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.)
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The start of the generic insulin
I'll be honest. I'm a little scared. Tonight I started the generic insulin. Supposedly it's cheaper than the pens.
From the first day I started this insulin therapy back in February of 2009, I've been on the pens. I love them. They are awesome. 300 units packed in a prefilled pen so compacted I could take it anywhere. I took them to Maui. I took them on the road. I knew that if we flew anywhere I had enough insulin to last me roughly 14 days. Not that I would go anywhere for 14 days. Atleast not anymore. 8 days is my max nowadays.
Only problem is I had two pens. A daytime and a nighttime, the fast acting for meals and the long lasting for night/part of the day. These pens are pretty expensive, especially when you don't have insurance or you have crappy insurance. My daytime cost $346 without insurance and $275 with insurance, roughly $1384 a year. My nighttime cost $250 without insurance and $225 with insurance, roughly $1000 a year. Massage Envy had crappy insurance, which everyone that worked there knows exactly what I'm talking about. But for that amount of money I got 5 pens with 300 units in each equaling 1500 units total. If each pen lasted roughly 14 days then I had 10 week worth of insulin. So it was costing me between $30 - $35 dollars a week.
Insulin is expensive. Staying alive is expensive. And I haven't even factored the cost of meters, lancers, needles, or test stripes. Hell, the glucagon that I have to keep near me at all times if my blood sugar goes too low (we're talking about 20 - 40) costs $200 with crappy insurance. And it's my life saver during extreme circumstances. Luckily, we have had the need to use it. But still, it amazes me how much it cost to keep people like me alive. However, the insulin drug companies realize that a lot of diabetics are unable to buy the insulin needed to survive and are offering coupons and in some cases free insulin. This makes me happy because at least someone is looking out for us knowing that many diabetics risk high blood sugar in order to make insulin last longer. The downside is, when you undermedicate you DKA.
During my hospitalization, my new Endo introduced me to generic insulin. The insulin in glass vials where you have to use a syringe. Supposedly it's cheaper even though I have to use more of it. Well, right now I have to use more of it. So the cloudy is $70 and the clear is $68. Both vials contain 1000 units. But because I use so much insulin (which I'm hoping to lower by March), the cloudy lasts 27 days and the clear lasts 50 days. Which if you think about it, is amazingly cheap. The cloudy will cost me $945 a year and the clear will cost $496.40 a year. Even better, I don't have to have a prescription to get the generic.
Do you see the difference?
The generic insulin total almost equals the daytime total. It's insane! Absolutely insane!
Only problem with the generic is my blood sugar ranges from 50 - 150 with the generic and I think I'm going to have to invest in a diabetic kit when I go out of town. But hey, now I can vacation for over 2 weeks with the vials and not have to worry about running out.
From the first day I started this insulin therapy back in February of 2009, I've been on the pens. I love them. They are awesome. 300 units packed in a prefilled pen so compacted I could take it anywhere. I took them to Maui. I took them on the road. I knew that if we flew anywhere I had enough insulin to last me roughly 14 days. Not that I would go anywhere for 14 days. Atleast not anymore. 8 days is my max nowadays.
Only problem is I had two pens. A daytime and a nighttime, the fast acting for meals and the long lasting for night/part of the day. These pens are pretty expensive, especially when you don't have insurance or you have crappy insurance. My daytime cost $346 without insurance and $275 with insurance, roughly $1384 a year. My nighttime cost $250 without insurance and $225 with insurance, roughly $1000 a year. Massage Envy had crappy insurance, which everyone that worked there knows exactly what I'm talking about. But for that amount of money I got 5 pens with 300 units in each equaling 1500 units total. If each pen lasted roughly 14 days then I had 10 week worth of insulin. So it was costing me between $30 - $35 dollars a week.
Insulin is expensive. Staying alive is expensive. And I haven't even factored the cost of meters, lancers, needles, or test stripes. Hell, the glucagon that I have to keep near me at all times if my blood sugar goes too low (we're talking about 20 - 40) costs $200 with crappy insurance. And it's my life saver during extreme circumstances. Luckily, we have had the need to use it. But still, it amazes me how much it cost to keep people like me alive. However, the insulin drug companies realize that a lot of diabetics are unable to buy the insulin needed to survive and are offering coupons and in some cases free insulin. This makes me happy because at least someone is looking out for us knowing that many diabetics risk high blood sugar in order to make insulin last longer. The downside is, when you undermedicate you DKA.
During my hospitalization, my new Endo introduced me to generic insulin. The insulin in glass vials where you have to use a syringe. Supposedly it's cheaper even though I have to use more of it. Well, right now I have to use more of it. So the cloudy is $70 and the clear is $68. Both vials contain 1000 units. But because I use so much insulin (which I'm hoping to lower by March), the cloudy lasts 27 days and the clear lasts 50 days. Which if you think about it, is amazingly cheap. The cloudy will cost me $945 a year and the clear will cost $496.40 a year. Even better, I don't have to have a prescription to get the generic.
Do you see the difference?
The generic insulin total almost equals the daytime total. It's insane! Absolutely insane!
Only problem with the generic is my blood sugar ranges from 50 - 150 with the generic and I think I'm going to have to invest in a diabetic kit when I go out of town. But hey, now I can vacation for over 2 weeks with the vials and not have to worry about running out.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Oh what a Tangled web I wove.
On Monday I went to see my new endocrinologist. With all my clothes on, I weighed 111.6. Not good. I need to eat more but those stupid iron pills I was on either made me lose my appetite or nauseas. On top of that, I was so constipated that every move I made was painful. I couldn't sit, I couldn't lay down, I couldn't think, and I couldn't sleep.
So I stopped taking the iron pills. But now I have high blood pressure so I'm on meds to alleviate stress on my kidneys. I'm worried about my kidneys. I don't want to ever go back on dialysis. EVER. He also found a muscle spasm near my spinal column and put me on muscle relaxers.
There's one minor problem with these two new pills. I'm constantly sleepy. I take a muscle relaxer in the morning and within an hour I'm goo. It's hard to walk, to think, to laugh, to smile. Then at 3pm I take the high blood pressure pills and *boom* I'm out for four hours straight. Then I take another muscle relaxer an hour before I go to bed so I can sleep.
At the rate I'm going, I'm good for nothing. I sleep most of the day or lay on the couch watching TV until I fall asleep. When I do get out of the house it takes a lot of energy to walk and I walk slowly. Half the time I feel like I'm floating about. It sucks.
Thursday, I went to David's Bridal to try on my bridesmaid dress and found out that I'm down to a size 2. Well, the size 2 was still a little too big on me. So now I need to gain about 10 pounds before April so I can fit into the dress. I've never been this small in my life and it scares me. I'm hardly hungry and when I do eat, I don't eat much. But on the brightersie I'm up to 5 cups of water a day.
I can't wait until I'm back to normal, if that is even possible.
So I stopped taking the iron pills. But now I have high blood pressure so I'm on meds to alleviate stress on my kidneys. I'm worried about my kidneys. I don't want to ever go back on dialysis. EVER. He also found a muscle spasm near my spinal column and put me on muscle relaxers.
There's one minor problem with these two new pills. I'm constantly sleepy. I take a muscle relaxer in the morning and within an hour I'm goo. It's hard to walk, to think, to laugh, to smile. Then at 3pm I take the high blood pressure pills and *boom* I'm out for four hours straight. Then I take another muscle relaxer an hour before I go to bed so I can sleep.
At the rate I'm going, I'm good for nothing. I sleep most of the day or lay on the couch watching TV until I fall asleep. When I do get out of the house it takes a lot of energy to walk and I walk slowly. Half the time I feel like I'm floating about. It sucks.
Thursday, I went to David's Bridal to try on my bridesmaid dress and found out that I'm down to a size 2. Well, the size 2 was still a little too big on me. So now I need to gain about 10 pounds before April so I can fit into the dress. I've never been this small in my life and it scares me. I'm hardly hungry and when I do eat, I don't eat much. But on the brightersie I'm up to 5 cups of water a day.
I can't wait until I'm back to normal, if that is even possible.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Yay for RED!
Before I DKAed I was highly stressed out.
Bryan and I were trying to find a house, build a house, get preapproved for a house. We were tired of apartments, tiring of packing and unpacking, finding good deals on apartments and just because it's a gated apartment doesn't mean you are safe. Only problem with all of this was, my credit score. Two 90 day late payments from a student loan killed my credit score making it impossible to do anything until we got the score up. I was a long and tedious process with nothing but frustration.
On top of that, we hadn't really started trying to have a baby, but we weren't saying 'no' to the idea either. Part of me was in fear that I couldn't have children because with all the research I've done about DKA, I never found an article where the woman had children after. What if Maddie would be the only child I beared. And we all know how well that went. When your womanhood is in jeopardy, you get a little irrational. Would Bryan leave me if we couldn't have kids? It's these sort of problems that can ultimately break a marriage no matter how secure the marriage is. Sure we could always adopt, but still, everyone is naturally selfish and want thier own kids.
In September, I started us on a crazy this is how much money we are allowed to spend a pay period. Complete with a financial spreadsheet and dinners planned weekly. Sometimes at work I would obsess over these numbers trying to figure out how much we could generate and what we could cut out of our lives.
And then I DKAed.
After, everything went out of the window. I don't care if we get a house this year or next year. I don't care if I can have kids or not. Eveything I stressed and obessed over didn't matter, it was all trivial. I nearly died again. All that mattered now was being healthy and recovering and getting stronger and putting this whole horrid ordeal of the past wo years behind me. It's amazing how much your thought process changes when you realize how truely mortal you are. I always knew I was going to die one day, but to escape death twice in a one year eight month span is insane. Obviously I have more work down here on earth.
I had even manage to convince myself that not having kids wouldn't be a bad thing. we had no idea what my body was capable of, or the amount of damage it went through this time around. If we got pregnant, in my head, it would be an absolute miracle. Hell, I didn't even expect a period until April. I figured that would be how long it would take for my reproductive system to heal.
Obviously I was wrong. Turns out it jump started somehow. I woke up yesterday thinking, 'Wow, I've only been out of the hospital for a month to the day', went to the bathroom and there it was. RED! I guess I can have children after all. Not now, but one day. Besides, Bryan and I aren't in a rush anymore. More importantly, I'm not in a rush anymore. I don't feel like I need to accomplish or prove myself anymore. I don't have a schedule of when I want to achieve my goals. If it happens, it happens. There are no more five year or ten year plans. Because honestly, in the end, does any of it really matter?
I guess you can say that I'm finally stopping and smelling the roses. The scent is so sweet, so divine, that it makes me woner why I didn't do it sooner.
Bryan and I were trying to find a house, build a house, get preapproved for a house. We were tired of apartments, tiring of packing and unpacking, finding good deals on apartments and just because it's a gated apartment doesn't mean you are safe. Only problem with all of this was, my credit score. Two 90 day late payments from a student loan killed my credit score making it impossible to do anything until we got the score up. I was a long and tedious process with nothing but frustration.
On top of that, we hadn't really started trying to have a baby, but we weren't saying 'no' to the idea either. Part of me was in fear that I couldn't have children because with all the research I've done about DKA, I never found an article where the woman had children after. What if Maddie would be the only child I beared. And we all know how well that went. When your womanhood is in jeopardy, you get a little irrational. Would Bryan leave me if we couldn't have kids? It's these sort of problems that can ultimately break a marriage no matter how secure the marriage is. Sure we could always adopt, but still, everyone is naturally selfish and want thier own kids.
In September, I started us on a crazy this is how much money we are allowed to spend a pay period. Complete with a financial spreadsheet and dinners planned weekly. Sometimes at work I would obsess over these numbers trying to figure out how much we could generate and what we could cut out of our lives.
And then I DKAed.
After, everything went out of the window. I don't care if we get a house this year or next year. I don't care if I can have kids or not. Eveything I stressed and obessed over didn't matter, it was all trivial. I nearly died again. All that mattered now was being healthy and recovering and getting stronger and putting this whole horrid ordeal of the past wo years behind me. It's amazing how much your thought process changes when you realize how truely mortal you are. I always knew I was going to die one day, but to escape death twice in a one year eight month span is insane. Obviously I have more work down here on earth.
I had even manage to convince myself that not having kids wouldn't be a bad thing. we had no idea what my body was capable of, or the amount of damage it went through this time around. If we got pregnant, in my head, it would be an absolute miracle. Hell, I didn't even expect a period until April. I figured that would be how long it would take for my reproductive system to heal.
Obviously I was wrong. Turns out it jump started somehow. I woke up yesterday thinking, 'Wow, I've only been out of the hospital for a month to the day', went to the bathroom and there it was. RED! I guess I can have children after all. Not now, but one day. Besides, Bryan and I aren't in a rush anymore. More importantly, I'm not in a rush anymore. I don't feel like I need to accomplish or prove myself anymore. I don't have a schedule of when I want to achieve my goals. If it happens, it happens. There are no more five year or ten year plans. Because honestly, in the end, does any of it really matter?
I guess you can say that I'm finally stopping and smelling the roses. The scent is so sweet, so divine, that it makes me woner why I didn't do it sooner.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Water
They say it takes 21 days to form a new habit and 35 days to break an old habit.
We all know how much I love coke. In early July I finally managed to stop drinking Dr. Pepper after going through 2 days of intense withdrawls. However, from there I got addicted to Coke, Cherry 7-UP, and Cream Soda.
And then I DKAed.
I was hospitalized from November 27th to December 12th. 16 days. When I finally woke up, all I drank was water. When I was put in the private suite, I started drinking juice, milk, and water. Milk because I was craving it, which was odd. I used to hate milk with a mad passion until I was pregnant and then 6 months after we lost Maddie, I started disliking it again. Juice was used primarily to keep my blood sugar from getting too low. But since I got out of the hospital, I've been drinking water. Although I do drink tea to mix things up.
Last week, Bryan came home with a Coke and I was intrigued by it. I wanted to know if it still tasted the way I remembered it before I DKAed. So I asked for a sip. Now, Mum would totally disapprove but the truth is, you should always stop your curiousity from consuming you. And I know (KNOW) that it would only be a matter of time before I start focusng on it and thinking about it constantly.
So I took a sip.
It was absolutely rancid. I mean, how on earth do people drink this shit. It's too sweet, it taste like something I cannot even describe. And to think, I used to drink this poison regularly. It's so disgusting.
Everytime I take a sip of water it's so yummy, I can't imagine drinking anything else. It's been 28 days since I got out of the hospital. 48 days since I was admitted. I think I can proudly say I've kicked the evil soda habit. Hopefully it will last this time.
We all know how much I love coke. In early July I finally managed to stop drinking Dr. Pepper after going through 2 days of intense withdrawls. However, from there I got addicted to Coke, Cherry 7-UP, and Cream Soda.
And then I DKAed.
I was hospitalized from November 27th to December 12th. 16 days. When I finally woke up, all I drank was water. When I was put in the private suite, I started drinking juice, milk, and water. Milk because I was craving it, which was odd. I used to hate milk with a mad passion until I was pregnant and then 6 months after we lost Maddie, I started disliking it again. Juice was used primarily to keep my blood sugar from getting too low. But since I got out of the hospital, I've been drinking water. Although I do drink tea to mix things up.
Last week, Bryan came home with a Coke and I was intrigued by it. I wanted to know if it still tasted the way I remembered it before I DKAed. So I asked for a sip. Now, Mum would totally disapprove but the truth is, you should always stop your curiousity from consuming you. And I know (KNOW) that it would only be a matter of time before I start focusng on it and thinking about it constantly.
So I took a sip.
It was absolutely rancid. I mean, how on earth do people drink this shit. It's too sweet, it taste like something I cannot even describe. And to think, I used to drink this poison regularly. It's so disgusting.
Everytime I take a sip of water it's so yummy, I can't imagine drinking anything else. It's been 28 days since I got out of the hospital. 48 days since I was admitted. I think I can proudly say I've kicked the evil soda habit. Hopefully it will last this time.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Fiesta Meat = Evil!
When you have this disease, you are constantly learning about it.
As it turns out, anything can cause a diabetic to DKA. Pregnancy. A Cold. Walking Pnemonia. Flu. Stomach bug. Food poisoning. And it can be fatal.
I didn't know this. We didn't know this.
The symptoms were even different. The only thing that coorelated was the vomitting.
The day before Bryan found me unconscious on the couch, I was at Mum's. She had made a puerto rican pork roast the previous day and made me a sandwich out of the meat. By the time I came home, I had no clue how I got there and was a little confused. By early morning on the day I DKAed, I had started throwing up. I knew the meat wasn't settlng well with me and that I had to sleep it off. Turns out I got food poisoned which led to my hospitalization.
Yesterday, on the way to Barnes and Noble, Mum was telling me how she went to Fiesta to get groceries. With my new knowledge about diabetes and DKAing, I asked her where she got the meat. I've never gotten sick off of meat from Krogers or HEB where she normally gets her meat. And everyone knows that you should not get meat from Foodtown or Fiesta.
"I got the pork roast from Fiesta because it's the only place I can find the pork I need," she replied.
And that's when I realized, if I hadn't eaten that damn sandwich at Mum's, I would not have DKAed. I wouldn't be in this evil recovery stage. I wouldn't have to build up my stamina again. I wouldn't have to take it one massage at a time at work. I wouldn't have been in ICU or gone through dialysis. And now I'm angry. I'm angry at having to go through everything all over again because Mum doesn't know that certain food at certain places is not premium quality. It's just one more thing she's done to ruin me. First it was not paying for grad school when she promised she would pay it. Then it was deciding not to pay for my wedding because she didn't have the money when in reality she didn't like Bryan and thought it was a bad idea. Although she did pay for the dress, the whole process was a stuggle. After that, ruining my credit score which makes it hard to qualify for a pre-approved loan on a house. That in itself was stressful. And now this. And in between nick picking at everything I do.
Sure, it might look like I'm blaming most of my adult life on her, but I'm not. You would think I would have learned by now that she is completely unreliable with things that do not affect her life. But why would you say, 'Hey, I'll pay for this' and then decide not to do it. Then criticize the paths I have chosen. But in her head, it's her giving advice. No matter how many times I ask her not to voice her opinions when I talk to her, she interrupts me midsentence when I'm not even done explaining things. And the worst part is, I've known for years that interpersonal communication is not her strong suite. Do you know how crippling it is when you realize you can't depend on you own mother for help, to be a good listener, and be there when I need her? On top of that, she takes the credit for all my accomplishments and pleasing characteristics because she raised me. I'm not a positive person because of her, I'm not ambitious because of her, I'm not a well rounded person because of her. It's so frustrating.
And who does she blame?
She blames Bryan, of course. If he had realized you were DKAing when he checked up on you, and took you to the hospital you wouldn't have been near death. Well, Mum, when he came to check in on me during his lunch break, I was functional and looked like I was getting better (even though I don't remember anything after texting my boss that I wasn't going to work). So I was alive and getting over food poisoning when he went back to work. Maybe if you didn't buy food from Fiesta which you never did before, what happened wouldn't have happened. I mean how can you not know not to buy meat from there. Seriously.
As it turns out, anything can cause a diabetic to DKA. Pregnancy. A Cold. Walking Pnemonia. Flu. Stomach bug. Food poisoning. And it can be fatal.
I didn't know this. We didn't know this.
The symptoms were even different. The only thing that coorelated was the vomitting.
The day before Bryan found me unconscious on the couch, I was at Mum's. She had made a puerto rican pork roast the previous day and made me a sandwich out of the meat. By the time I came home, I had no clue how I got there and was a little confused. By early morning on the day I DKAed, I had started throwing up. I knew the meat wasn't settlng well with me and that I had to sleep it off. Turns out I got food poisoned which led to my hospitalization.
Yesterday, on the way to Barnes and Noble, Mum was telling me how she went to Fiesta to get groceries. With my new knowledge about diabetes and DKAing, I asked her where she got the meat. I've never gotten sick off of meat from Krogers or HEB where she normally gets her meat. And everyone knows that you should not get meat from Foodtown or Fiesta.
"I got the pork roast from Fiesta because it's the only place I can find the pork I need," she replied.
And that's when I realized, if I hadn't eaten that damn sandwich at Mum's, I would not have DKAed. I wouldn't be in this evil recovery stage. I wouldn't have to build up my stamina again. I wouldn't have to take it one massage at a time at work. I wouldn't have been in ICU or gone through dialysis. And now I'm angry. I'm angry at having to go through everything all over again because Mum doesn't know that certain food at certain places is not premium quality. It's just one more thing she's done to ruin me. First it was not paying for grad school when she promised she would pay it. Then it was deciding not to pay for my wedding because she didn't have the money when in reality she didn't like Bryan and thought it was a bad idea. Although she did pay for the dress, the whole process was a stuggle. After that, ruining my credit score which makes it hard to qualify for a pre-approved loan on a house. That in itself was stressful. And now this. And in between nick picking at everything I do.
Sure, it might look like I'm blaming most of my adult life on her, but I'm not. You would think I would have learned by now that she is completely unreliable with things that do not affect her life. But why would you say, 'Hey, I'll pay for this' and then decide not to do it. Then criticize the paths I have chosen. But in her head, it's her giving advice. No matter how many times I ask her not to voice her opinions when I talk to her, she interrupts me midsentence when I'm not even done explaining things. And the worst part is, I've known for years that interpersonal communication is not her strong suite. Do you know how crippling it is when you realize you can't depend on you own mother for help, to be a good listener, and be there when I need her? On top of that, she takes the credit for all my accomplishments and pleasing characteristics because she raised me. I'm not a positive person because of her, I'm not ambitious because of her, I'm not a well rounded person because of her. It's so frustrating.
And who does she blame?
She blames Bryan, of course. If he had realized you were DKAing when he checked up on you, and took you to the hospital you wouldn't have been near death. Well, Mum, when he came to check in on me during his lunch break, I was functional and looked like I was getting better (even though I don't remember anything after texting my boss that I wasn't going to work). So I was alive and getting over food poisoning when he went back to work. Maybe if you didn't buy food from Fiesta which you never did before, what happened wouldn't have happened. I mean how can you not know not to buy meat from there. Seriously.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Recovery
Recovery is hard.
It takes what seems forever and can be overwhelming. As Elizabeth, my dialysis tech told me after she took my femoral catheter out, "Don't over do it. Take it one step at a time."
Last time I DKAed, I was in a coma for 5 days and awake for 3 days before I hightailed it out of there. I was walking a day after I woke up leaning on Mum for extra support. And 26 days ater I was discharged I was back at work massaging 1 client a day for two weeks, then two clients a day for a month, until I realized 3 was my max during my four hour shift 6 days a week. Two weeks after my discharge I was back in grad school trying to relearn all the psychology terms and theories I once understood perfectly. A week after going back to school, I was driving my car which was a major feat since it's standard. 4 months after discharge I started P90X and the month before that, I went back to dance class. I had something to prove and decided I was superwoman. To me, if I could give birth naturally without tearing in a coma, I could do anything. I was stronger than I looked and a fighter.
This time was different. This time I fought for my life. I was under sedation for a week. I nearly shot out my kidneys so I was on dialysis for nearly two weeks. They didn't take me out of ICU after I woke up for 3 days. Then I was in my private room for nearly another week.
I had to re-learn how to do everything. Pee. Poop. Walk. Use eating untensil. Write. Use my cell. Dial. Chew. Swallow liquid (straws are my best friend). Talking. I couldn't talk for two days and after that, it was labored. Things we naturally take for granted because we learned how to use these gross motor skills at such a young age, were all of a sudden difficult to accomplish. A one point in time I couldn't even voice my thoughts because I couldn't figure out how to say words that would used to come naturally. It took me half an hour to figure out how to tie a bow when I was decorating the jars of lemon curd.
I had physica therapy twice a day, every other day. One focused on building my strength in my arms and the ability to regain those fine tuned motor skills. The other taught me how to walk again. I had to learn how to sit up by myself. Then standing in place using my highly diminished balance. They gave me a walker to see how well I could walk with help and talked about how I might need one. I'm 28, perfectly autonomous, independent and healthy, and she's telling me I might need a walker when they discharge me. And that's when I realized how bad it really was. I managed to conquer the walker in two days, calling my nurse to help me and the walker get into the bathroom when I had to go. My nurse Kristen always said how remarkable my recover was as I zipped by her or when she brught the nighttime nurse Maria up to speed. A few days later, they strapped a belt around me and held on to it as I walked on my own. I felt like a dog on a leash.
When Bryan brought me home, he had to stay in the shower with me to hold me if I got tired standing and I would wrap my arm around his when we were walking somewhere. He would help me up and down stairs holding his hand out. He called me his, 'pretty dainty lady'. I also had to rely on his cooking which I put a end to after two weeks. I lovehim to death, but we both know I'm the better cook. Bryan was amazing though, he was at my beck and call for the first two weeks until it became appart that I could do things on my own. Luckily, he understands my need for independence and autonomy even when I'm stubborn and won't let him open a jar because I'm determined to do it myself.
The first two weeks are always the hardest. We're on week three and if Bryan isn't home, I still have Mum come get me. the slogan this round of recovery is, 'take my time.' Sometimes I feel stronger than I am, and as I learned December 26th, I will pay for it later. What I know now is, I can't walk for 3 hours straight without rest. My body is in pain for a whole week. Every muscle in my body hurts, it becomes impossible to sit or lay down. This causes sleep issues and stress causing my blood sugar to soar. I can't bend down; I can't squat to find something in the cabinets below countertops. My voice is still recovering with it's scracthy airiness. I still cough because my throat will ge a dry patch and require water to moisten it up due to the breathing tube. Part of me thinks my voice will never be anywhere close to what it used to be.
But I take it one day at a time.
The worst part is after a while, you get a little crazy and depressed.
I have to depend on someone to drive me places. I'm literally in thier hands so if I want to go somewhere and they don't, they have complete control. This is frustrating for many reasons: a) I hate depending on people, b) There are places I want to go for the hell of it and I can't lock the door and drive there, c) I really miss driving, and d) I have to go where ever they want to go and stay there until they are ready to leave. If Mum decided to visit someone, I have to wait for her to finish her visit and come pick me up.
The craziness and depression go hand in hand. Most days I feel like I'm a hastle. Damaged goods. Mum has to pick me up to take me to her place so she can cook us dinner and then I have to wake her up since she usually falls asleep on the couch to bring me back. Bryan doesn't get alone time because I'm always there. I can't look at him and say, "Hey sweetie, I'm going to _______ for a bit, I'll see you in a few hours." I essentially have nothing to do. No school work to work on. I won't be going back to work for another 15 days (hopefully). You naturally go daft because boredom sets in quickly. And the problem is, you're not even strong enough to do certain things without help. All you want is for everything to bo back to normal. It's like your life is on pause and you're waiting for someone to hit play. And the only person you can blame is yourself. You put yourself in this predicament, causing those who care about you to worry, and costing hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills.
I try hard not to think these thoughts. I often find myself crying in the shower over the brutal beating I've put my body through. But, I still take it one step at a time. Up next, exercising. Time to really start playing Just Dance 3 and Dance Central. Time to build my stamina, endurance, and strength. My goal is to look amazing by Kelly's wedding and not this frail little thing.
It takes what seems forever and can be overwhelming. As Elizabeth, my dialysis tech told me after she took my femoral catheter out, "Don't over do it. Take it one step at a time."
Last time I DKAed, I was in a coma for 5 days and awake for 3 days before I hightailed it out of there. I was walking a day after I woke up leaning on Mum for extra support. And 26 days ater I was discharged I was back at work massaging 1 client a day for two weeks, then two clients a day for a month, until I realized 3 was my max during my four hour shift 6 days a week. Two weeks after my discharge I was back in grad school trying to relearn all the psychology terms and theories I once understood perfectly. A week after going back to school, I was driving my car which was a major feat since it's standard. 4 months after discharge I started P90X and the month before that, I went back to dance class. I had something to prove and decided I was superwoman. To me, if I could give birth naturally without tearing in a coma, I could do anything. I was stronger than I looked and a fighter.
This time was different. This time I fought for my life. I was under sedation for a week. I nearly shot out my kidneys so I was on dialysis for nearly two weeks. They didn't take me out of ICU after I woke up for 3 days. Then I was in my private room for nearly another week.
I had to re-learn how to do everything. Pee. Poop. Walk. Use eating untensil. Write. Use my cell. Dial. Chew. Swallow liquid (straws are my best friend). Talking. I couldn't talk for two days and after that, it was labored. Things we naturally take for granted because we learned how to use these gross motor skills at such a young age, were all of a sudden difficult to accomplish. A one point in time I couldn't even voice my thoughts because I couldn't figure out how to say words that would used to come naturally. It took me half an hour to figure out how to tie a bow when I was decorating the jars of lemon curd.
I had physica therapy twice a day, every other day. One focused on building my strength in my arms and the ability to regain those fine tuned motor skills. The other taught me how to walk again. I had to learn how to sit up by myself. Then standing in place using my highly diminished balance. They gave me a walker to see how well I could walk with help and talked about how I might need one. I'm 28, perfectly autonomous, independent and healthy, and she's telling me I might need a walker when they discharge me. And that's when I realized how bad it really was. I managed to conquer the walker in two days, calling my nurse to help me and the walker get into the bathroom when I had to go. My nurse Kristen always said how remarkable my recover was as I zipped by her or when she brught the nighttime nurse Maria up to speed. A few days later, they strapped a belt around me and held on to it as I walked on my own. I felt like a dog on a leash.
When Bryan brought me home, he had to stay in the shower with me to hold me if I got tired standing and I would wrap my arm around his when we were walking somewhere. He would help me up and down stairs holding his hand out. He called me his, 'pretty dainty lady'. I also had to rely on his cooking which I put a end to after two weeks. I lovehim to death, but we both know I'm the better cook. Bryan was amazing though, he was at my beck and call for the first two weeks until it became appart that I could do things on my own. Luckily, he understands my need for independence and autonomy even when I'm stubborn and won't let him open a jar because I'm determined to do it myself.
The first two weeks are always the hardest. We're on week three and if Bryan isn't home, I still have Mum come get me. the slogan this round of recovery is, 'take my time.' Sometimes I feel stronger than I am, and as I learned December 26th, I will pay for it later. What I know now is, I can't walk for 3 hours straight without rest. My body is in pain for a whole week. Every muscle in my body hurts, it becomes impossible to sit or lay down. This causes sleep issues and stress causing my blood sugar to soar. I can't bend down; I can't squat to find something in the cabinets below countertops. My voice is still recovering with it's scracthy airiness. I still cough because my throat will ge a dry patch and require water to moisten it up due to the breathing tube. Part of me thinks my voice will never be anywhere close to what it used to be.
But I take it one day at a time.
The worst part is after a while, you get a little crazy and depressed.
I have to depend on someone to drive me places. I'm literally in thier hands so if I want to go somewhere and they don't, they have complete control. This is frustrating for many reasons: a) I hate depending on people, b) There are places I want to go for the hell of it and I can't lock the door and drive there, c) I really miss driving, and d) I have to go where ever they want to go and stay there until they are ready to leave. If Mum decided to visit someone, I have to wait for her to finish her visit and come pick me up.
The craziness and depression go hand in hand. Most days I feel like I'm a hastle. Damaged goods. Mum has to pick me up to take me to her place so she can cook us dinner and then I have to wake her up since she usually falls asleep on the couch to bring me back. Bryan doesn't get alone time because I'm always there. I can't look at him and say, "Hey sweetie, I'm going to _______ for a bit, I'll see you in a few hours." I essentially have nothing to do. No school work to work on. I won't be going back to work for another 15 days (hopefully). You naturally go daft because boredom sets in quickly. And the problem is, you're not even strong enough to do certain things without help. All you want is for everything to bo back to normal. It's like your life is on pause and you're waiting for someone to hit play. And the only person you can blame is yourself. You put yourself in this predicament, causing those who care about you to worry, and costing hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills.
I try hard not to think these thoughts. I often find myself crying in the shower over the brutal beating I've put my body through. But, I still take it one step at a time. Up next, exercising. Time to really start playing Just Dance 3 and Dance Central. Time to build my stamina, endurance, and strength. My goal is to look amazing by Kelly's wedding and not this frail little thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)