long way up from that rabbit hole.

New Job, New Diabetic Problems

When I was a massage therapist, well with my last job, well when I came back from recovery, I didn't really have a set schedule.

Schedules are major for type 1's. They are pretty strict, one wrong time or not the right carb count can potentially end in disaster. We found out with the human replicated insulin my blood sugar likes to be low around lunch time and then bottoms out around 2PM if I don't eat anything. With hunger comes an angry Michelle that uses lots of profanity. It's not pretty.

When I worked at massage envy, I had a semi set schedule complete with a break that would allow me to shoot up and eat or have a snack. Problem was, I never really adhere to this schedule because the bovine replicated insulin had a little leeway. It was easy, I ate and shot up. Which is probably why I was really bad with that set up. With the spa I previously worked at I was on call all the time so my schedule was always off. I tried to make sure no one interrupted my lunch time but without fail, something would happen and I would find myself trapped in a room with a client feeling the low blood sugar takes it toll. It's hard to massage when your body hates you and you have trouble focusing.

I started a new job friday. A normal full time - 9 to 5 job. Which means more stability for my schedule 5 days a week. But I've noticed something, my blood sugar goes low around 11:30AM. It's been ranging from 45 - 78. 78 is okay, 45 is not. I've already told my boss my body's warning signs of low blood sugar so he knows what to look for. I've been eating scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast which to me is a lot of food. For lunch I've been doing spinach salads with a shit ton of vegetables, hard boiled egg, croutons, turkey/ham, and cheese. Like crazy healthy. Almost as healthy as my health food freak days. However, because of the nature of being a receptionist, my body has changed a few of it's warning mechanisms. It's taken me about 3 days to figure out what my body is doing to me and at what stage what symptom pops up. Dizziness is still common denominator. As is not feeling good. Not feeling good is such a vague description to what a really feel. I usually feel really off and I don't know how to get back to normal. There is no panic associated with this feeling because I know it's temporary. It's merely frustrating. Blurry focus (I know what you're thinking, it's part of being dizzy. No it is not. Totally different) when I look at the computer screen is new. Minor headache is new. Forgetfulness is new. Actually, forgetfulness pissed the crap out of me. I feel like it makes me look incompetent and fear of being fired sets in. I know he won't, I am way more smarter than the girl before me. The blurry vision and forgetfulness is going to bite me in the ass somehow, I can feel it. Needless to say, I snack on cookies around lunch time and sip on Dr. Pepper. I only have about 8 ounces of the DP from the 2 liter bottle I brought in. Sure I could drink one of the cans from the 12 pack he brings in, but I'm trying really hard not to go overboard. I'm a coke addict, and it's not the horrible deadly overdose kind. Caffiene is my drug of choice, it's my demise, slow active poison. But combined with the cookies and salad, it brings my blood sugar to where it needs to be by dinner time.

I realize I should probably not be eating a salad for lunch, but I thought the carbs from the greek dressing and the croutons would be enough. I could be wrong. I know I was definately wrong with the scrambled eggs on toast thing. I'll have to add more breakfast food or succumb to childrens sugary cereal. MMMM fruit loops with mashmellows. NOMNOMNOM....Or I could mess with my dose and lower it. But I have a feeling that my Endo will definately slap my hand and say, "Bad Michelle." Choices choices. I like this feeling. Sort of makes me feel normal. Hopefully this will bring my A1c down. I've found a job, I'll be in the house before long. Good things will come from this.

Test Strips....Everywhere

Today I was running errands. You know, being a good wife.

I decide to go to Food Town for whatever reason, probably because it was the closest grocery store. I pull into a parking spot and notice little droplets starting to pound my windshield.

Rain. When I was younger (younger being 16) I loved the rain. I used to sing and dance in the rain. Now at the ripe old age of nearly 29, I hate the rain. I hate being wet. If it's raining, don't expect to get me out of the apartment. I will glad wait for it to pass. I blame that one year in Boston where it rained nonstop for 11 days straight.

The rain is more of a sprinkle so I figured I'll be alright. I open my car door, step out of the car, look down and what do I find? Test strips....everywhere. Littering the parking spot I had chosen to occupy. Accuchek. I couldn't help but smile. God's little way of reminding me I'm not alone with this infliction.

It's a kiloid....

Today was my Endo appointment.

Usually I take Bryan with me, but he was in Cali. He comes with me because I always forget to ask two question and he'll ask them for me. Despite going over the questions the night before over the phone, I still forgot a question.

There was good news and horrible news.

Good new- my blood pressure was 100/70! That's super duper awesome. I think it's the lowest I've had it in about 5 years which is amazing when you take into consideration that when I was 20 I was suffering from high blood pressure. And I brought it down without taking those god awful turn me into a zombie blood pressure pills. On top of that, my cholesterol came down and my good cholesterol is high. Thank you avocadoes. And to think, I didn't fill the cholesterol pill prescription or take supplements. I knew my body would go back to normal one day. Only took nearly 8 months. Oh and I was 117 with all my clothes on! Yay for being diabetic healthy (which is extra healthy in normal people terms) and gaining weight! I did not enjoy this whole being 104.6 pounds.

Horrible news -  "Your diabetes has gotten worse, it's a 9.6"
      I told him what happened. He called the flu the near deadly Puerto Rican flu. Then he warned me how this sort of illness can trigger DKA quite fast and to have a plan in place. I told him Bryan and my insane preventative measures we have now instituted. "That's a good husband you have there."

See, it would have been a good number. I'm still pissed off over this. I have to be on extra good behavior with my diabetes now to lower it to where I want it. Atleast I know at my next appointment in November, the number will definately be lower.

My endo was pretty surprised how cheerful and talkative I am. He then reminded himself that the first time he met me I was in a coma pretty much dying. "Yeah, this is pretty much how I am."

And then I asked him about the scar.

"It's a kiloid. You can go to a dermatologist and have it removed. You will have to go back after for a series of steroid shot though."

"How many of these shots are we talking about?"

"It depends. It can be one, it could be more. The purpose of the steroid is to stop the kiloid from growing back. It helps speed up the recovery process."

Interesting. It's a kiloid. It can be removed. I can be reinstated in my previous glory. I will not be a deformed person for the rest of my life with people staring at me while out in public. It has occured to me that the reason why I haven't found a new job was because of this deformity. No one wants a deformed person as the face and first impression of the company.

I'm not looking forward to this procedure. Maybe I'll wait. I still have nightmares from having the two welts on my leg lanced while I was pregnant and the OB not waiting for the numbing agent to set in when he took a scapel to me. I know it probably won't be like that but also, shots on my face. Ugh, I already use syringes 3 times a day, and I hate it when the needle goes in. I hate when I have to get labwork done. I usually look away when they stab me and whisper over and over, "Having pina coladas on the beach in Puerto Rico." until they've taken all the blood they need. But this time, it will be needles coming at my face. MY FACE! I'm going to have to close my eyes to get through it. ANd Bryan will definately have to be there for moral support. I'm fearless to a point. This and lasik is where I cross the line. And I will totally be a baby about it and I'm perfectly fine with that. Maybe I'll have it done around xmas, start the new year with my old face. There will be a yay michelle's face is back to normal party complete with a pinata that has my face with the kiloid for the guest to kill. It'll be great.

A1C = epic failure always.

A1c is like that test in school that you know you are destined to fail no matter how hard you study.

I hate it.
I so hate it.

I'm going to fail it majorly this time. I got sick last month and it destroyed any chance of me having a good test. DESTROYED. It was another reason why I was mad and frustrated with this whole Madrina situation. I was going to have a good test. I was elated. And they ruined it. And I know why you're thinking, "It can't be that bad." But it is, it is that bad. Imagine a wedding going completely wrong - the cake is for a differnt wedding, the colors are a various shades of one color, the food gives everyone food posioning, the DJ/Band never comes, the photographers camera breaks, someone spills wine on the bride, everyone gets overly drunk from the open bar breaking glasses, chairs, and plates, maybe a window or two, a fight breaks out...see where I'm going.... and times that by a bazillion. This is my health we're talking about after all. You screw with it and I could die in the process.

The A1c is an evil test that all diabetics have to take. It measures the average of numbers that your blood sugar have been for the past 3 - 4 months. From this they can figure out if your dosage works, tweek the dosage, and other medical crap we have to deal with. They want you to be a 5 - 6. 7 is on the edge, below a 5 is bad. The lowest I've gotten was a 7.2, the highest a 15 from when I went into the hospital. It's evil. No diabetic looks forward to it. We dred it. We take our sweet time getting there, dragging our feet all the way to the patient room.

Imagine writing a thesis for your masters degree and the panel keeps rejectig it asking for elaboration on the most trivial materal. That's the A1c. Every endo appointment revolves around it. Mine also checks my cholesterol and hormones.

So not only do my numbers ned to stay in check, so does the cholesterol. And we discuss what I need to do to keep the evil diabetes at bay. That evil diabetes...

Needless to say, I dread my Endo appointments. I view them as awaiting punishment. It's like being caught doing something stupid and having to go to your dad and explain what happened knowing he's going to scold you. And it happens 3 - 4 times a year. The office calls it a diabetic upkeep appointment.

Blah. I don't want to go. I don't want to go. I skipped the last one because I was sick, and I was happy all that day despite being sick and having no voice. This appointment ruins my day because I know there will be no god news and what do I do? I go eat bad something after the appointment just to soften the blow.

It's not only the appointment. It's the going to a lab and getting bloodwork done on top of that. They take four vials of blood. FOUR! I end up leaving there all dizzy. Also, the fees for the bloodwork and easily put you in debt. Orginially I was paying $300, but I managed to find a place for $136 after 3 years. Some diabetics call and reschedule thier appointment if thier numbers don't look good in order to give them a chance to make up for it and get a better reading. I throw my arms up and say, "Fuck it. Whatever happens happen." Honestly, it can't get any worse than 15. 15 pretty much equals death.

Even though I am soooo not looking forward to this appointment, atleast when he gives me the grave news about my numbers I have a reason behind them. I can explain. I guess it makes it not as bad. But, he might scold me for not going to the hospital when I tell him the fluctuation of my numbers.

Oh Lord, they're multiplying....

Ok, someone tell me how on earth I have managed to end up with 6 diabetic monitors? Where did they come from?

1 is from my first endo.
1 is that company that gives me free monitors and test strips if I'm part of thier program designed to help diabetic get thier supplies because test strips can be expensive with no insurance. If you don't test, you don't know where you're blood sugar is. If you don't know what the number is then you can't give yourself the right dose and then it's only a matter of time before you end up in a coma.
1 is from one of Bryan's coworker who helped us when we didn't have the money for test strips.
1 is from some person whose family member had diabetes and died
1 is the one I currently use.

That's five.

I know the six one did not grow legs, saw me, and decided to follow me home.

Oh that's another part of diabetes no one ever warned me about - you have a collection of supplies. A collection. Test strips new and used. Lancets used for 5 different monitors because they all come with thier own prick the fuck out of your finger device. Monitors. Syringes of all kinds and gauges. Needles when you go from a pen to a vial. Glucose tabs if you like them. Various information packets the Endo gives you on how to use whatever device you have and how to eat correctly with tips on carb counting. Free samples of the lastest super extreme blood sugar raising tabs. Alcohol swabs. Kits for the supplies.... When I die, I bet this collection will be so large that you could fit it in a moving truck.

All I can think is where the fuck did this sixth one come from? These monitors are like pictures in an album, I swear.

I'm starting to notice a pattern....

Bryan's in California doing training for his new job for two weeks. It's the longest we have ever been apart in about 3 years. It's also the farthest we have ever been apart since we met.

I decided that since I'm home most of the day looking for a new job, that I can go and eat dinner at Mum's. This way I'm eating and I know it will be healthy because she's gone on one of her crazy eating out is the devil phases. She does that, usually when she gains a lot of weight in a small amount of time. Thank you Madrina, not only did I get an evil flu that attempted to kill me, nearly potetially had my foot amputated due to a stealthy needle, but now Mum is on her new religion of nutrition kick.

So Mum feed me.

Since I got out of the hospital, I've noticed that my blood sugar goes low when I eat at Mum's. And it's not a little low, it's so low I could have a seizure and go into a coma low. Even worse, she never has sugar in the house, especially when she's on her food is the devil kick, so I end up scavenging for carbs. Her answer to these lows (low being 34 - 56), eat a sandwhich with wheat bread which do nothing. I've talked to her about this. How she needs sugar in the house. Her response, "Can't you eat something healthy to raise your sugar?" I could, but she's killing my happiness here. Whenever my blood sugar goes under 80 I get happy. Like extremely happy, like as happy when I'm in a shoe store and they have these cute shoes in my size on sale. Why? I can literally eat whatever I want in that moment. Donuts, ice cream, soda, cookies, cake, churros, cupcakes, icees, anything I crave that is off limits. Fot that one moment, I can be normal. We, diabetics, live for these moments. LIVE. LIVE!!!! We go and get me a giant bag of peanut M&M's for these low sugar dips and the woman ends up eating the whole bag in three days. Doesn't help she's a compulsive eater and that she likes every single brand of candy I am willing to eat. So much for having a stash of sugar at her house.

I have also talked to her about the importance of carbs being on my plate. She has this horrible tendency of giving me a meat and two vegetables and claiming it's a meal. By normal standards, sure it's a meal, but by diabetic standards it is not a meal. There are no carbs on my plate and here I am taking a full dose of insulin thinking I'm going to get carbs. When I bottom out she doesn't understand. After I explained this to her a few months ago, she made sure I had potatoes, rice, or pasta on my plate. But now she's on the food is the devil kick, and her aim isn't only at eating out and fast food, it's also on carbs.

There are no carbs in her house, at all. She will not cook with them, She will not eat them. Carbs are the devil. Carbs are making her fat and no matter how much I try to explain that carbs are energy that the brain needs to function, she will continue to disagree. She's is on a war path and carbs are in her line of sight.

This is problematic. This means she's not feeding me right and when I tell her this she is not happy. A meat and two vegetables is a healthy meal she says. You don't need carbs she says. It's January all over again. And the when she does give me carbs, it's literally three little new potatoes. THREE! 3! How is three itsy bitsy tiny potatoes enough carbs? Well vegetables have carbs in them she says. Not the complex carbs that I need. And then she wonders why I dip down to 35 and complains about it.

I call Bryan and complain how she's not feeding me right. Then I start bringing over extra food, or coke, or eating on the way to her house so that when I shoot up I won't bottom out. I really don't like my blood sugar being in the 30's, it does a number on me and makes me tired.

Then it dawns on me. A question. A question I'll have to ask my Endo at my appointment that's coming up. If there aren't any carbs on my plate, does that mean I don't have to take insulin? And if this is the case, does that mean I could potentially lower my does, or cure myself with this rigorous diet? But is it worth it? That means saying good bye to all carbs, not just sweet, but potatoes, and grains, and pasta, and oatmeal, and and...Do I really want to do this? The answer is no.

Growing up, I was used to the meat and two vegetables. There were hardly any carbs on my plate. The only time I had carbs was when I ate a Denny's (ice cream sundae), we cooked pasta or Puerto Rican food, and when I drank coke. Pizza wasn't that big in my childhood. I hardly ate sweets, I usually had a sandwhich for lunch, and I never ate breakfast. But, I did eat fruit and drink smoothies. Then college hit. Stupid college, ruining my eating habits.

Still, she's not feeding me right and she's adamant in her arguement that a meat and two vegetables is a full meal full of nutrients. Then she likes to remind me a few sentences later that I'm not normal. If I'm not normal then why are you putting on my plate food that a normal person could eat and feel fine.

Stupid Sewing needle of death

Yesterday, I was at Mum's visiting and doing laundry as usual. Since I've lived with Bryan, I have a tendency to remove my shoes while at the apartment or the house. Before, I used to just leave my shoes on all day from the time I put them on to whatever time I had a shower.

Well I might start going back to my old habits.....well at least when I'm over at Mum's.

Why?
Why?

I'll tell you why....

....stupid sewing needle hiding in mom's carpet deciding to make me it's victim. Camoflauged in beige carpet stalking it's prey like a serial killer obessed waiting for the right moment to strike.

I don't even know how it got there. All I know is I was walking to the computer room from my usual nook. I like to sit on the carpet against the sectional where theres a nice little right angle going. Mum called me to see a status on someones facebook account and *boom* pain radiates throughout the ball of my foot. I look down thinking, what the fuck just happened and that's when I see it. A fucking sewing needle lodged in the ball of my foot with maroon thread.

It must have been laying there for months and only came to surface when Mum was vaccumming and getting ready for my Madrina to come into town. So now, not only did I get some nasty ass bug that tried to kill me, but also a potential foot can be cut off due to this sewing needle.

I've been limping for the past two days I'm in so much pain. Bryan ended up making me soak my whole foot in a hydro solution just to pull out all the bacteria. It was pretty nasty. Then he put triple antibiotic on the area with a bandage.

I'm so lucky to have a man that goes overboard on doctoring oneself.

But still...I mean, my foot could have potentially rotted off. It's every diabetics worst nightmare. The thought of going blind, I can sort of deal with, but having to have an apendage lobbed off...not so much. I mean this is how it starts. A freaking sewing needle aims at a leg or a foot or a hand. You're in pain for a few days, but then some crazy infection starts breeding inside the wound because lord knows what strain of evil is on the needle. After awhile you forget about the pain because you build immunity to it and that's when the strain attacks. Gangrene sets in and you don't even know it's there until you visit your Endo two months later. By this time, it's too late.

"I'm sorry, but your foot is going to have to go."

How do you react to such news? Do you plead and beg for an alternative all the while knowing that there is no alternative because it wasn't caught in time? Will they even allow you to say good bye to your foot? And even worse, you don't even have an awesome story to explain how you lost your foot. It wasn't blown up by terrorists, you didn't step on a land mine, a shark didn't attack you, you weren't in a horrific car accident where the metal skeleton of the car pinned your foot down requiring the jaws of life to free you. No, instead your story will go like this: I can't remember. I think it was a needle that I accidentally stepped on, and then there was pain, but it went away so I thought I was fine. Turns out I wasn't.

How sad. How tragic.

Fear, this is what I fear. So everytime I get a blister, or something jabs my feet, I freak out. I freak out a lot. Jagged rocks on the beach in Maui, fuck that. I'm not going near it. My feet means more to me than getting some sun and wading in the waves. I think I would lose it if I lost a foot. I'm deformed enough as is. I don't need to be disabled too. And to be disabled by my own doing, that's even worse. You can't be a sour puss because you brought on your own demise. On top of that, think of the hours of rehab you will have to go through to adjust to the prosthetics. Stupid diabetes....

When I was first diagnosed. The first day, as in they looked at me and said, "Well Michelle, you have diabetes.", as they walked me to my holding cell (it was not a patient room that day, it was a holding cell, I was in that room for about 2 hours), I overheard a nurse say, "the foots gone, they are going to have to amputate." Immediately I thought there was no way my day could be any worse than that day. Then fear struck, could it happen to me? Could I be the one in the room finding out that my foot is going to be amputated and someone would overhear the nurse discussing it in the halls as they walk to a room to find out they have diabetes? Ugh...see diabetes, it's likes to threaten not only death but loss of limbs, and blindness, and and...the list goes on....

Thoughtless people

Diabetes is hard. Communicating my needs to non-Diabetic is even harder.

I've been sick all week...

Not a little cold, or a minor illness. It's been some sort of fucking evil strand of I might kill you and there's nothing you can do about it. For four mornings straight, my meter has been waving at me. I'm supposed to eat with my insulin, but when it doesn't register on the meter which means it's over 600, I won't eat. I know it's bad, but I don't feel comfortable eating until it's down to the 100s. Also, it saves me from going to the hospital.

But the thing that gets to me is the stupid old puerto rican biddy that gave me this nasty ass illness of death, decided to stop taking her meds. Why? Because Muscinex was bringing too much stuff up. Mum told her how I can't be near her and my madrina until she gets better. She told them that this illness has the potential to take my life. She told them I've been having problems stabilizing my blood sugar and the high and lows are doing a number on my system.

Yet, the old biddy was like, no I don't want to take it. Mum told her that she probably got it from the plane trip and the old biddy says I gave it to her via ear candling. Finally, Mum takes her to a clinic, who confirms that she did get the illness from the plane and the muscinex was the best thing for her and to continue to take it.

I guess I wouldn't be so pissed if this wasn't the first time she and my madrina have come into town. I guess I wouldn't be so mad if I thought they would visit us again, but I know they won't. I guess I wouldn't be so livid if this damn illness didn't take a week out of my life. I recently quit my job, I'm looking for a new one and what happens...I lose my voice for a damn week. What does that mean, it means I can't call places, I can't walk in an inquire about positions. A week, gone because of the old womans weak immune system.

And she doesn't even give a shit about her health. And if she doesnt' care about her own health, she sure as hell doesn't give a rat's ass about mine. Everytime I go over there, I am risking my life to see them. RISKING MY LIFE. And do they care, no. Do they understand, probably not. I already have a weak immune system, anything can take me down.

Oh but, all the over the counter meds Mum tries to give her is making her worse. Well, woman your 78 years old and if you don't know it by now, shit has to get worse before you start getting better. If you are coughing up an arm and a leg it's good because the nasty stuff is getting out of your system and killing the germs. That's the point of medication.

She goes to the clinic and all of a sudden she's overembellishing, exagerrating everything.

"Oh my god, I have a fever."
"Oh my god, I am cold. I have chills."

She wasn't complaining about a fever or chills or even coughing before she got to the clinic.

And this is how I look at it.....SO let me get this straight. She was sick, you gave her meds, she started feeling better, but then too much mucus and phelm was coming up and she couldn't deal with it so she quit taking her meds, then she claims that the ear candling got her sick because there is no way the plane ride over here did her in since there was no one sick on the plane, then she exagerrates symptoms she doesn't even have.....this is what I call old lady pay attention to me syndrome.

The woman probably didn't even want to come visit, got sick and saw it as a way to get away with doing nothing and dampering the trip at the same time.

Then my madrina complains about how she can't take her mother anywhere because she always get sick. Well, that's what happens when you're 78 and on a plane for longer than 5 hours.

Ahhhh.......so frustrating.

sick = hell

I'm sick,  again. Frustration.....

So new rule in my life. If you are from out of town and visiting and you don't have a strong immune system, don't expect to see me at all. Why? Because you will get sick and me being around you for oh, I don't know, 2 hours, will get me sick.

If you are coughing, don't expect to see me.
If you don't feel good, don't expect to see me.

I throat is sore, I hardly have a voice, I can barely swallow, my ears hurt, there's nothing but pressure in my head that is driving me crazy, I'm coughing, I'm blowing my nose like crazy, it sucks.

This isn't a cold like the last two times, this is like the mother of all colds. The I'm going to beat you into submission and you're going to like it colds.

And I hate this feeling. March was bad enough with Mum and Ronnie getting me sick within a week of each other.

And how did I get sick when we are practically in bloody July and I live in the south so you know it's heat stoke the minute you walk outside hot? Glad you asked. My mom's friend/my madrina and her mother came into town for the first time ever and her mother got sick. Then I was stupid and not knowing she had been coughing that day, spent roughly 3 hours in a car with her and pretty much al day with her. when you're diabetic and trapped in a car with someone coughing, you're going to get sick. It's inevitable. Your immune system is already compromised due to the diabetes. Had I known she was coughing, I would have been like, no go without me. I'll see you later.

What does this mean? It means I can't hang out with them for the rest of thier visit. Which is overly frustrating.

This is why the new rule is now in place.

This is the second time someone from out of town has gotten me sick. And I can't take cold medicine to rectify this situation. Sure there are diabetic cold medicines, but when I wake up with my blood sugar 460 and my husband gives me this I'm really worried about you look before he goes off to work and I'm on a strict text every hour, test every two hour, and I'm scared to eat until my blood sugar is in the 100s, I'm not risking finding out the reaction of the cold meds. I'm not interested in seeing if it will cause a spike in either direction.

Stupid diabetes. Stupid people getting me sick. A cough. One cough and that's all it takes. And then specific measures have to be taken. I have to test every 1 - 2 hours. If Bryan is at work I must text every hour on the hour. If I miss a text, then I'm DKAing. I am not allowed to sleep at all until Bryan comes home just to make sure the blood sugar doesn't plummet. I can't eat until I'm in the low 100s. If my blood sugar does not go under 240 in four hours I have to go to the hospital. If I have diahrrea twice in a four hour period, I have to go to the hospital.

See what a pain in the ass it is to get me sick. So frustrating.

I can never nap again?!?!?!?!

I can't nap anymore.

I want to nap, I love my naps, but my diabetes won't let me take a siesta in the middle of the day anymore.

Originally Bryan and I thoght it meant I just can't go back to sleep after taking my morning insulin. Then we found out it meant I can't return to bed after doing a massage. Now it means I can't nap at all anytime during the day.

Why?

My stupid blood sugar plummets. I wake up and boom low blood sugar. I don't know why this happens. I can't even formulate a reason as to why this could possibly happen. I'm pretty sure napping would cause a spike, which means low blood sugar may be the aftereffects of the spike coming down when I wake up. But I find it hard to believe that waking up from a 2 hour nap would cause this. I wake up and depending on how long I've been asleep I range from 31-78.

It makes no sense. At least to me, it doesn't. When you sleep you have awful spikes. The purpose of the long acting insulin is to stop these spikes from occuring. If I'm taking 20 units of long acting during the day, then these little potholes should not be occuring during napping.

However, I tend to sleep when I'm stress, so maybe the release of stress through sleep causes my blood sugar to plummet.

Either way, no more naps for Michelle. Sadness. First you try to kill me Diabetes, now you take my naptime. Grrr....

The goal of everyday.....sweet spots.

I hate Diabetes. I hate everything about diabetes. I hate having it, I hate insulin, I hate buying insulin, I hate going to the pharmacy, I hate test strips, I hate syringes, I hate lancets, I hate low blood sugar, I hate shaking, I hate being anxious, I hate numbers, I hate air bubbles, I hate food, I hate the smell of sugar, I hate high blood sugar, I hate turning into the hulk, I hate pressure, I hate....ok so there's a lot of things I hate.

But you know what I love.

What I absolutely adore.?

What I dedicate my whole entire life looking for....

That one sweet spot.

What's a sweet spot? Glad you asked. It's a spot on your body where you inject and feel nothing. No pain as the needle pierces through two layers of skin to get to the layer of fat. No feeling of pressure as you plunge the insulin into your body and it spreads itself amoung the fat. No pain as you take the needle out. And no weird cone look on your skin as the insulin fills in the pocket.

Nothing. Nada. Nine.

It's an amazing feeling. Stabbing yourself and feeling no pain. It's the goal everytime you shoot up. That wonderful, amazing, beautiful sweet spot. And when you find it, nothing can ruin your day...until the next mealtime. But still, for those however many hours, you're happy and feel like you can take on anything the world throws at you. It's major.

Usually when I find the sweet spot, it reminds me that this chronic illness that likes to play with death isn't so bad. I don't hate it quite as much. It doesn't control me, I control it. And most importantly it makes me giddy. That's how important that sweet spot is to me. And if it happens in the morning I always think, "Today is going to be a good day."

So that's what I search for, everyday. That sweet spot. It's sort of my body saying, "Hey, I'm sorry I kinda you know, killed the pancreas, but everything is going to be a-okay."

It's really those simple things after all.

Pain free is the way to be

I've been complaining about the pain for about 5 months. This hospital go around is was smart, I told people I was in pain instead of keeping silent and trying to look strong. Last time I didn't feel pain until about two months after I got out of the hospital and then I didn't tell anyone how bad it was. There were days where my would shut down and I couldn't get out of bed. I learned my lesson.

It started with the right should spasm, then the feet and legs, and once I started working it was the whole body. I started with muscle relaxers and lately Tylenol PM has been a life saver.

Last night, I wasn't completely hunched over walking slowly towards the table to grab my Tylenol pm like I usually am. As the day wears on, usually my posture goes with it. On really bad days, I'll be out somewhere semi-hunched over. These are the days where Mum yells at me, 'Stand up straight' and I always reply, 'I can't!' But last night I wasn't in a lot pain, so I forgoed my usual night routine and hopped into bed. Bryan made a comment about it since usually I walk towards him like the hunch back of Notre Dame pill bottle in hand saying 'open' in my cutest little girl voice. I figured, hey I feel good, let's see if I can sleep this way and if I can, let's see how I fare the next day.

So I slept. Sort of. I woke up having to pee in the middle of the night for the first time in a long while.

And then I got up today, and guess what?!?!?!?!

NO PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is a major breakthrough in my recovery. MAJOR. It's exciting. My legs are working fine and my feet hurt a little, but they're getting used to new muscle growth, and and....no pain.

Words cannot express how joyous I feel today. Hopefully by next month I will feel completely normal again. I have my days now where I feel like my old self but they are not as recurrent as I wish them to be.

Now, if only I could start reading again without getting a headache or being frustrated.

I put my hand up on your hip, when you dip, I dip, we dip...

....blood sugar dips....

Oh Lord, those blood sugar dips....

No one warned me about this shit. No one.

What's a dip? It's when your blood sugar goes down a few 20 - 100 points all of a sudden and you stand up and it's like you can literally feel the earth's gravitational pull turning as you place your feet down and it takes you a few minutes to figure out who you are, where you are, and if you're okay. AKA, I look like a drunk sorority whoo girl stumbling around.

Usually I look at Bryan and say, I don't feel so good. Then I check my blood sugar and sure enough it's dipped a lot. So here I am, sitting where ever, usually on a floor if I can't find a sitting area, trying to regain balance and the ability to think words other than Oh shit, I'm going to fall, I am so going to fall, make it stop, make it stop. Rollercoasters, who needs one, when your body can create its own.

No on warned me about these dips. No one. There should be a manual out there, Type 1 Diabetes for Type 1 Diabetic Dummies, or Your Pancreas is Fried, Your Fucked, Here's What You Should be Warned About about this Evil Disease.

I hate the blood sugar dips. I really do. It always happens when I'm going from a sitting position to a standing position like a random case of Vertigo hitting me but the walls aren't spinning. It feels like I'm in that Crooked House at Black Gang Chine. And you wait it out by walking around patiently hoping equilibrium will come back. Will it, will it? What if it doesn't? But it does, and you go on your merry little way forgetting about it until it happens again. Slowly it becomes, oh Lord, here we go again.

finger pricks, insulin shots, blood sugar dips, and a state of dizziness. Fun.

wine + michelle = low blood sugar

I hadn't had a drop of wine in four months...until the wedding I was in two saturdays ago.

I had two glasses of wine and a glass of champagne. I was blitz. gone. plastered. Such a light weight compared to my younger non diabetic years.

Why did I drink after proudly being sober for 4 months? It was a celebration and I needed it.

Weddings stress me out. Especially when I'm in them. Oh and I'm in recovery mode and feel totally useless. Add the church rehearsal and wedding ceremony itself happening during my scheduled dinner time and I was freaking out. I had to change my insulin times for two days for this wedding. I was taking the night time at midnight instead of 10:30PM and my meal time at 7:30 to 8PM instead of 5- 6:30PM. Which means the timing of the morning insulin was off and that I had to remember to eat "lunch" and not a snack in between. It's stressful. A bother and the last thing I wanted to do was collapse while I was walking down this long aisle and screw up the wedding. I could see me go down, my mum screaming, as Bryan rushes to pick me up, and someone asking if anyone had candy or something sugary on them. It would have been a catastrophe.

As I walked down the aisle, I had a dip (I hate dips, but that too is for a different post) and couldn't stop shivering as I stood there watching one of best friends get married. I look hunched over in half the pics because two bouquets are really heavy (much to my surprise).

By the time I got to the reception, I already had decided I was going to drink. Not the hard stuff, just white wine. I tested my blood sugar when I got to the reception and it was at 128. I figured because of the menu, which Kelly was kind enough to tell me about the week before, and the fact that I wanted cake, I should go with 10 units instead of 8. We had salad with candied walnuts (lots of sugar), dried cranberries (even more sugar) with a champagne vinegarette (no clue about the dressing) and bread (I had two rolls = lots of carbs). The entree was breaded chicken with lump crab (breaded = extra carbs), asparagus, and potatoes (carbs). And then you had the wedding and groom cake (a shit ton of sugar). So it made sense in my head that I needed to do 10 units if I wanted to get away with eating all of that. I also viewed it as a nightmare of a dinner. The rehearsal dinner was better. A salad with tomatoes and Parmesan and a dressing that I can't remember what it was. There was bread with olive oil, Parmesan cheese and herbs. The entree was a NY strip steak (which I ate all of, a major feat. Bryan would be proud) sweet potato mash, corn, and broccoli. Dessert was bread pudding with Bourbon sauce (I can't say no to bread pudding, I really can't. I'm European, born in Louisiana and I'm from the south. If I didn't like it, there would be something wrong with me). The amount of protein I ate sort of balanced out dessert sparing me from high blood sugar. Maybe if the chicken was poached or grilled instead of breaded and there wasn't candied walnuts and dried cranberries in the salad, I wouldn't have been so frustrated. One of my friends at the wedding actually told me she was worried about me when she saw what we were eating. This is why functions scare me, especially when it's a set menu. I need options. Options. I would always go with the steak if I had options. Bryan even warned me about how sugary the cake was and not to overindulge. Honestly, the cake was nothing but sugar. I felt like I was eating spoonfuls of pure sugar. It was too much for me. Yes, there is such a thing as too much sugar for diabetics.

To make matters worse, I was at the head table since I was a bridesmaid which was right next to the cake. Do you know what happens when a diabetic can only smell sugar? We go crazy. All I wanted was the cake. It's all I could think about. I wanted to tear into it and eat all of it with my hands. Licking the sugary icing off my fingers and smacking my lips. That's all I wanted to do. So I ended up bouncing from the head table to the table where Mumika and Bryan were to the table with my friends to get away from the smell. Sugar, I swear it drives me crazy and it's the first thing I smell too. It's to the point where I can taste that sugary goodness.

So I ate, and slowly went through the wine and champagne.

Only problem is, I didn't factor in dancing. Exercise burns the sugar out of me (which I will blog about later).

So around 11:30, I am not feeling good. I think, ok, maybe I ate too much, drank too much, it must be high. As I walk towards my purse, I catch myself trying to navigate towards a wall. I look drunk, I act drunk, but I know I am not drunk. Blood sugar - 63.

Fuck.

Cake. I need cake. Bryan rushes over and pretty much decides we're leaving my car at the hotel and he'll be driving us home pronto. Well, as soon as I find cake.

I get cake and start eating it with my fingers because honestly, I don't know how much longer I'll have before it dips again. Kelly tries to eat some of the cake I got stating she barely got to try her own wedding cake and all I say is, "Blood sugar 63." "Eat, do we need to find you more cake."
I ended up getting a section and hand feeding her cause I felt bad.

Bryan gets me to the car after he administers his low blood sugar test which I fail miserably. I have to follow a pen with my eyes only. I kept moving my head. I look drunk, I act drunk, but in reality it's low blood sugar drunk. People that have low blood sugar tend to look drunk to an uninformed eye. Which is why I wasn't allowed to drive. I would swerve everywhere and a cop would pull me over. I've heard horror stories of diabetics being pulled over during these low blood sugar spells and the officer not believing they are having an episode of hypoglycemia despite the diabetic showing their insulin and diabetic monitor. They are forced to do a sobriety test (which they fail of course) and are taken to jail where they DKA. This happens even when the diabetic shows them their medical bracelet (which I still need to get).

We get home. I check my blood sugar again and we're at 113. Yay! I take my nighttime and make my way to bed.

For the next 3 days I'm combating low blood sugar. I can't complain. Alcohol can cause low blood sugar. Sure I hate seeing the numbers between 60 - 80, but I can eat more or take less insulin. I'm not saying I'm going to make it a regular habit. I still have to look after my kidneys. But at least now I know, I can have a glass of wine once in a blue moon.

See, normalcy, it's rare but it can still exist.

My hands finally healed...

....but now sometimes they continue to bleed.

When a diabetic is hospitalized, the prick your fingers every hour on the hour to test your blood sugar.

Luckily when it's been that bad, I've been in a coma.

However, my small pretty girly dainty OMG her ring finger is a size 4 how cute hands are the size of pro baseball player's catcher mitts when I wake up. And on top of that, they're black and blue, and yellow, and orange, and red, and pretty much any color but flesh colored, bruised to kingdom come. And I'll be honest, I've cried over these monster monstrousity looking hands praying to god they will go back to their normal delicate size. It usually takes about 2 - 3 weeks before I can where my wedding ring again.

While out of the coma, they would check my blood sugar 3 - 5 times a day. Usually it was before I ate and went to bed unless there was low blood sugar..When there was low blood sugar it became a waiting game of here drink or/and eat this and we will be back in an hour. Turns out if my blood sugar doesn't go over 90, I can't take my nighttime. And they would pick whichever finger to thier liking and squeeze the beejeebus out of the finger. I couldn't feel the tip of my left pointer finger for months because one of the nurses squeezed it to death just to get a sufficient amount of blood. And what's worse is that they start running out of spots.

Then you would come home, and you couldn't find a spot. Error reading, a ton of them. You get stressed out because blood won't come up and if you do get blood, it would be miniscule. (Yes, I'm starting to use bigger words, although I have to spell check which is frustrating, that will be another post) I would have to prick three different areas hoping for the best 4 times a day. It's frustrating, overly frustrating to the point that you want to scream at your finger, "Come bloody on!" One day I errored three times in a row and started crying. And it's all for a stupid number. A number! A number that influences the next 4 hour of your life. Sometimes as I wait for the meter to calculate I find myself rocking back and forth thinking, "Come on 99!" like I'm at a bingo hall and need that one number to scream out Bingo and win $500. It's the bane of my existence, that number. Grrrrr....

I suppose I could have upped the level of my lancet to a 2 so it penetrates deeper, but I'm stubborn like that. The fact that I've been a diabetic for over three years, use only my fingers for testing and am still a 1 is amazing. I heal at a remotely rapid rate. So I'm not exactly ready to move my dial. I'm stubborn and proud and I know it.

Also, I only use three fingers - my middle, ring, and pinky. I don't know why I don't like using my pointer, must be a personal preference. I also fear using my thumb due to the whole vein thing being inside there. I cut it open with an exacto knife when I was in 8th grade working on a stupid science experiment where you have to create a house and hope to death it's sturdy to stay up during natural distasters that the two science teachers created. The guy whose house stood next to mine was flattened due an unfortunate landslide (the teacher pretty much dropped a huge rock on his house). Back to the thumb, it bled for about 3 hours straight and at the young age of 14, I was pretty sure I was going to bleed to death. I vaguely remember being in the kitchen screaming that I was going to die and asked Mumika why we weren't going to ER to save me. So yeah, I don't prick my thumb at all, but the nurses do.

Four months with stress and about 30 error readings later, my hands have healed! I'm still on the first setting and boom, blood pops out with hardly any effort. Now the only problem is, some spots tend to continue bleeding after I'm done with the testing. While I was in the hospital, I was very proud at the fact that my fingers hadn't started doing that.....until now. Right now its only the left side of a pinky and the right side of a ring. And I always know when it will decide to continue to bleed because I can feel the pain of the lancet in my phalanges. It goes *ping* radiate.

So yay for healing, non yay for bleeding. Maybe I pricked that spot too much and it's worn down. Is that even possible? Must be. Is this how calluses start on the fingers? It better not, that would suck. Poor fingers, they have gone through so much.

Diabetes, first it takes your pancreas, then it goes after your hands. Oh and it likes to try and kill you every now and then. Diabetes, it keeps you on your toes.

The statistics

Diabetes is the 7th leading cause of death. The likelihood of me dying is doubled compared to someone that is my age and healthy.

Type 1 diabetes accounts for $14.9 billion in health care costs in the US.

Roughly 1 million Americans have type 1 diabetes. Only 5-10% of diabetic cases are type 1.

Type 1 diabetes is more prevalent in Americans of European decent. (Thanks Mumika and Dad)

If your father has type 1 diabetes, your odds are 1 in 17.
If your mother has type 1 diabetes and you were born before she turned 25, your odds are 1 in 25. If your mother had you after she turned 25, your odds are 1 in 100.
If you have a sibling that has type 1 diabetes, you are 15 times more likely to develop the disease than the general population.

Out of 100 people with type 1 diabetes, 80 have no family history. Recent studies have shown that type 1 is caused by a combination of genetic mutation and enviromental triggers.

Everyday is a fight

A few months ago my mum told me about this girl who started rebeling with her diabetes treatment. Mum couldn't understand why someone would do that, put thier life and health at risk.

"She's tired." I told Mum.
"Tired?"
"There are days where you want it all to stop."

I'll be honest. I've rebelled quite a bit since diagnosis. It's why I've been hospitalized twice. I hate needles, but I play with them 7 times a day.

I hate pricking my finger in the morning, before lunch and dinner, and again before I sleep. I hate hearing the snap of the lancet as it pricks a tiny hole in my epidermis where I then have to squeeze out an efficient amount of blood to get a reading. Sometimes, no blood comes out and I have to find another spot. Sometimes, I don't get enough blood so I get an error reading. I hate error readings with a mad passion. Why? I have to start over. Then you have you scoop the blood up with the test strip and if you do this wrong or take too long, *boom*, another error. I do this four times a day, everyday, for the rest of my life.

Then there's the insulin shots. I hate shots. I've hated shots since I was a baby. Yet, here I am shooting up 3 times a day. Sometimes I feel like God has a warped sense of humour or loves irony a wee bit too much. I hate the insulin shots. I can't eat until I take it. I hate trying to make sure there aren't any air bubbles. I hate trying to find a new spot on my hip to inject. I hate how sometimes I hit a vein and I start bleeding. I hate when my skin is to tender and the injection site hurts. I hate how I have to plump my skin and then have a horrible divet as I try to inject myself. I hate looking for fat. I hate the tight squeeze in my skin that I feel when the insulin first comes in contact with my body. I hate that when I'm too cold my body shivers making it impossible to inject pain free. I hate when people talk to me while I'm injecting. I hate it when people are to close to me when I inject. I hate it when my huband or someone watches me while I inject. I hate it when I'm having trouble finding a spot and the next thing I know I'm sweating from the sheer antcipation of pain. I hate how my friends and family members sometimes forget I have diabetes and ask why I'm going to the bathroom before I eat. I do this three times a day, everyday, for the rest of my life.

Just those two things alone, makes me tired. There are days where I don't want to take insulin. There are days where I don't want to check my blood sugar. I just want to be normal again. And then I'm frustrated because those days of normalcy are far from over.

I hate having to watch what I eat. I want a donut, but I can't have a donut. I want cookies, cake, and ice cream. All of which I can't really have unless I sacrifice something else. I have to eyeball how much rice or pasta I'm eating. Is there enough protein in this meal? Am I getting the right amount of carbs? What will this food do to my blood sugar? Can I eat this piece of fruit or will I pay for it later? There are days where all I want is a Dr. Pepper. But I can't. Is there aspertame in this? It's not about eating anymore, it's about how this food will effect my numbers. I can't drink. Alcohol, what's that? I have two weddings this year, and I'll probably only be allowed to have a sip of champagne and two bites of wedding cake. When I eat somewhere, the menu becomes more of a pain than a oh that sounds lovely. I get scared at functions when I have no clue what the menu will look like in fear that I won't be able to eat. Food and yumminess is out the door. There are days where all I want to do is eat a bear claw and sip on Dr. Pepper like I used to when I was little. To amke matters worse, Mum forgets about the diabetes and offers ice cream or pie when I'm at her house. I just look at her and say, "Diabetes." "Oh, right." She replies.


Then there's the numbers. Everything revolves around these stupid numbers. Too high, more insulin and cut back on carbs. Too low and we're looking at find Michelle the most sugary thing. I recently had a fight with Mum about letting my blood sugar go down to 55 because I didn't know what I could eat to raise it in her house. Atleast, at my place we have a stock pile of cookies, juice, and ice cream to make sure I never collapse again. When I told her I had no clue what to eat, she says, "Eat turkey!" To which I reply, "I need carbs not protein!"

It makes the disease a little harder when the people around you aren't sure what you need and at the same time you never want to put them in any sort of diabetic emergency predicament. I am a grown ass woman yet, I'll be out somewhere feel off, check my blood sugar and it's low. Then I have to tell the people I'm with I need food pronto. It's so beguiling.

Sometimes I wonder if it is better to struggle with this disease all your life, or be like me where you go a quater of a century healthy as a horse and then all of a sudden diabetes comes out of no where changing your life forever. Either way, there are days where you want it to go away. There are days where you want to be normal and not have to worry, not have to inject or prick, not have to think about food choices. Sometimes I jealous of the people around me ordering soft drinks when all I can really drink is water. And then I wonder what I did to deserve this. Everyday is frustrating as I drag my feet to measure the dose, get my meter ready, and figure out what I'm eating. Everyday is a fight and normalcy is no where in sight.

Tylenol PM helps

I went to the endo last week and complained about being in so much pain that I can't sleep. My endo's reply was simple, tylenol. Turns out tylenol is diabetic friendly. How is it different from advil or aleve? I have no clue.

So I got tylenol extra strength, and it sort of worked.
Then I got tylenol pm, and even though I'm still remotely in pain, I sleep.

But it gets better.

Maybe it's from actually being able to sleep. Although right now I hardly sleep because I tend to cough throughout the night. But, it keeps my blood sugar low despite waking up late.

This is major because now I don't have to wake up at 8 - 9AM to have breakfast. I can wake up at 9:30 or 9:45 instead. And yes, 30 - 45 minutes makes all the difference in the world when everything is pretty much scheduled.

On non-tylenol days, waking up that late would mean a higher blood sugar reading. Why? The nighttime insulin would already be wearing off. However, tylenol pm is lowering my blood sugar a little allowing me to sleep in and feel remotely normal.

That's the goal, to feel a little normal.

What's your number?

What's your number? has become part of my daily life. It's a question I get asked the most and it's on a daily basis. Before diabetes, I did have such a meaningful question that elicited a whole plethora of emotions from those asking about it.

I also hate this question. I know those who ask it mean well, but it just reminds me that my life revolves around these numbers. Diabetes, after all, is a numbers game. The highest and lowest numbers mean death, the mid-range end up causing complications in your quality of life, where anything between the high double digit to low triple digit as paramount.

For those that have no clue what the numbers mean:

< 20 = death
< 30 = seizures, fainting, coma
40 - 80 = low
90 - 110 = normal. This is the number all diabetics aim for especially in the morning. These numbers are also known as fasting numbers. Fasting means not eating.
120 - 130 = pre-diabetic. 125 is the highest your numbers can go two hours after a meal. If it goes over that number, you are diabetic.
140 - 150 = a little on the high side.
160 - 200 = still high.
200 - 300 = complications start occuring
400 - 500 = really high
500 - 800 = DKA
>800 = usually death.

The first time I DKAed, I topped out at 750. The second time, it was 1550. The doctors in the ER said I was the first person they had ever seen still alive with numbers that high.

The frustration of this disease

I'm not normal. I know that already. I have to eat at certain times, I have to sleep at certain times, everything is a routine that I must be dedicated to and adamant about.

I have high blood pressue so I must take high blood pressure pills. Why? Because high blood pressure puts stress on my kidneys. This can lead to kidney failure and the resumification (yes, I just made up that word) of the evilness known as dialysis. I've already had kidney failure twice, I don't think they can handle much more. And I definately do not ever want to be on dialysis again.

But then I find out that there's a new thing, a new development that I have to watch out for which will cause even more dietary restrictions and create a more strict diet : cholesterol. Dum dum dum. It's deadly, extremely deadly. Maybe even more deadly that diabetes. Why is this new development in my life extremely important? Because it turns out injecting insulin causes the arteries to harden. Cholesterol causes plaque build up. Put the two together and I'm a ticking bomb waiting to happen. Add high blood pressure and I'm pretty sure I'm guaranteed a heart attack. To make matters worse, most diabetics die of cardiac related complications. This is what I get to look foward to, contemplating what my ultimate demise will be. Heart attack or DKA. Which one tickles my fancy?

I don't have high cholesterol. Unfortunately, I'm not normal. I have diabetes. And because I have diabetes, my cholesterol must be lower. Bring on the cholesterol meds. Except for one minor problem, I don't want to take cholesterol meds. I know how to bring it down - avocados, garlic. Hell, I've been eating honey nut cherrios for the past two weeks for breakfast.

I really hate this disease. This disease sucks and is evil. I can't think of a disease that's worse than this. No, I was wrong, end stage renal failure is worse. But the fact that I can get end stage renal failure because I have diabetes nulls and voids that. Diabetes, the disease that keeps on ruining one's life. Actually, let me be more detailed, Type 1 Diabetes, the disease that keeps on giving. I just want to slam my head against a wall. Well, that and turn my head up to the sky and scream at the top of my lungs, "What have I done to deserve this?!!?!" And then I remind myself, it could be worse. I could have diabetes and cancer. Or I could be dead. Although, technically if I was dead, I wouldn't have diabetes anymore. Despite this welcoming thought, I still pick life over death. I have so much more to accomplish, so much more to see, and I have this amazing man that I'm a wee bit attached too.

The truth is, I'm not ready to give up my life with Bryan. As sappy as this sounds, love keeps me going.

Interesting....Soda = Yeast Infection

Warning: This is a little disgusting and graphic. In fact, it's too much information but I don't care. Please read at your own risk.

Before I was diagnosed I never had a yeast infection in my 25 years of living. It's a feat I'm insanely proud of.

Then I was diagnosed.

I started to get yeast infections, chronic yeast infections. Constant sand that got everywhere, my panties, my bed. Constant itching at all hours of the day. Constant cauliflower discharge that made it impossible to have sex at times. Add overheating and breaking out in hives during the summer, I was in hell. There was no relief.

Since I've my last hospitalization, I have yet to have a yeast infection, the horrible discharge that I would take out by digging it out of my vaginal canal with my fingers (which is not fun and sucks), or uncontrollable itching. It's been amazing. And then *boom* ephinany - what has changed since being in recovery? I don't drink soda at all anymore. The soda was causing my yeast infections.

This all makes sense. Soda raises blood sugar. Blood sugar influences every single part of the body from the brain to each individual cell. Soda causes the ph balance in the vagina to get out of control allowing yeast to breed rapidly. This hostile environment causes raging yeast infections. By not drinking Dr. Pepper, Coke, 7 up, Cherry 7 up, Cream soda, or anything else considered to be soda, I've taken yeast infections out of my life.

It's absolutely amazing considering female diabetics are proned to yeast infections especially pregnant women. Who would of thought soda could be so toxic to the body? Yay for making my quality of life better!

Michelle + Nyquil do not mix

I've sick for the past week.

Friday, my legs were giving me problems making it nearly impossible to sleep. Add the runny nose and coughing, I was in a pretty bad place.

Bryan says, "Take some Nyquil."
I reply, "But there's sugars in it."
"There can't be that much sugar in the gelcaps."

So I figure, why not. If it allows me to sleep, and my sugars are a little high then it's well worth it.

I wake up Saturday to 142. Not too bad. I take my normal dose, eat my honey nut cheerios and out the door I go.

In the middle of my first client, low blood sugar attacks me. Lead legs, dizziness, and all I can think is great I'm going to go down. Luckily, there's cookies (which I'm not allowed to eat) at work for St. Patricks day. I tell my boss that I'm eating cookies because it's a matter of life or death. After I eat them I feel better and get ready for my second client. Everything goes smoothly.

I have lunch, get my nails done and lie down for 45 minutes. I lie down in order to relax my shoulder which is radiating a horrific amount of pain. When I get up after resting, the dizziness is back and  start noticing that I'm gravitating towards the walls. When my blood sugar goes under 90, I tend to lean towards walls as I walk. I check my blood sugar and I'm at 69. It's a little worrisome considering I've already eaten two big sugar cookies with green sprinkles on them. This time I get orange juice.

During my last massage I end up taking a swig of orange juice between each limb.

This is so frustrating. But I learned an important lesson. I haven't taken Nyquil since I was diagnosed in fear what it would do to me. I get pretty anxious when I have to try certain things that could mess with my numbers. I don't like the whole trial and error thing diabetes has forced me to do. Nyquil = low blood sugar. Low blood sugar that takes the whole day and lots of food to bring up. Sure I could use it to my advantage, but I don't feel low blood sugar is worth the hassle. Most people think of it as a way to eat what you can't have. I think of it as a great, now I have to drink, eat, and finger prick more to make sure my numbers are where they should be. That within itself is stressful.

So no more Nyquil for me. I guess I'll have to try the diabetic cold meds and see what happens.

Sick days

Everyone gets sick. It's part of life. Usually you self medicate using dayquil, muscinex, and what have you. If those OTC meds don't work, then you go to the doctor and get antibiotic.

Sick days are hard for diabetics. Why? Because if we don't take care of ourselves we can DKA. When a diabetic's body releases those illness fighting hormones, blood sugar tends to rise. Add vomiting, the inability to keep down fluids, and a fever and you're a ticking time bomb waiting to happen.

To make things worse, a lot of these OTC meds can contribute to already soaring blood sugars. Each diabetic reacts to these meds differently and most of the time we have to find meds with less sugar in them. Yes, OTC meds have sugar in them.

If we are vomitting, or have a bout of diarrhea, we are not only losing fluids to keep ourselves hydrated, but we are also losing carbs. One would think losing carbs would be a good thing and keep our numbers in check but it does the reverse. It contributes to high blood sugar. If we are unable to keep solid food down then we are forced to drink sports drinks, juice, popsicles and what have you just to keep not only carb count up but also hydrated. The last thing a diabetic needs is to be dehydrated during this time.

Then there's the finger pricking every four hours to make sure the sugars are below 240 and in some cases taking a higher dose of insulin. The biggest thing I have to remember is to take my insulin whether or not I'm eating just so my numbers stay away from the lets go to the ER numbers.

What was once viewed as a way to get out of school and stay home is now viewed as something that can be potentially fatal. To me, sickness = death.

And here I am sick, trying not to freak out. Luckily, Bryan (who is also sick) has been keeping a close eye on me making me get up and talk. I think in his head, if I whine, then I'm not dying which is a good sign. Meanwhile, I try to remind myself that all I need to do is stay hydrated, take my insulin, and rest and I'll be back to normal in no time.

The importance of sleep

I'm going to breifly take a break from the whole writing the coma dreams, because I have no clue how to explain the second one I had.

Today's topic: Sleep.

Sleep is important for numerous reasons. Cognitively, it allows the brain to destress and relax which improves brain functioning. Psychologically, it allows the mind to go through the day on it's own accord hence dreams. Dreams allow a person to deal with daily life and the stress that comes with it abstractively. Physically, it allows the body to rest. Without sleep, sleep deprivation occurs which can cause a whole onslew of problems such as hallucinations, metabolic disarray, and if extreme enough, physical and cogntive breakdown.

Sleep is a little more important to diabetics. Why? Blood sugar control. Sure you take the nighttime insulin but unless you sleep, it doesn't work like it should. The whole purpose of taking the long lasting active insulin at night is to smooth the pot holes that are blood sugar spikes that you can't control while you sleep. As the body goes through various sleep cycles, these spikes occur.

But what happens if you can't sleep? What happens you you lie there awake patiently waiting to fall asleep and it eludes you What if when you finally do sleep, it only amounts to about 4 hours?

Well, you're screwed.

As you lay conscious, waiting for sleep, you're still active as you toss and turn desperately trying to find that perfect spot to relax. Which means you stress. Stress causes adrenaline and cortisol levels to go up meaning your blood sugar goes up. Instead of getting your morning numbers between 90 - 110, they become 150 - 500. And then you have the rest of the day trying to figure out how you can bring those numbers down to a safe level. Even worse, if those are your fasting numbers on a daily basis, then sooner or later you'll DKA.

Since February, I haven't been sleeping well. First it was the muscle spasm, then the burning feet sensation. My numbers vary. But lately, I've noticed that my biggest problem is the fan that's on while I attempt to sleep. Bryan can't sleep without the fan on, and as it turns out, I can't sleep with the fan on. So I've been going to bed before him in hopes that I'll be out cold by the time he comes to bed turning the fan on. Only problem is he wake me up everytime he comes to bed by kissing my back or moving me and the next thing I know I'm up for the next two or more hours because of that damn fan. On top of that, the fan makes me cold and Bryan tends to hog the blanket making my feet cold. If my feet are cold, the rest of me is cold. No to mention with the apartment on at 70 with a fan on high, and I'm 110 pounds with hardly any body fat, I'm more prone to be cold. When I'm cold, I can't sleep. See the chain reaction.

To make matters worse, he won't compromise. Or he will, as long as the fan is still on. My husband's killing me, he just fails to realize it. So back to an extra blanket I go, in the beginning of March where I'll probably start complaining about how hot I get underneath it. All I want to do is be able to sleep. And the sad thing is, when he gets up for the day and turns the fan off for me, 10 minutes later I'm out like a light. Sometimes, I really hate marriage.

Dream 1: Pregnant and Nothing Makes Sense

Forward: The next few posts will be about my dreams and my eventual journey back to reality. Each dream makes no sense but, I will try to psychoanalyze how my mind coped with what my body was going through while in a coma. I've thought long and hard on the dreams trying to find words to describe each of them.

Dream 1:

One day it's November 2011 and when I wake up I'm pregnant in the hospital. From the looks of it, I'm roughly around 8 months. My sister-in-law, Heather is my room pacing and venting about how the doctor should be here by now.

"Where is he? They have go straight to the hospital after an appointment and he takes his time getting here?!? When I was having the twins, they immediately started to prep me."

Bryan attempts to calm her.

Finally my OB comes in and announces that he and his nurse is going to take me to another room to deliver the baby. As I'm being transported, somthing goes horribly wrong, blood is everywhere. When he finally cuts me open, the baby is dead.

"This is so sad," his nurse says helping him get the baby out.
"I know. So close. If this had not have happened, she would have been a perfect candidate for fertility drugs," he replies.
"Do you think she'll be able to get pregnant naturally after this?"
"One never knows. It's possible but fertility treatments would definately help her odds. But since she can't carry full term, we can't recommend it as an option."

I close my eyes and fall asleep. When I wake up I'm in a different hospital room. It's a different day, a different month, a different year. My OB walks into the room smiling.

"Michelle, it was a success. You are pregnant with twins."

I smile at him and when my nurse walks in I tell her I'm pregnant. I fall sleep and when I wake up, my mum is there.

"I'm pregnant Mom."
"Really? That's so wonderful."
She pulls outher cell phone and starts dialing a number, "I'm going to call your uncle to tell him the good news."

I close my eyes and when I wake up, I'm in a different room. Today is the day I'm supposed to deliver the twins. Bryan is sitting in a chair next to me holding my hand looking excited. Flowers and cards fill the room saying good luck. The nurse comes in to prep me and I fall back asleep. When I wake up, Bryan is sitting in the chair looking away from me. I call his name and he refuses to look at me. I look to the left and see cloth stained with blood. Bryan gets up and leaves the room. All I feel is depression and anger exuding from his body. I know he's mad at me, I know he's going to leave me and I can't blame him. His wife can't carry a child to full term, why should he stay with her? Deep down inside, I know as he walks away from me that it'll be the last time I see him. As he leaves, Mum walks in. A few minutes later a nurse comes in.

"How are my babies?" I ask.
"Oh, Michelle, they didn't make it. The doctor checked you and said that you can leave whenever you're ready," she tells me.
"Fuck that shit."

I attempt to get out of bed and Mum holds me down.

"Michelle, wait," she says restraining me, "just wait."
"No, she told me I could leave so let's leave."
"Why don't you stay an extra night, make sure you are completely okay."
"Fuck that shit."

I lay back down because I'm tired of fighting the grip she has on me an fall back to sleep.

Psychoanalysis:

I distinctly remember thinking in the middle of this dream that it had to be a dream. I couldn't figure out how on earth 8 months went by without me remembering a thing. How could I not remember being pregnant? Everytime I tried to think of the last thing I remembered it came back to black friday, blockbuster, twin peaks, and work. The last thing I remember is November, but here we are 8 months in the future somehow. And then to all of a sudden be pregnant with twins! More like wishful thinking. Nothing made sense. The timeline was off and I knew it.

When they put me in ICU, Byan and Mum immediately recognized the room. It was the same room I woke up in last time when I DKAed with Maddie. There fear was that I would have flashbacks. In a way, I guess I did. Bryan told me later that for a whole day I tried to convince him I was pregnant. He always told me that if I was, he would definately know about it from all the test they ran on me. The one phrase I kept saying before I was able to actually string thoughts into spoken word was, "Fuck that shit." It must have come from the dream. Mum told me that was the only thing I would say and that's when they started doing CT scans to check my brain activity. Although none of it was real, it felt real. One of my biggest fears is that Bryan will leave me because I can't carry our children full term. Although he and I have discussed at length that it is okay I can't have kids, I still worry about it. We don't even know if I can get pregnant again, and the last thing I want to deny us is kids of our own. Of course we know we can do a surragote and adoption is always an option. But honestly, I want to be able to carry my own children. Sometimes I feel like I lost part of my womanhood when we lost Maddie and that I will not feel whole until I have another kid. I realize this how most childless parents feel and it's perfectly normal. But there's a hole in my life, a void, that I want to fill.

A Heavily Sedated Coma is not fun the second time around

I still remember waking up the first time I DKAed. I opened my eyes, looked at Mum who was giving me the everything is okay smile despite everything not being okay (It's the same smile she gave me before she told me Dad had died. Ironically, I didn't remember that smile until I woke up). I remember thinking 4 thoughts: 1) What the hell happened? 2) Where is my baby bump? 3) Oh fuck, Pam is going to kill me. 4) I'm going to die, aren't I?

And then Mum said, "Everything is going to be okay."

Then I looked to my left and saw Bryan. He was giddy, almost jumping for joy wearing the same blue button down shirt he wore the first day we met. And I knew he wore it on purpose and was thankful for that. Despite the breathing tube down my throat I managed to smile at him. I could see the love in his eyes, his wife was back and he had missed her dearly.

I had been under for 5 days and within a few minutes of the breathing tube being taken out, I was speaking.

This time was different.

I don't remember waking up. I don't remember a breathing tube down my throat. I don't remember them taking it out. When I first realized my nurses, I had no clue they had been taking care of me for a few days. And when I woke up this time, there was definately something wrong.

I had been under for 7 days. When they tried to take me off the respirator, I was breathing to fast so back down the throat the breathing tube went. When they woke me up, I didn't wake up. A whole day went by and nothing. This was Bryan's worst fear. It would be anyone's worst fear. You hear about it everyso often, people being put into a coma and never waking up. They put me back under and tried again the next day. It took my four hours to wake up. Last time it took 30 minutes. I didn't speak for a few days because I couldn't and when I finally did, I ended up sounding like I had a disability.

Mum and Bryan now had a new fear, brain damage. I think it created a lot of questions for Bryan. What if I had brain damge and could not regain abilities I once had? Could he devote his life to taking are of me knowing I was trapped inside my mind, a shell of what I used to be? It hit Mum pretty hard that I might be this way permanently, no longer the eloquent vocal daughter she loved.

After a brain scan, there was good news - my brain was active and healthy. Also, no brain tumors. The nurses decided there was probably sugar still in my brain messing with my communication and language area. The remedy, TV. Time to stimulate her brain. Bryan had them keep it on food network for me.

Although I had been awake for a few days, I did not know it. My mind was constantly going from reality into a dream state where I couldn't tell the difference between the two. The only reality part I remember is when Bryan told me I had DKAed again, this time on the couch fully unconscious where he literally had to carry me to the car and into the ER, and that I was in the hospital. It turns out everything else was a dream.

Except they weren't dreams. They were nightmares. My innermost fears played out in front of me. Nightmares where I couldn't figure out how one ended and why another began. I had four of them. Each one more gruesome, more horrible, more debilitating than the previous. To the point where I thought I was in reality causing minor paranoia. When I started to actually hit reality, I cried, I freaked out, I convinced myself Bryan had left me, and asked questions that didn't make sense.

This is how bad my coma was. It was a parallel universe that left me crippled and alone in the end. There are still days where I fear that this reality is actually a dream I made up in my mind to cope with with my actual reality. I fear I'll wake up one day back in the parallel universe. 

Obviously, this time around, the coma did a number on me.

A message to the Health Freaks

I'm getting tired of people thinking that they know whats best for me and my diabetes. These people in particular are the health freaks in the world. The ones that found some amazing diet plan that they swear by and commit to as if it is a new religion that saved them. Ironically, these people are more of the vegetarian variety and feel that because they watched some documentary about thier diet they know how to "cure" me.

I'm going to state this once in caps underlined in bold in hopes to get my point across clearly : THERE IS NO CURE FOR TYPE 1 DIABETES. IT IS NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. YOU DO NOT GET TYPE 1 DIABETES FROM BAD EATING HABITS. TYPE 1 DIABETES IS AN AUTOIMMUNE DISORDER AND IS USUALLY GENETIC BUT CAN DEVELOP FROM STRESS, ENVIRONMENT, AND VIRUSES.

Do you understand that statement? Did you read it? Did you reread it? Did you digest and analyze this statement? If not, reread it.

A vegetarian lifestyle change WILL NOT CURE me. A raw food diet WILL NOT CURE me. My diabetes was NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. In fact, once upon a time, I was a health food freak. In fact, I have always eaten right. In fact, my last three years up in Boston, I walked 2 miles or more a day, did 20 minutes of cardio 3x a week, and ate salads everyday. In fact, when I moved back home after undergrad, I spent 2 hours in a gym almost eveyday working out. So if my diabetes was a LIFESTYLE CHOICE, I wouldn't have fucking diabetes.

You know what type of diabetes is a lifestyle choice? Type 2 diabetes. I DON'T HAVE TYPE 2 DIABETES because if I did, I would already be cured of it.

She says, " Healthy eating, healthy body."
I reply, "I do eat healthy. And yet I have type 1 diabetes."

And then she says, "Isn't type 1 diabetes the one where you get it as a child?"
My reply, "Most people get type 1 when they are a child, but it means that thier pancreas does not produe insulin at all.

How can you even tell me to go on this diet because in a documentary it cured diabetic patients of thier diabetes and reduced thier insulin intake when you don't even know the difference between type 1 and type 2?!?!?!?

I DON'T HAVE A PANCREAS. MY PANCREAS IS FRIED. MY WHITE BLOOD CELLS ATTACKED THE BETA CELLS IN MY PANCREAS WHILE I WAS TAKING ANTIBIOTICS FOR THREE VIRUSES BECAUSE THEY MISTAKEN THE BETA CELLS FOR INFECTION...

Do you understand?

Yes, I believe my diabetes is stress induced. Yes, I believe my diabetes is psychological to a degree. But the only way I can be "CURED" is if I have a pancreas transplant or if they approve stem cell research and shoot a batch into my pancreas creating new beta cells. But even if we did any of those, there's no guarantee that I would be cured. Hell, techincally we all have cancer and diabetes and other disease in our DNA, but over time our DNA changes, becomes damaged, and flips switches on that were originally turned off. If I could turn it off, if I could figure out how to turn it off, don't you think I would have done it already, wouldn't I be more than happy to jump at the opportunity?

And if I did half the things these damn health food freak homeopathic psychopaths, yes, I called you psychopaths, I'm pissed and I'm venting, told me would "cure me", I would be dead. One person once told me to stop taking my insulin and drink nothing but watermelon juice for a week and my system would straighten itself. Ok, if I STOP TAKING INSULIN, I DIE.

Then she says, "Well no one should eat sugar."
My reply, "If my blood sugar is 36, guess what, I have to eat sugar."

If I don't eat sugar, guess what happens, I collapse, loose cognitive functioning, start having seizures, go into a coma, and die.

Then she asks, "Well what do you do to help you immune system?"
And I couldn't help myself, "I do written disclosure." (technically this blog is written disclosure for my diabetes)
She looks at me weird, "What's written disclosure?"
I smile, "Written disclosure is writing about certain subjects that bother you. Studies have shown by doing written disclosure it can improve your immune system."
"I meant nutrition wise."
"I eat food that is high in vitamin C."

Then she says, "Well the American diet is not designed for optimal health."
My reply, "My diet is more European than American. And I know exactly what I need to eat to have the right numbers."

Then she says, "Well the raw diet can help you acheive the numbers and reduce your insulin intake."
My reply, "I have to have protein."
"Vegetables have protein."
"But not enough for diabetics. Protein helps me by slowly releasing the sugar into my blood."

Then she says,"Well I just want to open your eyes to what possibilites are out there to cure you. If I had that disease I would do anything and everything to cure it."

Open my eyes. Maybe you should do more research on type 1 diabetes before talking to someone that battles the disease every single day. You don't have diabetes you don't know what it's like. You don't know the frustration. You aren't pricking your finger and using a syringe 4 times a day. Food is not only part of the problem.

So please, PLEASE, don't tell me you know how to cure me. Don't tell me there is a cure out there and doctors are hiding it from us in order to get more money and control us. Don't tell me that doctors would rather have us settle with the fact there is nothing we can do other than cure us. Don't tell me they are taking away my hope. Because you aren't fighting everyday to stay alive. You aren't dying, you don't have a chronic disease that will ultimately kill you.

I fight for my life everyday. I eat right, I take my insulin because I want to stay alive as long as possible despite having this disease. I have goals, I have memories that I have to be apart of like watching my friends get married, hanging out with my amazing friends laughing and having a good time, having kids, watching my kids play with my friend's kids, watching my husband get his degree, watching my kids grow up, growing old with my husband. Everyday, this is what I fight for. And everyday, I pray, I pray that one day during my lifetime, there might be a cure. Because I know there are amazing people out there dedicating their life's work to find a cure. And until they find it, I fight.

Low Blood Sugar, How I Hate Thee

Today I screwed up. Actually, come to think about it I didn't screw up. I ate breakfast around 9:15, I had lunch around 1:30 and yet 15 minutes after lunch it happened.

Maybe I didn't eat enough even though I thought I did.

The thing about generic insulin is that I take a lot of it. 34 units in the morning, 8 units at dinner and 15 units at night. But the major positive about this schedule is that I don't have to shoot up during lunch. The negative part of this schedule is that if I don't eat within a set time, my blood sugar pretty much dives off a cliff.

Today I collapsed in the bathroom. I have never collapsed due to low blood sugar in the three years I have had it. I was at 23 once and still managed to drive a car, talk, walk, and form logical thoughts. Based on all my research I should have been in a coma or having seizures when it was that low. If I had hit 20, I would have been pretty much dead.

But today was a little bit different. Sure I felt a little shaky, it's one of the first warning mechanisms my body gives me when I go under 99. Then when I got up, I pretty much stumbled to the bathroom feeling dizzy. Dizziness is the second warning that my blood sugar is around 70 -80. But once I got to the bathroom, everything changed. I turned the lights on and I felt blinded. I couldn't focus on anything so I stumbled toward the sink in hopes that leaning on it would help me get out of the fog. And then my knees started to buckle. I kept hitting the counter with my hand fighting my body's need to collapse hoping it would jolt me into a more conscious state. Needless to say, down I went knees hitting the vinyl flooring hard. And that's when I knew my blood sugar was lower than I thought.

I had to muster all the strength I had to crawl 10 ft or more to the fridge. All the while I'm freaking out because there isn't anything sugary in the apartment. Usually we keep candy or juice around the apartment, but I was too tired yesterday from finalizing our options on the house that when we went to get more test strips, I decided grocery shopping could wait. So here I am, on my hands and knees trying to crawl to the fridge hoping I'll make it there in time because Bryan is in his chem class and I'm all alone and the last thing I want is for him to come home from class and find a dead or passed out Michelle looking like she is desperately trying to open the fridge door. We can't afford another hospitalization.

Crawling on cold vinyl floor hurts. Battling the need to stop and collapse as you do this hurts mentally, physically, and psychologically. It's like your are fighting to live. But I made it in time, obviously, because if I didn't I'm pretty sure I would not be typing this horrible side of hypoglycemia and diabetes. I looked at the bottom two rows of the fridge since I couldn't stand up or reach that far and found the homemade lemon icing I made and took from Mum's. It was originally part of the lemon cookies I made before I DKAed and I took it home to glaze the lemon pound cake Mum made for me. With determination I popped open the lid and used my finger to scoop up the icing. My endo had warned me that in some cases, hypoglycemia makes it hard to swallow so I ended up rubbing 3 fingerfulls of the icing behind my teeth.

At sat there waiting to feel stronger for a few minutes, used the fridge to help me get up and walked into the living room to check my blood sugar. 51. 51 after eating icing. This is not good.

I already know I will have to stock up on candy, chocolate, cookies, ice cream, soda, and juice today. While I was in the hospital, if my blood sugar was low it stayed that way for the rest of the day despite eating fruit, drinking juice, and eating ice cream. Right now I'm eating fruit snacks. In an hour I have to go to work and something tells me I'm going to stop at Starbucks and get me a frappuchino or a baked good. Something with a lot of sugar to make sure I last through the massage and front desk work.

Either way, I don't like this feeling and I don't like collapsing or crawling. Sometimes I feel like low blood sugar is more villianous than high blood sugar.

(Edit 2/1/12: I'm not eating enough carbs during breakfast which is causing my blood sugar to bottom out. I have two options: a) eat more carbs or b) reduce the amount of units I take.)

HI-Ho HI-Ho It's off to work I go.

Bet you didn't see that reference coming.

This week was my first real week back. Last week I did a swedish practical on Lauren to see where I was. This week I did two prenatal practicals to see where I was, a real prenatal, faked a leg and foot treatment, and worked front desk.

And damn did it feel good. I haven't been at work for 59 days total, 44 days since I've been discharged. I missed work. I missed it a lot. I missed prenatals. I missed couple massages. I missed leg and foot treatments. I missed stamping and labeling postcards. I missed Lauren. I missed Cher. I missed Kim. I missed Sarah. I missed Ashley. I missed Cheryl. I sorta missed working the front desk, but not that much.

Ok, so I really missed work. But that says a lot about the employees of Bellies & Babies. We all get along. We all have our quirks and we love each other for these quirks. We're a family. You don't see that in a working environment that much anymore. I haven't felt this way about any place I've worked at since SpaClarity.

While I was in the hospital I pitched Bellies & Babies to everyone. My nurses and physical therapist would ask me what I did for a living and I couldn't stop talking about how great my job is. Don't get me wrong, I love being a massage therapist but I REALLY REALLY LOVE it now.

The goal is to slowly bring me back. After I did my test runs, the consensus was, it was good but not as strong as it used to be. Which is to be expected. Luckily I can work the front desk when needed for extra hours. Also, Sarah came up with the fabulous idea of having me do the massage work for the pedis. This is really a win-win situation for everyone because it allows us to do two pedis at the same time and it allows me to sit down and work. I think I could do about 3 leg and foot treatments and still be fine. Of course there's a difference between what my mind thinks I can do and what my body can actually do.

Yesterday, I decided to over assert myself just to see where I'm at physically. I did two prenatal massages 7 hours apart. The theory was that I could do two prenatals as long as I had time to relax in between. Needless to say, it's stll in its theoretical state. Half way through my second prenatal my whole back started hurting and by the time I got home my feet felt like they were on fire. It was like the day after being discharged all over again. On a scale of 1 - 10, ten being insane amount of pain, I was at a 9 last night and an 8 when I woke up today. And this is despite taking the muscle relaxer last night so I could sleep. Of course, I couldn't take the muscle relaxer this morning before work because I turn to goo and pretty much can't do anything for a few hours. So I went to work in pain for training with Sarah and everyone could tell. But on the brightside, the pain went down to a 6.5 by the time I left about 3 hours later.

I'm so fortunate to have such amazing co-workers and a boss who cares about my overall wellbeing. Even though I want to be thrown back into the thick of it, I appreciate the allowance for me to take my time. We want me to be 100% and honestly, I couldn't ask for more. The fact that they found ways to utilize me and help me gain my strength, stamina and endurance back is astounding and I am grateful and appreciative of them.