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....