diabetes

Speak Your Mind

I’m doing some research for one of my grad classes with a focus on how the Affordable Care Act impacts quality of care.  While there are objective measures of quality such as hospital reimbursement rates, I believe the patient perspective is invaluable as well.  Quality, then, must be addressed and defined from the various view points of those in the health care system.

I would like to gather some patient responses prior to my presentation.  Personally identifiable information will not be included, rather, the aggregate of the information provided to me will be summarized for my class.

So, if you have an opinion on how quality affects your health care, please comment here or feel free to contact me over the next few weeks.

What would you like to see change in terms of quality of care?

Do you think that the way your health care providers measure quality is an adequate representation of the type of care you receive?

Have you noticed changes- good or bad- in your quality of care since the passage of the Affordable Care Act?

Is your health care delivery environment upfront about how they plan to improve the quality of your care?

These are just starting points, but any and all information provided will be useful and is greatly appreciated.

Thanks for your help!

Weird.

Today was weird.

It started off with getting called to the front of a 200-person meeting to participate in Dance Dance Revolution.  My coworker won the dance-off, but now the whole office knows who the real #LeftShark from Katy Perry’s SuperBowl halftime show was.  (That would be yours truly).

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Later I discovered a 300+ blood glucose reading at lunch and a blood test confirmed some ketones.  Yikes, considering we had another meeting on the way.  No more Dance Dance Revolution for this girl, though!  I felt like this lizard that I encountered on a recent trip to Florida, as in Leave me the heck alone, intruders! [in this case, ketones].

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I bolused quite a bit and played the “wait it out and let the insulin do its job” game, otherwise known as “patience is a virtue, but it’s really freakin’ difficult when you don’t feel well!”

Trusting in insulin after all of my insulin pump drama in the past has been a challenge for me.  I’m still getting accustomed to the idea that when I bolus, insulin generally does something.  Before, it was not always the case.  Today, it did its thing, although I’m still running too high.

Tomorrow we shall try again.  Bring it on.

The Real Patient Portals

For privacy purposes of those discussed here, some of the details of this blog post have been altered/omitted. The heart of the story remains the same.

 

To avoid the throbbing headache that is commuting from Providence to Boston during morning traffic, I stayed over in Massachusetts prior to my Joslin appointments this week.

I hoped to catch the end of the Providence-Villanova game at the hotel bar, but the thrashing PC was receiving was so embarrassing that the bartender instead flipped between The Voice and the Bruins. I asked a patron if the seat next to her at the crowded bar was available, and she nodded. The restaurant was busy and it seemed like it would be a while before my dinner was delivered, so I took a big gulp of my classy Bud Light and vowed to make friends while I waited.

“Are you here for business?” I asked the professionally-dressed woman.

“Actually, my child is being treated at Children’s Hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But your child is in phenomenal hands.”

“Yes, we have been here for a long time, but soon we will travel home with a stronger, healthier child. We have been very blessed.”

And so we talked for almost an hour. We discussed her home many miles away from here, admired the nurses who followed their professional callings to ease the suffering of their patients, educated one another on our respective areas of patient or caregiver knowledge, and, to be quite honest, took solace in finding a bar buddy who understood the stress and anxiety of Boston medical appointments. Sure, I seek out care in Boston because it is the best, and this lady does, too. But that doesn’t make it any less gut-wrenching every time the appointment days arrive.

We eventually wished each other well and parted ways. I want to give SuperMom an anonymous shout out here, though, because of the example of strength that she provided that evening. I have so much respect for the parents of any child who faces illness- whether that be type one diabetes or something else. Being the patient for most of my life, I have mainly been preoccupied with my own suffering- something I know that I can and will handle.

Watching others suffer, though, makes me nauseous, anxious, and somewhat frozen in “What do I do?!!” mode. SuperMoms and SuperDads don’t have the option of “What do I do?!!” mode. They activate “Do” mode because their child is hurting and they want the pain to stop. They remain calm when the world is shaken up around them. Yes, they have days of sadness and tears, but they try their best to provide their children with the greatest lives possible, to comfort them on the rough days, and to keep on going.

So, to SuperMom at the bar, cheers to health and happiness for you and your family.

The next morning, I hastily checked out of the hotel and made my way to Joslin Diabetes Center, where I had one thing on my mind: very light, no sugar coffee, and even better if you can hook me up to an IV drip of it.

I generally enjoy my Joslin experience because it is one of the only places on earth where I feel completely safe from a diabetes standpoint. If I go low or high, there are plenty of people who know how to help. But this time, I was nervous and emotional, as it was my last appointment with Current Endo before her departure; additionally, these days are quite frankly long and exhausting no matter what the outcome is.

I fumbled my way to the coffee stand through a haze of anxiety.

“What’s ah matter, my darling?” the coffee stand employee cooed, her brow furrowed.

“Oh, nothing. I just need some coffee to wake up,” I said, shrugging it off.

“I asked how your morning was and you didn’t reply,” she sounded off, much to my surprise and admiration. (I like a person who tells it like it is!)

“My apologies. I must not have heard you.” My level of distractedness due to nerves was obvious now.

Without skipping a beat, she looked me straight in the eye and stated, “You will be okay. You are so strong.”

This kind woman had never met me before. She had no prior knowledge as to whether I was in the hospital district of Boston as a patient, a caregiver, a sales rep, an employee, or so on. But she knew, without hesitation, that I was hurting simply from the look in my eyes. She seemed to recognize that I was the patient, and that I was trying to keep it all together. Her confidence that I could do this was the gentle nudge I needed to go check in at Joslin, ready to take on the day and whatever it would bring.

Blinking back tears, I thanked her for her reassurance and sauntered off with coffee warming my hands and coffee shop lady’s words warming my soul.

After my appointments, I needed more coffee before racing back to work. I stopped at the same coffee kiosk, and the same employee was still there. I filled my cup and went to pay.

“You were right. Everything was okay. I wanted to thank you for what you said earlier. You made me feel better.”

“God will take care of everything,” she replied.

“Yes. And there should be more people in the world like you. Your joy is contagious.”

And we both fought back tears, nodded our heads in agreement, and vowed to pray for one another.

Bars and coffee shops are the real patient portals. These are the watering holes for the warriors- the patients and the caregivers- to assemble and collect their emotions. Here, the pep talks happen. The fears and aspirations are relayed. The hugs are handed out a little more freely. The tears are dried if necessary. God is there, as these women proved to me this week.

Lucky for me, I’m always thirsty. Something tells me I’ll be back soon.

To SuperMom and SuperCoffeeShopEmployee, this blog post goes out to you. You are both inspirations. Thank you…

Beginning of the End(o)

This week my endocrinologist is transitioning to a different medical office which is, realistically, too far away for me to travel to for future appointments.  This endo not only is a kind, non-judgmental doctor, but in my head she is dubbed as the “Basal Insulin Wizard.”  She has a knack for knowing which little adjustments need to be made to prevent or to fix huge problems.  She also deals with an inundation of emails in her inbox, mostly from me.  I pride myself on being an engaged patient, but I also understand that doctors do not have much time in the day to get everything done for every patient.

A few months ago I asked her, “Do your other patients email you like this?”

“Not really…” she replied.

And then we both had to take a moment to compose ourselves through a mutual fit of giggling.  Without saying much, we both totally got it.

I am intense in my emails, but I am also fighting for my health.  I appreciate a doctor who recognizes that and works with me.  Current Endo has done that, and I will miss the comfortable relationship we have built over the past few years.  Her new patients are blessed to have her on their team.

So, what am I going to do now?

I’ll tell you what I should have done: started searching for a new endo a few months ago when I was first told of Current Endo’s impending departure.  She gave me a few recommendations for a new endo at that time, and my nurse proclaimed, “If I were a type one diabetic, I would definitely get treated by _____!”  Naturally, I should have then booked an appointment with Endo _____.

But I didn’t.  Perhaps it was a bit of diabetes burn out, and I must now own that.  Perhaps it was a bit of denial that Current Endo was leaving.  Perhaps it was the fact that from a practical sense, I am tired of commuting many hours roundtrip for my diabetes care, albeit I feel strongly about the top-notch care I receive in Boston.

All I can do now is make a plan.  I will pick up the phone and schedule a new endo appointment this week.  Diabetes doesn’t take a vacation, and it certainly doesn’t care that my endo is switching offices.  I will rely heavily on my nurse during this transition period while I wait to meet my new endo.  This situation makes me so thankful for a nurse who is willing to put in the extra effort to help me to stay well.  She will rise to the occasion, and now I must do so, too.

New Endo will not replace the relationship- and possibly not the same skills- as Current Endo represents for me.  And that is okay.  People are inherently different in their attributes, and I am optimistic that whatever my relationship may become with the New Endo, it will be its own unique entity with positive results.  I must be thankful for the calm guidance of Current Endo, and I will remember her for that.

Warming up to New Endo may take some time.  I am a patient highly involved in my own care, and I’ve also made many major changes in my courses of treatment this year (Dexcom CGM, returning to multiple daily injections versus insulin pumping, and taking much larger insulin doses).  This is a lot of information for all of us to process, and sometimes the road may not be free of bumps.

For now, we’re just going to ride with it.

If Beauty & The Beast participated in #SpareARose…

If you want the emotional side of why I think #SpareARose is such an important advocacy endeavor, please see here.

One more emotional plea for good measure: Ketones suck.  They shouldn’t exist; no one should have to endure that level of discomfort and danger.  Thinking of little kids across the globe suffering ketoacidosis while waiting for life-sustaining insulin that may not get there in time- well, it just gets to me.  It’s not fair.  Even if we can’t remedy their suffering overnight, it is our moral obligation to do what we can here and now to help them.

On the lighter side of things, I’ve been thinking a bit about Disney.  What if Beauty & The Beast had spared a rose?  They would have cut to the chase with living happily-ever-after a lot quicker, and they would have also spared us that annoyingly-catchy Gaston pub crawl song.  (Sorry it’s stuck in your head now).

Since we can’t rewrite a Disney film, let’s spare the rose for them now.  Let’s chase these ketones away from people who do not have the blessings of accessible insulin that many of us have each day.  We know how hard diabetes can be, even with various sophisticated tools of the trade available to many of us.  Imagine not even having the bare minimum in treating diabetes.  In 5 seconds with a few clicks of a mouse and $5 donated, we can give those less fortunate than us a chance at their own happily-ever-after’s.

Please spare what you can: the cost of your morning cup of coffee, a movie ticket, your favorite type of ice cream.  However you choose to find ways to give, please #SpareARose this February.

Thank you

Hey, that’s mine. And I’m taking it back!

I must confess that I haven’t been in a “very light” mood this week.  It’s a combination of PMS, a pesky chest cold, and the manner in which they catapult my blood glucose to the stratosphere, stuck no matter how many tears I dry or units I bolus.  It’s diabetes at its most vindictive: Ha! Your bazooka-bolus will drop you a whopping TEN mg/dL!  This in turn causes me to feel badly about my irrational BG “failures,” as well as my subsequent grumpiness.  I tried to take a Twitter hiatus as the Catholic grammar school mantra, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it,” rang in my ears.  I woke up the next day to a few private messages from well-wishers (thank you- you know who you are), and I realized that instead of hibernating on Twitter perhaps I should open myself up to that support.  After all, it’s the signature of the online communities that I have grown to love.

#BellLetsTalk tweets and blog posts inspired me during my figuratively “extra dark coffee, loaded with sugar” musings.  It is humbling to see that so many people worldwide shared their deeply personal stories during this Canadian mental health effort, and by doing so they inspired others to seek support and to perhaps share their own stories, too.  #BellLetsTalk celebrates these strong, courageous souls.  I could feel the societal stigma lifting as I perused their words, felt their pain as a fellow human being, and admired their strength.

When Sophie- the talented blogger of Writing Possibility whose honesty and eloquence in writing make her one of my favorites in the #doc- invited me to participate in the Take Back What’s Yours campaign, I knew that this was an opportunity to empower myself during a week where diabetes was making me feel especially vulnerable.  Take Back What’s Yours is an effort launched by Chloe’s Concept encouraging readers to take back something good that may have been lost along the way during life’s tribulations, such as a hobby that brought joy or a sense of hope.  If you feel so inclined, please join us in taking back what’s yours.  Let’s celebrate ourselves in the spirit of #BellLetsTalk and #TakeBackWhatsYours.

Here’s what’s mine, and I’m taking it back:

Note: You’ll get the gist of it as you read each paragraph, but in certain circumstances I am “taking back” in the sense of regaining my footing with something I have struggled with.  I am taking it back in that I am conceding that it happened, but I will not allow it to occur anymore if possible.  In other circumstances, I am “taking back” positive things that I have lost sight of recently.  While the hashtag’s meaning may have been slightly altered for purposes of this blog post, I think the theme of #TakeBackWhatsYours is still alive and well here.  This is the best way that I can express the hashtag in terms of my individual trials in life.

1.)  From a point-forward basis, I am taking back the nights that I went to bed hungry as an employed, educated American woman.  I have been blessed enough by my current circumstances in life to be able to put food on the table; now it’s time to enjoy it again.  I do not fit the stereotype of a starving child in a third world country far away from here, but I have been far too familiar with hunger due to the aftermath of faulty insulin pump sites and the fears running rampant in my own mind.  Food is not the enemy.  Insulin is not the bad guy.  And I am fully capable of doing this, no matter how scary it seems.  I will not go to bed hungry any longer.  This means I must make some concessions: bolus larger amounts of insulin before bed; eat when my blood sugar is higher than I would prefer for it to be going into a meal; learn that it is okay to see some slightly-skewed blood sugars during this time of growing; share my story in case someone out there is hungry for the same reasons.

2.)  I am taking back the “set in stone,” predefined amounts of insulin that have so dictated my dosing for many years.  Each day with diabetes is different, and insulin needs to reflect this.  I will be more flexible.  I will email my doctor about the mini-successes.  I will celebrate them.  And I will pledge to keep trying.  If the dose misfires, well, I have enough experience to know how to handle it by now.

3.)  I am taking back feeling guilty about my feelings.  From day one of creating this blog, I promised to be authentic, and I believe that I have been.  Sometimes the #nofilter thing makes me feel like I’m wearing my emotions on my sleeve too much, but I wouldn’t be me if my sleeves weren’t a little dirty.  I am taking back being too hard on myself for a tweet that I perceived as overly-cranky or for fear of annoying others.  We all annoy someone at some point at some time.  If we are in the wrong, we can apologize and move forward.  But if we walk the line of keeping too much to ourselves, we aren’t allowing others in as much as we should be.

4.)  I am taking back my former joys and living in the moment.  I will recognize that I am more than diabetes and health care advocacy.  While these are enormous passions of mine, I also need to take some time for myself to try new things and to chill out with my own thoughts.  Always being on the go and jumping head first into the next project are qualities that have helped me to succeed, but reading a book for pleasure or grabbing a beer after work with friends on a Wednesday night are also ways in which I can obtain happiness.  There doesn’t always have to be a goal: an A1C target, a certain GPA, a defined objective measurement of success.  Instead, there can be some down time to relax, to connect with the people around you, and to be present in life.  It is fine to be hardwired to “busy and productive mode,” but setting aside a few hours a week for other enjoyments is crucial to long-term health and happiness.

5.)  I am taking back my ability to allow others in to help.  As a diabetes-induced defense mechanism, I have handled things on my own for a while now.  When friends try to help, I’m initially willing to talk their ears off about diabetes, but by the end of it, I’m usually saying things I don’t mean to say out of frustration.  The more open I become, the more vulnerable I feel, and the more I can’t seem to come to grips with it.  For the sake of my relationships, this nonsense has to stop.  As much as I want to act tough and invincible, the reality is that there will be times where diabetes has a strong hold over me.  Why not accept the support others are so generously trying to give me, even after I have pushed them away?  These are clearly goodhearted people, and I should be counting my blessings instead of running from them.

Needles: #ItMakesSenseIfYouHaveDiabetes

In the early 1990s when I was in elementary school, I took part in a study through the Joslin Diabetes Center which examined whether or not patients “liked” new, shorter needles on their insulin syringes.  We had to fill out a chart with smiley faces for “minimal pain,” sad faces for “painfulness,” etc.  It’s probably why I remember this: the artistic part was fun.

A creature of habit, I emphatically voiced my displeasure with the new, short needles.  Big sad face for you on the chart, “new thing meant to help me!”

My parents, perplexed that I would elect to use the “behemoth needle model,” decided that it would be in my best interest if they switched out the needles unbeknownst to me.  I believed that I was still using a large needle, when in reality it was a short needle.  Not one to complain much about insulin injections to begin with, I did not notice the difference or care to vocalize it if it was there.

(Sorry to Joslin if we messed up your study!  I believe the switching out of needles was probably done after our part of the study concluded).  Also, #sorryimnotsorry to my parents for still being a little miffed about this.  I’m all about patient autonomy, albeit my parents were simply trying to lessen my diabetes burden at that time.

So, why am I reflecting on this during Snowmaggedon 2015?  Perhaps I have too much free time on my hands today.  But I’m also just plain kind of sore from injections right now.  The skin on my stomach bounces the needle off in protest after ten years of insulin pump sites.  Can I really blame it?  My upper left butt cheek looks like a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey gone wrong, although the right side knows how to handle the infamous “Lantus Burn” like a champion.

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Needles are the easiest part of diabetes in many regards, but somewhere along the line I have noticed in social media groups that there is this pressing need for some to announce that diabetes never hurts.  Well, for some of us, it does.  And trust me, as a kid I was the first to judge the “insulin shot cry babies.”  Mine was a face of stoicism from a young age.  But as an adult making an effort to accept my emotions more freely, I can admit that sometimes the needle hits a sore spot and a few swear words are mumbled.

What can one do about this- this reality that needles keep you alive whether or not they cause pain?  Running with our theme of doing what works for you, exercise your freedom here.  If you like the bigger needles, use them, and then draw a big smiley face on your chart for good measure!  We have options here, and plenty of them at that rate.

#ItMakesSenseIfYouHaveDiabetes: Perhaps short needles work on some sites using a particular type of insulin, but larger needles work better in different areas with different insulins?  BD Nanos (4 mm) are the tool-of-choice for Lantus injections in my backside, while the BD Short (8 mm) needles work better for Humalog injections in less-padded areas.  Humalog does not pool at the injection site as often with the larger (confusingly named “Short”) needles.  Yet the Shorts with Humalog have the pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey effect on my left side- go figure.  Maybe I will employ Nanos for those sites?  Again, #ItMakesSenseIfYouHaveDiabetes.

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This is my personal configuration that works well for me, so I’m going to stick with it.  When I need to make alterations, I will do so under my own good intentions.  And, in some weird sort of psychological spin on things, I acknowledge that I am a fan of the same method as I was two decades ago: using a combination of long and short needles to get the job done while maintaining my sense of independence in living with type one diabetes.  Ultimately, it is about how you feel as the individual; however wacky your methods may seem, do what works for you.

***Update: Erin Gilmer over at healthasahumanright.wordpress.com brought up a good point with me via Twitter.  Not everyone has these numerous treatment options due to various obstacles to proper health care: limited insurance coverage, out-of-pocket expenses, socioeconomic status, and so on.  While I am a firm believer in fighting hard for the health care that you want, I must concede that there are certainly limitations to this idea.

I meant to disclose previously that I paid for the 8 mm needles out of pocket.  My insurance had already covered a regular syringe prescription when I first switched back to shots.  Then my doctor and I chose to go with pens out of convenience, so obtaining the Nano pen tips took a lot of jumping through hoops until insurance was kind enough to override my refill a few weeks early.  When it came time to try the Short 8 mm needles after the Nanos weren’t working on my stomach, I purchased a box on my own out of fear of insurance tightening their pocketbook with me.  If I remember correctly, the box of 100 pen tips cost about $45 out of pocket.

I will blog about the health care coverage loop-de-loop at a later time, but wanted to acknowledge Erin’s point here, as I believe this is an important one, too.  Patients can fight for their health, but the health care system needs to give back some of that same effort in order to help us to get well.

Better

“Is your diabetic relative’s diabetes as ‘bad’ as yours?”

It was a fair enough question to ask considering the whole #nofilter hash tag often dictates my social media interactions.  The good, the bad, and the ugly are relayed to my followers, and I make no apologies for that.  This is life with autoimmune disease from my perspective, and if I’m going to share that story, I’m going to keep it real.

The question still kind of hurt, though.  I truly didn’t know my diabetes was considered “bad.”  Sure, my A1C is less-than-stellar.  I was overly-vocal about my insulin pump frustrations, albeit I was fighting for my quality of life.  I look back and see the desperation in my words- those spoken and those written– but I never thought that I was going to lay down and let the diabetes wave roll over me.  I was, and I still am, going to fight this.

A good friend asked the question about 6 weeks ago, slowly articulating the words, immediately wishing she could pull them back in before I could snap.  I said something along the lines of, “I mean, we’ve always more or less had similar results in our diabetes management.  But it’s type one diabetes.  There are ‘good’ and ‘bad’ days even if you’re the ‘best diabetic’ out there, and the ‘best diabetic’ doesn’t exist in real life.”

Then we returned to our beverages and talking about our jobs, and until now I haven’t thought much about that conversation.

The truth of the matter is, 6 weeks and a complete 180 degree turn in diabetes management from insulin pumping to multiple daily injections later, I do indeed feel better.  I’m almost afraid to say it because some kind of a diabetic hex might come out of the woodwork and knock me to the ground again.

My transition back to insulin injections is a bit less bumpy now.  My quality of life has started to see sunlight again.  Little things like eating a ranch chicken sandwich for lunch and sending a picture to my doctor (#yay!), bolusing insulin and knowing that it will do its thing to keep me alive when I eat that sandwich, bowling with friends and watching the exercise work its magic on my CGM graph, and having so much fun that for a few hours the CGM graph doesn’t really matter- these things that a few months ago seemed so far out of reach- are now suddenly part of enjoying life.  It feels so good that I am scared of losing it again.

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There is an element of “survivor’s guilt” in diabetes for me at times.  I know that I deserve to be healthy and to enjoy my twenties.  I know that feeling better can be fleeting if diabetes has its say in the matter.  But I also know that feeling better is something I so passionately want and have fought for, so I shouldn’t feel guilty or afraid of the betterment, right?  And even if it does eventually fade away, I will do what every diabetic does: lift my head up and find a different way to fight diabetes until I feel better again.

Moral of the blog post: Do what you have to do to feel better.  If that means writing somewhat corny, sentimental blog posts far too often, tweeting in rapid fire to get suggestions on diabetes management, or completely changing your course of treatment- so be it.  If an insulin pump works best for your needs and your health, utilize that technology if you can.  If you want to take a pump vacation, book your flight.  Using whatever floats your diabetes boat, just try your best to keep on floating.  We deserve to feel better.  And take it from someone who has been in the diabetes trenches: we can feel better.

24. P.S. I Forgive You

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You have been a part of me for 24 years– which is 8,760 days- you selfish, conniving, jerk.

You have pierced my skin over 160,000 times.

On occasion, you have damaged my kidneys and my psyche, my relationships and my view of the world.

They were freak events- both my diagnosis and the insulin pump product defects that plagued me in my twenty-third year of dealing with your crap- but they happened to me, a living, breathing human being who did nothing to ever deserve that amount of suffering.

None of us did.

Today I am not mad at you, though.  I have spent enough time asking “Why?” to know that you don’t care why.  You just do as you do, whatever your flavor of the week is.  Sometimes the stars align and I get my insulin doses right for a day.  Other times, I go to bed frustrated with myself that I didn’t do better, although I know rationally that most of this is not that simple.

I want you to know, however, that there are things that you have not taken from me in 24 years of being an unwelcome guest dwelling in my body.  Through your efforts at taking, you have actually given me things: perspective, friends, academic opportunities, a passion for helping others, the therapies of writing and talking.  There is some reason for all of this, and many times I have known that God- and God-sent people- were the ones who got me through.

Why did I survive a disorienting and quickly-declining 46 mg/dL blood sugar value in my twenty-third year as a type one diabetic?  Frankly, without Dexcom CGM, I wouldn’t have survived, so that’s why.

Why do I read Facebook posts about children with diabetes, fighting back tears as their Moms and Dads document their struggles?  Because I know that these kids will grow up to be kinder, smarter, and more considerate for having gone through it.  And if we have to go through it, we might as well turn out as the type of people everyone would want to have as friends.  We might as well turn the bad into as much good as we can.

Why- as I sat in a waiting room in Boston, the sickest I had ever been with persistently high blood sugar that would not budge no matter what we did, scared and alone- did a doctor sit next to me quietly?  Why did she urge me to receive her treatment after I had run from it months earlier?  Why was she so confident that we could do this?

Why was she right?

We are doing this, and we’re going to continue to do this- to fight back, to live well.    

Why am I blessed when there are thousands of people all over the globe who may not have proper access to insulin and medical professionals?  I don’t know why, but I am cognizant of this idea today, especially.

Now, in my almost twenty-seventh year of existence, I have reached marker number twenty-four with type one diabetes.  It has not been easy, but it has been… something.  Some people never have this chance.  Some people are not diagnosed in time.  Some people die waiting for life-sustaining medication.

“Some people” are people who have feelings and families, and who could have bright futures, too.  Spare a Rose, Save a Child / Life for a Child get it right; those of us who are fortunate enough to have access to insulin can pay it forward with a few clicks of a mouse and a few dollars donated.

At least for today, diabetes, I want you to know that I forgive you.  I haven’t had it as hard as some.  In fact, I can count my blessings because of the perspective that you have given me.  There will be many more times that I will scream my lungs out in frustration with your stupid games.  But if I don’t forgive you right now, I will live however many more diaversaries there may be with a sense of embitterment at the life that I could have had without you in it.

Instead, today I recognize that living despite having you along for the ride is a gift in and of itself.  Please know that I am going to make the most of that life.  Thanks for reminding me to do so.

Hemingway for the Win!

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“Write hard and clear about what hurts.”  -Ernest Hemingway

 

The rookie to diabetes blogging this year, I soon discovered a community that rises up and carries its pain together like garden ants that have stumbled upon a cracker at a picnic- only we’re not as gross, we don’t have antennae, and we would surely bolus for the cracker carbs.

In the act of lifting up this thing together- this disease and all of its pokes and prods, interrupted sleep, hunger, thirst, laughter, and tears- we speak and write from the souls of those who have stared down what hurts, and who will stare it down again tomorrow.

That’s what 2014 was for me: being awestruck by the passion, wit, humor, creativity, warmth, and truthfulness of the diabetic online community as it writes hard and clear about what hurts.

You make it hurt less.

May the New Year be a healthy and happy one for the #DOC.