Dental work terrifies me, how about you?
As a kid I went to the dentist rarely. It wasn't something we did often but was needed at times. As I got into my teens, my parents' insurance changed and we lost dental coverage. When most kids got braces, we didn't. I became ashamed of my teeth, and still am to this day.
After I married, I decided to start with yearly check-ups and saw a dentist who put a deep fear of them in me. In the last few years, I've found a dentist who offer sedation and helps with people who have a phobia of dentists. They're amazing. They've always been kind. Recently I had a crown placed on one of my molars and something has gone wrong. I apparently had bad decay in that tooth and the nerve is being stimulated now. My regular dentist sent me to an endodontist since their office does not offer that service. The new guy doesn't offer sedation, so I was duly petrified over the prospect of having them drilling and filling and all sorts of things I've never experienced before. He was as kind as possible and offered a pill sedative to take before the appointment. Wednesday I go back for either a root canal or a permanent filling. I'm still feeling a whole lot of anxiety but trust this endodontist based on his "bedside" manner.
I am also relying heavily on my faith that whatever happens, God will be with me and I will be able to handle it.
So, how do you feel about dentists?
Monday, November 13, 2017
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Day 12 - the ridiculous situations in which I've found myself
Have you ever had to administer medication in the middle of Target? Have you had to chug a juice box while paying for food in a drive-through? How about using dollar tree candy to save your life?
Did you know that you can freak out workers in a retail store when your medical device fails and shrieks loudly and insistently-because it is humiliating and hilarious.
I have had infusion sites ripped out while at the grocery store and for me it was not an option to just wait til I get home to replace it, so I've had to lift my shirt and expose my belly to place new medical equipment on myself in the grocery store. More recently, I had omni pods fail in Target, Dollar Tree, the movies, and thrift stores. I've injected insulin to combat a raging high blood sugar in public, and it's simply irritating. I know there are others out there who hate the stigma and attention garnered by doing something so out of the ordinary for those without knowledge of Type 1. Personally after 17 years with this pain in the ass, I really don't give a rip most days and try to be a good "ambassador" to those without T1D.
Just today, I had been running high all morning, drove around the metro area with my family to an emergency dental appointment and shopping until we were able to head home. We had to stop to grab a bite to eat and in the drive-through I felt that sickly weak knee feeling and knew I was low. My Dexcom had just alerted reaffirming my feeling of being low. I grabbed a juice box and bit open the foil hole because I lost the straw. As I handed over payment I was pounding back the juice. It was embarrassing but a medical necessity.
T1D allows very little in the way of modesty sometimes. It's made it to where I've exposed my belly in a grocery store, placed new pods while in the kids clothing section of Target, and tested my blood sugar in so many places, I can't even remember them all.
If you are reading this and don't have Type 1 Diabetes, please make sure you let others know that we don't want to draw attention to ourselves, that we are simply doing what we need to stay alive, and that making a big deal out of it is not the best course of action if you see someone caring for themselves in public. Some of us welcome questions, especially to educate misconceptions and myths, but others prefer to keep their journey with T1D to themselves and dislike the extra attention.
Did you know that you can freak out workers in a retail store when your medical device fails and shrieks loudly and insistently-because it is humiliating and hilarious.
I have had infusion sites ripped out while at the grocery store and for me it was not an option to just wait til I get home to replace it, so I've had to lift my shirt and expose my belly to place new medical equipment on myself in the grocery store. More recently, I had omni pods fail in Target, Dollar Tree, the movies, and thrift stores. I've injected insulin to combat a raging high blood sugar in public, and it's simply irritating. I know there are others out there who hate the stigma and attention garnered by doing something so out of the ordinary for those without knowledge of Type 1. Personally after 17 years with this pain in the ass, I really don't give a rip most days and try to be a good "ambassador" to those without T1D.
Just today, I had been running high all morning, drove around the metro area with my family to an emergency dental appointment and shopping until we were able to head home. We had to stop to grab a bite to eat and in the drive-through I felt that sickly weak knee feeling and knew I was low. My Dexcom had just alerted reaffirming my feeling of being low. I grabbed a juice box and bit open the foil hole because I lost the straw. As I handed over payment I was pounding back the juice. It was embarrassing but a medical necessity.
T1D allows very little in the way of modesty sometimes. It's made it to where I've exposed my belly in a grocery store, placed new pods while in the kids clothing section of Target, and tested my blood sugar in so many places, I can't even remember them all.
If you are reading this and don't have Type 1 Diabetes, please make sure you let others know that we don't want to draw attention to ourselves, that we are simply doing what we need to stay alive, and that making a big deal out of it is not the best course of action if you see someone caring for themselves in public. Some of us welcome questions, especially to educate misconceptions and myths, but others prefer to keep their journey with T1D to themselves and dislike the extra attention.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Day 11- dreams ended
With my diagnosis of T1D, my dream of joining the Marine Corps ended.
I had plans to sign up after high school, become a Marine, and serve my country.
That ended the moment my doc said "You have Type 1 Diabetes" and my plans were shredded.
I lost my goal, I lost my hopes and dreams. I also gained a deeper appreciation for those who COULD serve by defending our nation.
I learned more about other options, and started new dreams, new goals.
I changed my plan from being a member of our military to getting a college degree. I had never had plans to be a mother, but knew I wanted a husband one day.
Over the following years, my goals were reached, and my plans changed even more. I have infertility issue and am beyond thankful for God blessing us with two babies who made it to birth and are thriving little girls now. We were also blessed with a third pregnancy but that one didn't end up with a live baby, we lost that one early on. We planned on the number of children we would have but T1D, hypothyroidism, and ultimately God let us know we would have to adjust our plans to just our two girls.
One thing about Type 1 that I dislike greatly, and need to learn to accept without anger more fully, is its ability to change my plans, both short and long term.
I had plans to sign up after high school, become a Marine, and serve my country.
That ended the moment my doc said "You have Type 1 Diabetes" and my plans were shredded.
I lost my goal, I lost my hopes and dreams. I also gained a deeper appreciation for those who COULD serve by defending our nation.
I learned more about other options, and started new dreams, new goals.
I changed my plan from being a member of our military to getting a college degree. I had never had plans to be a mother, but knew I wanted a husband one day.
Over the following years, my goals were reached, and my plans changed even more. I have infertility issue and am beyond thankful for God blessing us with two babies who made it to birth and are thriving little girls now. We were also blessed with a third pregnancy but that one didn't end up with a live baby, we lost that one early on. We planned on the number of children we would have but T1D, hypothyroidism, and ultimately God let us know we would have to adjust our plans to just our two girls.
One thing about Type 1 that I dislike greatly, and need to learn to accept without anger more fully, is its ability to change my plans, both short and long term.
Friday, November 10, 2017
Day 10- when bad days are made worse by raging blood sugars
Some days suck. It's life. Things go wrong, people get fevers, have grumpy moods, or all the little things irritate you.
One those really crappy days that start out rough from the moment I wake up, my bloodsugars play into the cycle of crappy moments. I get irritable when they get too high and then all the mild irritations seem way worse. Then I get more ticked and they get higher. I take more insulin and it makes me feel worse emotionally because I know it means that is just one more thing making it hard to lose weight.
Sometimes I just let go, eat what I want, rage bolus like a madwoman, and pray tomorrow is a better day. That can help by reducing my stress levels, which helps the BGs return to a normal range. Other days I get pissy and work harder to get them in range, take less insulin and go without eating and exercise more.
Today is a bad BG day, an emotionally crappy day, and physically I feel like hell because of both those factors on top of dental issues.
I haven't decided on how I will fight the highs- but I will fight because a slow death from organ and tissue damage is not what I want, no matter how bad of a day I can have.
One those really crappy days that start out rough from the moment I wake up, my bloodsugars play into the cycle of crappy moments. I get irritable when they get too high and then all the mild irritations seem way worse. Then I get more ticked and they get higher. I take more insulin and it makes me feel worse emotionally because I know it means that is just one more thing making it hard to lose weight.
Sometimes I just let go, eat what I want, rage bolus like a madwoman, and pray tomorrow is a better day. That can help by reducing my stress levels, which helps the BGs return to a normal range. Other days I get pissy and work harder to get them in range, take less insulin and go without eating and exercise more.
Today is a bad BG day, an emotionally crappy day, and physically I feel like hell because of both those factors on top of dental issues.
I haven't decided on how I will fight the highs- but I will fight because a slow death from organ and tissue damage is not what I want, no matter how bad of a day I can have.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Day 9- My faith and coping with a chronic invisible illness
I am posting about my own journey and do not even dream of speaking or others on this issue.
I am Catholic. My faith has been part of me since I was born. My mother is Catholic, and my father was a man whobelieved strongly in God, but held an extremely strong dislike of organized religion after being raised as "hard shell southern baptist" according to him.
I was raised with Catholic beliefs, but was a Catechumen (un-baptized at all) until I was 20. Things happened in my babyhood with my family that led my lack of baptism. I was a typical teen and questioned God, whether He was real or made up, and all sorts of things teens may do when questioning everything ever taught to them because, well, they're teenagers.
I was diagnosed at age 15, smack in the middle of that questioning phase. I never felt atheist, it was more a period of agnosticism, I guess?
As I learned to live with this illness, and got through the stages of grief associated with a life changing diagnosis, my faith became stronger. I had the event of dating my first boyfriend shortly before turning 17, who was a practicing Catholic and began attending Mass regularly when he was home from college. It sparked in me the desire to get married in the church and to do that, I needed to be fully be a member of the church.
It wasn't until I was 18 that I began RCIA classes, but due to my lack of consistent self care, my health deteriorated and I stopped attending classes for a while, a year passed, and I returned with a renewed desire to becoming Catholic. In the spring of 2005, I was baptized, confirmed, and received the Eucharist. My faith felt stronger than ever, but college and my health were at the forefront of my mind, and so my health went downhill yet again.
I stopped attending Mass, emotionally, I was drowning in the failures of high A1cs, being put on another lifelong medication thanks to a second autoimmune diagnosis, and just feeling crappy.
Through all this, I still believed in God, the church, and have felt at peace and at home as a Catholic.
After a number of years dating one guy, we ended things. The affection just went stagnant. To this day, I am happy we ended things, and am quite thankful God led me to my husband instead.
Gods been a huge part of my life, even when I was ignoring Him.
He was there when people prayed for me, and when I got over my teen angst and prayed for myself and others. He was there, comforting me when I lost my father to complications from heart surgery. He was there when I lost my childhood dog of twelve years, and my best friend ended her own life. He was there when I met my husband, when we married, when my grandmother died, when my children were born, He is there for it all.
I find great comfort in my faith, through the good and terrible times.
I have people in my life whom I love like family who are atheists, agnostics, those who are faithful to other religions, and that is okay. My faith is a very personal journey, and I am not one o judge for another's faith or lack thereof. That's for them to have, that relationship with Him, or lack of. It's not for me to judge, condemn, celebrate, or bemoan.
For me, my faith helps ease the darkness of depression, the loneliness of living far from extended family, and lessens the fear and frustration of not being able to depend on the physical presence of my husband, who travels for work.
He is there for me in the really bad days of having a chronic illness. He is there to listen when I cry and scream in utter hopeless moments when I am fighting with every thing I have to get my bloodsugars to just stay in range. When I am struggling against insomnia and exhaustion caused by an under active thyroid, when my skin cracks and bleeds because a patch of skin has a psoriasis flare-up, He is there to offer comfort, to listen as I beg for the patience to get through it. He is there for me.
God is how I cope, and I thank Him every day for my faith.
I am Catholic. My faith has been part of me since I was born. My mother is Catholic, and my father was a man whobelieved strongly in God, but held an extremely strong dislike of organized religion after being raised as "hard shell southern baptist" according to him.
I was raised with Catholic beliefs, but was a Catechumen (un-baptized at all) until I was 20. Things happened in my babyhood with my family that led my lack of baptism. I was a typical teen and questioned God, whether He was real or made up, and all sorts of things teens may do when questioning everything ever taught to them because, well, they're teenagers.
I was diagnosed at age 15, smack in the middle of that questioning phase. I never felt atheist, it was more a period of agnosticism, I guess?
As I learned to live with this illness, and got through the stages of grief associated with a life changing diagnosis, my faith became stronger. I had the event of dating my first boyfriend shortly before turning 17, who was a practicing Catholic and began attending Mass regularly when he was home from college. It sparked in me the desire to get married in the church and to do that, I needed to be fully be a member of the church.
It wasn't until I was 18 that I began RCIA classes, but due to my lack of consistent self care, my health deteriorated and I stopped attending classes for a while, a year passed, and I returned with a renewed desire to becoming Catholic. In the spring of 2005, I was baptized, confirmed, and received the Eucharist. My faith felt stronger than ever, but college and my health were at the forefront of my mind, and so my health went downhill yet again.
I stopped attending Mass, emotionally, I was drowning in the failures of high A1cs, being put on another lifelong medication thanks to a second autoimmune diagnosis, and just feeling crappy.
Through all this, I still believed in God, the church, and have felt at peace and at home as a Catholic.
After a number of years dating one guy, we ended things. The affection just went stagnant. To this day, I am happy we ended things, and am quite thankful God led me to my husband instead.
Gods been a huge part of my life, even when I was ignoring Him.
He was there when people prayed for me, and when I got over my teen angst and prayed for myself and others. He was there, comforting me when I lost my father to complications from heart surgery. He was there when I lost my childhood dog of twelve years, and my best friend ended her own life. He was there when I met my husband, when we married, when my grandmother died, when my children were born, He is there for it all.
I find great comfort in my faith, through the good and terrible times.
I have people in my life whom I love like family who are atheists, agnostics, those who are faithful to other religions, and that is okay. My faith is a very personal journey, and I am not one o judge for another's faith or lack thereof. That's for them to have, that relationship with Him, or lack of. It's not for me to judge, condemn, celebrate, or bemoan.
For me, my faith helps ease the darkness of depression, the loneliness of living far from extended family, and lessens the fear and frustration of not being able to depend on the physical presence of my husband, who travels for work.
He is there for me in the really bad days of having a chronic illness. He is there to listen when I cry and scream in utter hopeless moments when I am fighting with every thing I have to get my bloodsugars to just stay in range. When I am struggling against insomnia and exhaustion caused by an under active thyroid, when my skin cracks and bleeds because a patch of skin has a psoriasis flare-up, He is there to offer comfort, to listen as I beg for the patience to get through it. He is there for me.
God is how I cope, and I thank Him every day for my faith.
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Day 8- a lack of continuity
No two days are ever the same.
I can have two 24 hour periods of time where everything is the same. I eat the same foods at the same times both days. Do the same physical activity the same way both days, dose the exact same amount of insulin for all of this and NEVER have the same blood glucose levels for those 2 24 hour time spans.
Diabetes is the most unpredictable uncontrollable disease with all the tools to help us do just that.
Some of us use insulin pumps, CGM systems, meal diaries, meal plans, supplements, MDI (multiple daily injections) via syringe and vial or pre-filled pens, specialized diets that exclude gluten, others that are vegan, and still so many other tools are used. I know some people who go for organic foods with no extra hormones, foods made from scratch at home with alternatives to popular ingredients because those strategies work best for their families.
No one plan fits us all, because we are ALL different and there are so many factors that we can't control.
Our hormones are always changing, if you're a woman with Type 1, your menstrual cycle can affect your bloodsugar control. EVERYTHING can have a role in altering your BG levels.
So while I may make two days be identical in every controllable way, there are still variables I can't control that impact my bloodsugar. I do my best, and some days are better than others, but the fight never ends.
I can have two 24 hour periods of time where everything is the same. I eat the same foods at the same times both days. Do the same physical activity the same way both days, dose the exact same amount of insulin for all of this and NEVER have the same blood glucose levels for those 2 24 hour time spans.
Diabetes is the most unpredictable uncontrollable disease with all the tools to help us do just that.
Some of us use insulin pumps, CGM systems, meal diaries, meal plans, supplements, MDI (multiple daily injections) via syringe and vial or pre-filled pens, specialized diets that exclude gluten, others that are vegan, and still so many other tools are used. I know some people who go for organic foods with no extra hormones, foods made from scratch at home with alternatives to popular ingredients because those strategies work best for their families.
No one plan fits us all, because we are ALL different and there are so many factors that we can't control.
Our hormones are always changing, if you're a woman with Type 1, your menstrual cycle can affect your bloodsugar control. EVERYTHING can have a role in altering your BG levels.
So while I may make two days be identical in every controllable way, there are still variables I can't control that impact my bloodsugar. I do my best, and some days are better than others, but the fight never ends.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Day 7- other health issues
Other health issues when you have T1D.
Since T1 is an autoimmune disease, it stands to reason that some of those with one autoimmune issue have others.
Personally, I have three autoimmune issues. The biggest one is T1, next up is hypothyroidism, and the mild of the three is psoriasis.
The diabetes is treated with insulin and a healthy diet, but there is no cure. The hypothyroidism is treated with synthetic thyroid pills. I treat the skin issues with coconut oil.
Each person with autoimmune issues can have one or more things going on. Our bodies are just super nifty and go a tab bit crazy and wrongly identify perfectly functioning body parts as invaders and set out to destroy them.
I pray that my body is done goofing up the invader identification and I develop no more autoimmune diseases.
Since T1 is an autoimmune disease, it stands to reason that some of those with one autoimmune issue have others.
Personally, I have three autoimmune issues. The biggest one is T1, next up is hypothyroidism, and the mild of the three is psoriasis.
The diabetes is treated with insulin and a healthy diet, but there is no cure. The hypothyroidism is treated with synthetic thyroid pills. I treat the skin issues with coconut oil.
Each person with autoimmune issues can have one or more things going on. Our bodies are just super nifty and go a tab bit crazy and wrongly identify perfectly functioning body parts as invaders and set out to destroy them.
I pray that my body is done goofing up the invader identification and I develop no more autoimmune diseases.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Day 6- pregnancy with T1D
Pregnancy and Type 1.
The ONLY good thing about having T1D is not having to take the glucose tolerance test for gestational diabetes.
Other than that, I found the disease to be a royal pain in the neck when I was pregnant. I had the benefit of being on an insulin pump, as it made controlling my BGs slightly easier. If I were to have more children, I imagine the Dexcom will make my control better.
When women have T1D and are pregnant, it can be dangerous for both mom and baby. Early in the pregnancy, high BGs can lead to birth defects and miscarriage. In the late stage of pregnancy, hyperglycemia can cause higher birth weight of babies, which can make it harder for vaginal deliveries, resulting c-sections- opening up another round of complications associated with a major abdominal surgery. Maternal hyperglycemia also causes hyPOglycemia in newborn babies, usually remedied by feeding the baby or with IV dextrose if the case calls for it.
Low blood glucose levels at any point in the pregnancy can lead to unconscious, coma, and death, as with any time in the life of a person with T1D, but are not as harmful the the unborn as is hyperglycemia.
The goals of women with T1D are usually to conceive with a safe, low HbA1c, and when that does not happen, to lower it by increasing frequency of checking blood sugar and treating the numbers appropriately. Unlike the movie "Steel Magnolias" women with T1D CAN and DO have healthy pregnancies, healthy babies, and will not automatically die from kidney disease, thanks to advances in technology.
All this said- insulin is not a cure, a pump is not a replacement pancreas, and a CGM does not do the work for me. We need a cure, but until then, we fight like hell to live good lives.
The ONLY good thing about having T1D is not having to take the glucose tolerance test for gestational diabetes.
Other than that, I found the disease to be a royal pain in the neck when I was pregnant. I had the benefit of being on an insulin pump, as it made controlling my BGs slightly easier. If I were to have more children, I imagine the Dexcom will make my control better.
When women have T1D and are pregnant, it can be dangerous for both mom and baby. Early in the pregnancy, high BGs can lead to birth defects and miscarriage. In the late stage of pregnancy, hyperglycemia can cause higher birth weight of babies, which can make it harder for vaginal deliveries, resulting c-sections- opening up another round of complications associated with a major abdominal surgery. Maternal hyperglycemia also causes hyPOglycemia in newborn babies, usually remedied by feeding the baby or with IV dextrose if the case calls for it.
Low blood glucose levels at any point in the pregnancy can lead to unconscious, coma, and death, as with any time in the life of a person with T1D, but are not as harmful the the unborn as is hyperglycemia.
The goals of women with T1D are usually to conceive with a safe, low HbA1c, and when that does not happen, to lower it by increasing frequency of checking blood sugar and treating the numbers appropriately. Unlike the movie "Steel Magnolias" women with T1D CAN and DO have healthy pregnancies, healthy babies, and will not automatically die from kidney disease, thanks to advances in technology.
All this said- insulin is not a cure, a pump is not a replacement pancreas, and a CGM does not do the work for me. We need a cure, but until then, we fight like hell to live good lives.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Day 5- the horrors of sugar free candy
When I was first diagnosed, I was gifted with a few bags of sugar free candy. I tried it, but it never sat well with me. I'd have a serving, it would still spike my blood sugar, and it didn't taste nearly as good as regular candy.
One day, I was distracted with a football game. It wasn't long after diagnosis, I was sitting watching a football game on tv, and was in the mode of mindless snacking. I'd pop a piece into my mouth, chew it, swallow it, and grab another - and had about three servings of hard candies before the inevitable happened. I ran to the bathroom and spent an hour in agony.
It turns out sugar free candy can act as a laxative. From that fateful day on, I've not touched sugar free candy. I will and do eat the regular stuff, and bolus accordingly. No more laxative-by-accident incidents.
If you are reading this as a non-diabetic, please remember to not gift a Type 1 with this stuff. It is an incredibly sweet gesture, it's very considerate, and I can attest to being appreciative of the time it takes to get someone a gift seemingly tailored to their needs.
Aside from it having a laxative effect, the flavor is not the same as the regular stuff, the texture of the chocolate is inferior, and we still need to take insulin to cover the carbs. Despite being labeled as sugar free, there are still carbs, and in general we must take insulin when we ingest them.
One day, I was distracted with a football game. It wasn't long after diagnosis, I was sitting watching a football game on tv, and was in the mode of mindless snacking. I'd pop a piece into my mouth, chew it, swallow it, and grab another - and had about three servings of hard candies before the inevitable happened. I ran to the bathroom and spent an hour in agony.
It turns out sugar free candy can act as a laxative. From that fateful day on, I've not touched sugar free candy. I will and do eat the regular stuff, and bolus accordingly. No more laxative-by-accident incidents.
If you are reading this as a non-diabetic, please remember to not gift a Type 1 with this stuff. It is an incredibly sweet gesture, it's very considerate, and I can attest to being appreciative of the time it takes to get someone a gift seemingly tailored to their needs.
Aside from it having a laxative effect, the flavor is not the same as the regular stuff, the texture of the chocolate is inferior, and we still need to take insulin to cover the carbs. Despite being labeled as sugar free, there are still carbs, and in general we must take insulin when we ingest them.
Saturday, November 4, 2017
Day 4 - consequences of high blood glucose levels
When my blood sugar levels get too high, I become physically ill. My head hurts, heart races and pounds heavily, I get very thirsty, and soon have to pee very often.
Those are the external immediate signs of hyperglycemia.
Internally, my blood becomes thicker than it should due to the glucose flowing in my veins. The tiny capillaries do not get proper blood flow, and those tissues supplied by them are deprived of vital nutrients. Insulin acts like a key. The cells are the locked doors.
If this goes on too long, a dangerous condition called diabetic ketoacidosis will develop. An oversimplified explanation is as follows. With too little insulin and too much sugar in my blood stream, the locks aren't opened, the glucose can't enter the cell, this is bad. Cells need fuel to function, with the glucose fuel, fat reserves are used for fuel, which is a system of bad things which cause damage to the kidneys. Fat is released from fat cells, they travel to the liver and are transformed into ketone units to be used as muscle cell fuel sources. Without insulin to stop this process and use glucose as fuel, the fat cells and liver keep doing their thing, causing a buildup of ketones and ketoacids. It changes the acid level of the blood, and at that point, it is a life threatening medical emergency.
Aside from DKA, hyperglycemia causes damage to organs and tissues, which is why diabetics can lose digits, limbs, vision, and develop organ failure of the kidneys.
I and all other T1s do our best to avoid this. Its dangerous, potentially deadly, and it feels like hell to live through.
Those are the external immediate signs of hyperglycemia.
Internally, my blood becomes thicker than it should due to the glucose flowing in my veins. The tiny capillaries do not get proper blood flow, and those tissues supplied by them are deprived of vital nutrients. Insulin acts like a key. The cells are the locked doors.
If this goes on too long, a dangerous condition called diabetic ketoacidosis will develop. An oversimplified explanation is as follows. With too little insulin and too much sugar in my blood stream, the locks aren't opened, the glucose can't enter the cell, this is bad. Cells need fuel to function, with the glucose fuel, fat reserves are used for fuel, which is a system of bad things which cause damage to the kidneys. Fat is released from fat cells, they travel to the liver and are transformed into ketone units to be used as muscle cell fuel sources. Without insulin to stop this process and use glucose as fuel, the fat cells and liver keep doing their thing, causing a buildup of ketones and ketoacids. It changes the acid level of the blood, and at that point, it is a life threatening medical emergency.
Aside from DKA, hyperglycemia causes damage to organs and tissues, which is why diabetics can lose digits, limbs, vision, and develop organ failure of the kidneys.
I and all other T1s do our best to avoid this. Its dangerous, potentially deadly, and it feels like hell to live through.
Friday, November 3, 2017
Day 3- night time lows
Today, I am going to describe the scary nights. Ones like last night and the night before.
It starts with being jerked awake, feeling utterly disoriented. Then I am grumpy because why am I awake in the middle of the flipping night? Next is that feeling. It feels as though I were being zapped by low current electric wires all over, I'm jittery and cant concentrate. By instinct, I know I am low. I've felt it hundreds, literally hundreds of times before. I fumble for my phone to shut off the Dexcom alerting to my low glucose level and feel the other fun parts of hypoglycemia- the sweat. I am soaked head to toe, my hair is as though I just stepped from the shower, my pajamas are sticking to me, as though I just ran a marathon in Louisiana, next to a bayou, in August. My hand gropes in the dark on my headboard shelf for a juice box, failing to be quiet in a vain attempt to not wake my husband. He awakens enough to ask if I need help, something he can do while mostly still asleep as he has helped save me many times over our nearly nine years of marriage.
I mumble out "lowww" and finally stab the straw through the hole in the top of the Hi-C, pull the straw out and pound back the sugary drink as though I were a frat boy at a raging kegger. Once it's downed, I am still shaking badly, but I get up and strip, grab a towel from my bathroom and dry off, dress in clean nightclothes, crawl back between the sheets and drift off. Sometimes I start to feel my bg rising again and am safe to sleep, while other times I over-eat for the low, causing my bg to spike too high. Fear can do that. Fear has caused me to overtreat many times in the night, especially when my husband is away for work.
These lows are scary to say the least. They're also irritating because it means broken sleep, sugar ingested after teeth being brushed and I never remember to brush after a low because I am TIRED, and I can die.
So very many Type 1s have lost their lives from slipping into a coma and dying from low blood sugar. This can and does kill. The brain needs sugar to work. The glucose in our blood travels to our brain, and the cells take is from the blood and use it. The brain does not store glucose, so when the glucose levels in the blood go low, the brain gets "first dibs" on nutrients in blood, so the other organs lose out in a hypoglycemic episode. The muscles don't want to work well, which makes it difficult to function to treat the low. Once the glucose levels fall too low, the brain has no fuel from the glucose, and it too, shuts down. We lose consciousness, then we stop breathing, and we die.
I use a Dexcom continuous glucose monitor. It is a medical device that uses a sensor with a tiny metal filament inserted at an angle under my skin to read the glucose levels every 5 minutes. A transmitter is attached to the sensor and uses Bluetooth to send the information to a receiver. I use my phone with its compatible app as mine. This technology has helped my husband and myself save my life often in the year and a half since I began wearing it.
I appreciate the tech that I use to stay alive. I affectionately call them my Borg implants. Without them, my health was out of control and I was slowly dying. Now, I'm happily living and fighting like hell to stay that way.
It starts with being jerked awake, feeling utterly disoriented. Then I am grumpy because why am I awake in the middle of the flipping night? Next is that feeling. It feels as though I were being zapped by low current electric wires all over, I'm jittery and cant concentrate. By instinct, I know I am low. I've felt it hundreds, literally hundreds of times before. I fumble for my phone to shut off the Dexcom alerting to my low glucose level and feel the other fun parts of hypoglycemia- the sweat. I am soaked head to toe, my hair is as though I just stepped from the shower, my pajamas are sticking to me, as though I just ran a marathon in Louisiana, next to a bayou, in August. My hand gropes in the dark on my headboard shelf for a juice box, failing to be quiet in a vain attempt to not wake my husband. He awakens enough to ask if I need help, something he can do while mostly still asleep as he has helped save me many times over our nearly nine years of marriage.
I mumble out "lowww" and finally stab the straw through the hole in the top of the Hi-C, pull the straw out and pound back the sugary drink as though I were a frat boy at a raging kegger. Once it's downed, I am still shaking badly, but I get up and strip, grab a towel from my bathroom and dry off, dress in clean nightclothes, crawl back between the sheets and drift off. Sometimes I start to feel my bg rising again and am safe to sleep, while other times I over-eat for the low, causing my bg to spike too high. Fear can do that. Fear has caused me to overtreat many times in the night, especially when my husband is away for work.
These lows are scary to say the least. They're also irritating because it means broken sleep, sugar ingested after teeth being brushed and I never remember to brush after a low because I am TIRED, and I can die.
So very many Type 1s have lost their lives from slipping into a coma and dying from low blood sugar. This can and does kill. The brain needs sugar to work. The glucose in our blood travels to our brain, and the cells take is from the blood and use it. The brain does not store glucose, so when the glucose levels in the blood go low, the brain gets "first dibs" on nutrients in blood, so the other organs lose out in a hypoglycemic episode. The muscles don't want to work well, which makes it difficult to function to treat the low. Once the glucose levels fall too low, the brain has no fuel from the glucose, and it too, shuts down. We lose consciousness, then we stop breathing, and we die.
I use a Dexcom continuous glucose monitor. It is a medical device that uses a sensor with a tiny metal filament inserted at an angle under my skin to read the glucose levels every 5 minutes. A transmitter is attached to the sensor and uses Bluetooth to send the information to a receiver. I use my phone with its compatible app as mine. This technology has helped my husband and myself save my life often in the year and a half since I began wearing it.
I appreciate the tech that I use to stay alive. I affectionately call them my Borg implants. Without them, my health was out of control and I was slowly dying. Now, I'm happily living and fighting like hell to stay that way.
Thursday, November 2, 2017
Day 2
I left off yesterday with getting home from the hospital to start my life with T1. I knew of only one other person with T1 in my life at that point. He was a year ahead of me in school and hated to talk about it, so we didn't really bond over that one thing in common.
When I was diagnosed and educated, it felt like I was being educated for an "old person's disease from the tone of the educator and there being no gestures made to get me in contact with a support group, or anything it was just left unspoken. I was directed to a pediatric endocrinologist who I saw once. The man weirded me out so very badly I never went back, so all my diabetes care fell to my gp. I went years without knowing anything about the JDRF, without knowing about others like me. It was in 2000, and I was not able to access internet unless it was at school or my sister's apartment, and there existed much fewer resources for teens with T1. By the time I learned about diabetes camp for kids with T1, I was too old to even be a counselor. I missed out on socializing with others like me. I went through 12 semesters of college without meeting another T1. I was also ignoring my T1, and ending up hospitalized on numerous occasions but that is a post for another day.
Today, I know two other T1s in my town. We are all different yet share this diagnosis. One is an athletic, smart, courageous boy who is coming up on his first diaversary, and the other is a gal who is beautiful, funny, and hardworking. We are all different ages, with different families, and none of us did anything to cause Type 1 diabetes to happen.
I tried a "local" support group but it is more than an hour away and the few times I went, there was at least 20 years between me and the next youngest person and the rest were in their 60s and up. I felt out of place. I've signed up two different years to do the JDRF walk. Once was when I had one child, and she was under six months old, and I felt so self-conscious that I was miserable-post baby body, shy, and just out of place among all these children with T1, the only thing we had in common was this awful diagnosis. I signed up a second time to walk with that support group, and it was nice but again, the age difference was glaringly obvious. They have grandkids older than my two. Once we were done with 'betes talk, there was nothing really left to say.
This feels to me like an isolating thing, to have this condition where I can't make plans and stick to them every time because my health goes haywire for no apparent reason.
I finally found other people with Type 1 with whom I share more than having T1. On Facebook, I have found a few groups. Those of us who use Dexcom, who use Omni Pods, those of us who are moms, and those of us who are females. I finally have found people who understand from my point of view what life is like with this particular chronic condition.
My family and friends all are supportive. I am thankful for each and every one of them.
When I was diagnosed and educated, it felt like I was being educated for an "old person's disease from the tone of the educator and there being no gestures made to get me in contact with a support group, or anything it was just left unspoken. I was directed to a pediatric endocrinologist who I saw once. The man weirded me out so very badly I never went back, so all my diabetes care fell to my gp. I went years without knowing anything about the JDRF, without knowing about others like me. It was in 2000, and I was not able to access internet unless it was at school or my sister's apartment, and there existed much fewer resources for teens with T1. By the time I learned about diabetes camp for kids with T1, I was too old to even be a counselor. I missed out on socializing with others like me. I went through 12 semesters of college without meeting another T1. I was also ignoring my T1, and ending up hospitalized on numerous occasions but that is a post for another day.
Today, I know two other T1s in my town. We are all different yet share this diagnosis. One is an athletic, smart, courageous boy who is coming up on his first diaversary, and the other is a gal who is beautiful, funny, and hardworking. We are all different ages, with different families, and none of us did anything to cause Type 1 diabetes to happen.
I tried a "local" support group but it is more than an hour away and the few times I went, there was at least 20 years between me and the next youngest person and the rest were in their 60s and up. I felt out of place. I've signed up two different years to do the JDRF walk. Once was when I had one child, and she was under six months old, and I felt so self-conscious that I was miserable-post baby body, shy, and just out of place among all these children with T1, the only thing we had in common was this awful diagnosis. I signed up a second time to walk with that support group, and it was nice but again, the age difference was glaringly obvious. They have grandkids older than my two. Once we were done with 'betes talk, there was nothing really left to say.
This feels to me like an isolating thing, to have this condition where I can't make plans and stick to them every time because my health goes haywire for no apparent reason.
I finally found other people with Type 1 with whom I share more than having T1. On Facebook, I have found a few groups. Those of us who use Dexcom, who use Omni Pods, those of us who are moms, and those of us who are females. I finally have found people who understand from my point of view what life is like with this particular chronic condition.
My family and friends all are supportive. I am thankful for each and every one of them.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
November is Diabetes Awareness month. Day 1
I plan to write a post each day about living with Type 1.
This may be a lofty goal as I am not a consistent blog poster.
I will start with my diagnosis.
I had been ill since April of 2000. I was 15 and had no clue what was wrong with me. My mom's job was having issues with their chosen health insurance providers. We did not have confirmation of coverage so going to the doc for a well-check wasn't on the horizon until it was all straightened out, and we had no idea how serious my symptoms were.
For five and a half months I was always tired, always thirsty, peeing A LOT but not losing weight and my grades were still normal. Then came October of my sophomore year of high school. I began to lost my hearing, my vision was getting worse by the day. Finally insurance was settled. I saw a commercial one night for a medication for overactive bladder, and all the people in the commercial were older adults, not teen girls. I told my mom about my peeing ALL THE TIME and told her I was worried, plus it was getting really hard to hear. The day of my appointment came, the doctor was more concerned with my hearing and flushed my ears. I was diagnosed with impacted earwax, and was told to come back in a week for a re-check. When I asked about the peeing constantly, he said I would have a finger prick to test me at my re-check. I didn't know any better, so I didn't argue.
A week goes by, it's now October 10, 2000, my hearing is better as the wax was removed. I go to the re-check, and a different doctor checked me over, and did a finger stick. The nurse came in, took a drop of blood and waited about a minute for the tester to show her whatever they were checking. The doctor came in a few minutes after this. With a grim look, he told me I needed to go to the hospital immediately, I had diabetes and my blood sugar was very high. I asked if I could grab stuff from home first and he said yes, but be quick and since my appointment was at the end of the business day to head directly to the ER to be admitted.
I go home, back my Walkman CD player, a bunch of my favorite discs, and a couple of sets of clothes (lazy pants, shirts, jeans). Right before we left for my appointment, my next door neighbor had been baking sugar cookies with her young daughters. She told me to come get one when I got back, so before my mom and dad brought me to the ER, I knocked on her door and said "I'll have to get one when I got out of the hospital, I was just diagnosed with diabetes and the doc is sending me to be admitted." She was shocked to say the least. After I got out, she told me they turned out badly and all four of their family members got sick from eating them O.O
Once we got to the ER, they admitted me to the telemetry floor as pediatrics was too full, so in addition to having to have an IV for insulin and fluids, I got the wonderful experience of being required by the regulations for that unit to wear a heart monitor. I stayed at the hospital for three nights and three days. I as educated on insulin injections by a diabetic educator whose specialty was Type 2 diabetes. I learned to inject myself with insulin. I was but on humulin R and humulin N right away. I was a crappy version to me, as I had to gently mix one vial up then combine both types of insulin in the syringe before injecting. I was put on a schedule for when to eat and how many carbs I needed throughout the day. It was HELL.
I made it home, and started my life as a 15 year old female with Type 1 Diabetes.
I will continue with more of life as a newly diagnosed diabetic in future posts.
This may be a lofty goal as I am not a consistent blog poster.
I will start with my diagnosis.
I had been ill since April of 2000. I was 15 and had no clue what was wrong with me. My mom's job was having issues with their chosen health insurance providers. We did not have confirmation of coverage so going to the doc for a well-check wasn't on the horizon until it was all straightened out, and we had no idea how serious my symptoms were.
For five and a half months I was always tired, always thirsty, peeing A LOT but not losing weight and my grades were still normal. Then came October of my sophomore year of high school. I began to lost my hearing, my vision was getting worse by the day. Finally insurance was settled. I saw a commercial one night for a medication for overactive bladder, and all the people in the commercial were older adults, not teen girls. I told my mom about my peeing ALL THE TIME and told her I was worried, plus it was getting really hard to hear. The day of my appointment came, the doctor was more concerned with my hearing and flushed my ears. I was diagnosed with impacted earwax, and was told to come back in a week for a re-check. When I asked about the peeing constantly, he said I would have a finger prick to test me at my re-check. I didn't know any better, so I didn't argue.
A week goes by, it's now October 10, 2000, my hearing is better as the wax was removed. I go to the re-check, and a different doctor checked me over, and did a finger stick. The nurse came in, took a drop of blood and waited about a minute for the tester to show her whatever they were checking. The doctor came in a few minutes after this. With a grim look, he told me I needed to go to the hospital immediately, I had diabetes and my blood sugar was very high. I asked if I could grab stuff from home first and he said yes, but be quick and since my appointment was at the end of the business day to head directly to the ER to be admitted.
I go home, back my Walkman CD player, a bunch of my favorite discs, and a couple of sets of clothes (lazy pants, shirts, jeans). Right before we left for my appointment, my next door neighbor had been baking sugar cookies with her young daughters. She told me to come get one when I got back, so before my mom and dad brought me to the ER, I knocked on her door and said "I'll have to get one when I got out of the hospital, I was just diagnosed with diabetes and the doc is sending me to be admitted." She was shocked to say the least. After I got out, she told me they turned out badly and all four of their family members got sick from eating them O.O
Once we got to the ER, they admitted me to the telemetry floor as pediatrics was too full, so in addition to having to have an IV for insulin and fluids, I got the wonderful experience of being required by the regulations for that unit to wear a heart monitor. I stayed at the hospital for three nights and three days. I as educated on insulin injections by a diabetic educator whose specialty was Type 2 diabetes. I learned to inject myself with insulin. I was but on humulin R and humulin N right away. I was a crappy version to me, as I had to gently mix one vial up then combine both types of insulin in the syringe before injecting. I was put on a schedule for when to eat and how many carbs I needed throughout the day. It was HELL.
I made it home, and started my life as a 15 year old female with Type 1 Diabetes.
I will continue with more of life as a newly diagnosed diabetic in future posts.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Finding peace
Things are changing in my little bubble. I used to not be able to see a neighbor's home unless it was the dead of winter and all greenery was gone. I could just make out their home through the trees. This summer, we got new neighbors. The empty field across the street is now occupied by a home, a huge garage and people. This is not good news. I have tried diligently to accept this new reality, this noise invasion of my tranquil wooded home. It is exceedingly difficult when they are still adding bits and pieces to complete their home. They use a bobcat at all hours of the day and it drives me bonkers.
I am very sensory driven. Numerous sounds grate on my nerves. Heavy machinery is the top of that list of noises. Finding peace with heavy diesel engine sounds is not my strong suit. I am praying a lot more, especially for patience and peace.
I've begun praying with my rosary and it helps. It is soothing like nothing else. I am thankful for Mary's intercession on my behalf.
Having unkind thoughts and considering the new people inconsiderate is not okay. I need to pray more for patience and peace until my gut reaction to their noise is one of kindness. I want to be able to hear them and be happy that they have a new home, not be angry and irritated at their existence
I am very sensory driven. Numerous sounds grate on my nerves. Heavy machinery is the top of that list of noises. Finding peace with heavy diesel engine sounds is not my strong suit. I am praying a lot more, especially for patience and peace.
I've begun praying with my rosary and it helps. It is soothing like nothing else. I am thankful for Mary's intercession on my behalf.
Having unkind thoughts and considering the new people inconsiderate is not okay. I need to pray more for patience and peace until my gut reaction to their noise is one of kindness. I want to be able to hear them and be happy that they have a new home, not be angry and irritated at their existence
Sunday, October 8, 2017
Things that I just don't understand:
I don't get why dance proposals are a thing. If I'd had a boy ask me to a dance by dropping on one knee I'd have laughed. In my old fashioned fuddy-dud opinion, dropping down on one knee ought to be saved for a marriage proposal. Normally I am all about no judgement but these things make me shake my head in bafflement.
I don't get why some parents choose to knowingly waste food. If you know your toddler is a picky eater, give them a tiny portion. If they toss that on the floor, then they can be done until they are actually ready to eat. Why do they cut up an entire adult sized portion and serve it to the kid who is known to taste one bite then proceed to toss every crap of food onto the floor? It creates more work for the parent, teaches the kid it's okay to throw food around, and is wasteful. I know, I know, just like I tell my kids "different families have different rules" and all that but intentional food wasting was drilled into me all my childhood as being a very bad thing.
I don't understand people who like high heels. I'm on the short side, and I have long ago accepted that fact. I don't own stilettos and think maybe I have one pair of heels from a decade ago that I keep 'just in case' so my chosen footwear includes tennis shoes, slippers, dressy flats, and comfy boots. I will not wear shoes that hurt my feet and then claim that beauty comes at a price or some other vanity nonsense.
Why do so many people not understand that giving an unwanted opinion on food is rude? Granted on any subject it can me rude, and this post definitely is chock full of unwanted opinions, but I do NOT go up to people in person or on social media and tell them that their *insert thing liked by person* is *negative adjective.* I was recently asked about on of my interests and the person then proceeded to exclaim the bizarre and stupid things about it. Dude, seriously, did your parents never teach you social skills??
I don't understand the fascination with zombies, and especially am baffled by those who think they can really happen.
I don't understand racism. Hating a group of people because of skin color???? Just why.....
I don't understand the fascination with tattoos, I don't have any, but have thought about getting a medical alert tattoo, and decided to not get one because I am simply not interested. I have more family members with them than without them, but I still don't see the appeal. Yes, they're pretty, and they have meanings but I just don't have the desire for one. All you tattooed people, have at it and keep enjoying.
These are a few things that I simply do not get. I am doing my best to not judge others and I hold my tongue and my typing if I see them. I will not jump into a conversation and tell someone how much what they enjoy pisses me off, is stupid, or petty. It's not my thing. So I come here, I state how I feel in my own little ignored corner of the internet and vent. I don't judge the people who get and like the things that I don't. I don't consider them less intelligent, less deserving of kindness and compassion, less worthy, any of that. I don't think of them as dumb or childish. I consider them to have different interests that are just as valid as my own even if i don't like the same things.
I don't get why some parents choose to knowingly waste food. If you know your toddler is a picky eater, give them a tiny portion. If they toss that on the floor, then they can be done until they are actually ready to eat. Why do they cut up an entire adult sized portion and serve it to the kid who is known to taste one bite then proceed to toss every crap of food onto the floor? It creates more work for the parent, teaches the kid it's okay to throw food around, and is wasteful. I know, I know, just like I tell my kids "different families have different rules" and all that but intentional food wasting was drilled into me all my childhood as being a very bad thing.
I don't understand people who like high heels. I'm on the short side, and I have long ago accepted that fact. I don't own stilettos and think maybe I have one pair of heels from a decade ago that I keep 'just in case' so my chosen footwear includes tennis shoes, slippers, dressy flats, and comfy boots. I will not wear shoes that hurt my feet and then claim that beauty comes at a price or some other vanity nonsense.
Why do so many people not understand that giving an unwanted opinion on food is rude? Granted on any subject it can me rude, and this post definitely is chock full of unwanted opinions, but I do NOT go up to people in person or on social media and tell them that their *insert thing liked by person* is *negative adjective.* I was recently asked about on of my interests and the person then proceeded to exclaim the bizarre and stupid things about it. Dude, seriously, did your parents never teach you social skills??
I don't understand the fascination with zombies, and especially am baffled by those who think they can really happen.
I don't understand racism. Hating a group of people because of skin color???? Just why.....
I don't understand the fascination with tattoos, I don't have any, but have thought about getting a medical alert tattoo, and decided to not get one because I am simply not interested. I have more family members with them than without them, but I still don't see the appeal. Yes, they're pretty, and they have meanings but I just don't have the desire for one. All you tattooed people, have at it and keep enjoying.
These are a few things that I simply do not get. I am doing my best to not judge others and I hold my tongue and my typing if I see them. I will not jump into a conversation and tell someone how much what they enjoy pisses me off, is stupid, or petty. It's not my thing. So I come here, I state how I feel in my own little ignored corner of the internet and vent. I don't judge the people who get and like the things that I don't. I don't consider them less intelligent, less deserving of kindness and compassion, less worthy, any of that. I don't think of them as dumb or childish. I consider them to have different interests that are just as valid as my own even if i don't like the same things.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Birthday!
My wonderful family celebrated my birthday by having a day of spoiling my girls. We went to a mall to build stuffed animals, went thrift store shopping for fun stuff, ate a delicious barbecue dinner, and opened gifts at home with chocolate cake. This birthday was amazing.
I built a Spock bear, Berry picked out an Elsa bear and Bear picked put a pony, and the hubs refused so I also got a Toothless, because DRAGONS! :-D
I built a Spock bear, Berry picked out an Elsa bear and Bear picked put a pony, and the hubs refused so I also got a Toothless, because DRAGONS! :-D
Sunday, January 29, 2017
just bllagh
The hubs flew to another city on the east coast for the week. It sucks for me because I miss him and I have to solo parent and do it all. I am not liking that. The one on two time with the girls is always loved but I miss my other half. I miss my partner and friend and just the presence of him. This isn't a matter of capability, but of just disliking the disruption to routine.
So blagh. Blagh to dreary overcast winter days, to business trips interfering on weekends when normally they are strictly weekday things. Just :-(
So blagh. Blagh to dreary overcast winter days, to business trips interfering on weekends when normally they are strictly weekday things. Just :-(
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Everybody's Got Something
That may or may not be the title of Robin Roberts' memoir about her second battle with cancer.
It is so very true. I have facebook friends who hate the phrase "Everybody is dealing with their own battles" or other things along those lines. I believe in it. It is something I remind myself each day, because I am NOT the center of the world, and it is not very considerate to take out my bad day on others.
I love the book, and the message within.
There are so many things that can irritate me and yet they may not bother others. Why should I let myself be grumpy when it could drag down those around me. I don't always win myself over with the peptalk. It feels good when I do manage to swallow down my grumpiness and see those around me maintain a happy mood
It is so very true. I have facebook friends who hate the phrase "Everybody is dealing with their own battles" or other things along those lines. I believe in it. It is something I remind myself each day, because I am NOT the center of the world, and it is not very considerate to take out my bad day on others.
I love the book, and the message within.
There are so many things that can irritate me and yet they may not bother others. Why should I let myself be grumpy when it could drag down those around me. I don't always win myself over with the peptalk. It feels good when I do manage to swallow down my grumpiness and see those around me maintain a happy mood
Thursday, January 19, 2017
I miss the Sun. I love sunny days, and truly need the sunlight. Over the last few days it has been rainy, icy, foggy, and simply overcast and dreary.
These are the worst days for me. I can deal with below zero but sunny days and even the 99ºF sunny days, but when the clouds roll in, after about 24 hours without direct sunlight, I feel down.
I have class this evening, and I need to feed my kids and run errands. I don't want to do any of it, all I want is to wear warm fuzzy pjs, drink hot tea, and sit under a bright lamp.
This morning while dropping Bear off at preschool, she pretended to be a kiitten. I told her she needed to be a human, kittens can't go to school. She responded with "I wanna be a kitty at school" with a tone of voice that was pure Spock- level logical.
These are the worst days for me. I can deal with below zero but sunny days and even the 99ºF sunny days, but when the clouds roll in, after about 24 hours without direct sunlight, I feel down.
I have class this evening, and I need to feed my kids and run errands. I don't want to do any of it, all I want is to wear warm fuzzy pjs, drink hot tea, and sit under a bright lamp.
This morning while dropping Bear off at preschool, she pretended to be a kiitten. I told her she needed to be a human, kittens can't go to school. She responded with "I wanna be a kitty at school" with a tone of voice that was pure Spock- level logical.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
New year, new blog post.
It is January of 2017. I am taking one class this last semester, and am taking next year off. Bear will be in 4 year old preschool, and Berry will start 1st grade this fall.
My Bear is a spitfire. I love her ways of thinking. It is utter 3 year old logic and it makes me laugh on a daily basis.
My Berry is utterly kind. She loves everyone. She sees the best in all. She reads, she loves to dance and play and sing. She is the best 6 year old I know.
I love my kids more than life itself. I went to school over the summer and got my CNA. I started at a nursing home but left six weeks later due to the mental and familial strain.
As of right now: my life is joyous. I am blessed beyond measure.
My diabetes is under the best control since my diagnosis 16 years ago. My last A1c was 6.6. For those who have diabetes, this is still a little elevated but is amazing for my personal record. I am thankful!
My Bear is a spitfire. I love her ways of thinking. It is utter 3 year old logic and it makes me laugh on a daily basis.
My Berry is utterly kind. She loves everyone. She sees the best in all. She reads, she loves to dance and play and sing. She is the best 6 year old I know.
I love my kids more than life itself. I went to school over the summer and got my CNA. I started at a nursing home but left six weeks later due to the mental and familial strain.
As of right now: my life is joyous. I am blessed beyond measure.
My diabetes is under the best control since my diagnosis 16 years ago. My last A1c was 6.6. For those who have diabetes, this is still a little elevated but is amazing for my personal record. I am thankful!
Friday, June 3, 2016
Classes start soon
I'm beginning the classroom portion of my journey to becoming a nurse. This is exciting and scary. Prayers, please?
Baby bear turned three last month. I hear odd noises, so goodbye for a few weeks or hours, haha.
Baby bear turned three last month. I hear odd noises, so goodbye for a few weeks or hours, haha.
Friday, May 13, 2016
A few weeks ago, I went off posting
I took a break. I have discovered that I cannot commit to daily blogging. It is simply too much pressure for me at this stage of my life.
Current events:
Signed up for a JDRF walk, and am looking forward to that.
I'm still using my dex, but took a break from my pump and sensor yesterday. My numbers suffered, and it is proof that my MDI game is not up to par.
I've seen articles regarding the artificial pancreas and this is just a misnomer to me. If it were truly an artificial pancreas then that sum-gun would be permanently inserted like a pacemaker inside the body. I saw a few images of one set-up that had a pump, an infusion site, a CGM, a sensor, and something else I think. I wear All of that. It's a pain in the royal ass.
I'm not going to be all excited about an AP until it's been out a while and the ads for class-action lawsuits are done running all the time, and my insurance covers it.
Current events:
Signed up for a JDRF walk, and am looking forward to that.
I'm still using my dex, but took a break from my pump and sensor yesterday. My numbers suffered, and it is proof that my MDI game is not up to par.
I've seen articles regarding the artificial pancreas and this is just a misnomer to me. If it were truly an artificial pancreas then that sum-gun would be permanently inserted like a pacemaker inside the body. I saw a few images of one set-up that had a pump, an infusion site, a CGM, a sensor, and something else I think. I wear All of that. It's a pain in the royal ass.
I'm not going to be all excited about an AP until it's been out a while and the ads for class-action lawsuits are done running all the time, and my insurance covers it.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Monday, April 25, 2016
I've given up!
The daily posting of pictures, that is. I just cannot keep up. I got too much other stuff going on and my time at the computer is very limited these days.
But, I'm here, I love my Dexcom, my Ping, and being healthier than I have in years.
But, I'm here, I love my Dexcom, my Ping, and being healthier than I have in years.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
D:365 Day 26
The 24 hour graph of blood sugars reminds me of a mountain range. I am so badly trying for the flat plains of North Dakota but so far, no luck inless I zoom in for the two hour graph
Monday, April 18, 2016
The latest
Well, I now use the Dexcom CGM. I am a happy convert from very anti (for me) CGM to pro CGM for me. I used Medtronic's CGM more than 5 years ago when pregnant with my first kid. It was hellish. This, howeve, is so easy to use and I love it.
I tweaked settings but thing they need to be more finely tuned.
I tweaked settings but thing they need to be more finely tuned.
D:365 Day 23
Outdoor fun with the animals and kids. This kitty is the most photogenic animal I've ever had.
D:365 Day 22-25 addressed
So, apparently the weekends kill me when it comes to picture taking and blogging. I have failed a few times to post daily but I am not giving up yet!
Pictures to come still.
Pictures to come still.
Thursday, April 14, 2016
D:365 Day 21
I used one of these nasty suckers last night. It works but tastes horrible to me. Keep in mind I choose diet and sugar free drinks as much as possible.
D:36 Days 20
So this happened yesterday:
I replaced my site in the morning. I knew I wasn't getting good absorption in my belly site, so I moved it to my arm. When I reached back to help with a minion in the back seat, I ripped my fresh site out. This is exactly WHY I keep an extra site on me at all times. I popped this fresh pink site in and went on my way. Also, the blood was from the less-than-hour-old site. I am apparently blessed to have ripped that bad boy out, as I hit a blood vessel with it. I bled for a while before it finally stopped. Oy.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
D:365 Days 14 thru 18
Day 14 Kitty cuddling is the best.
Day 15 Inspirational poster in my diabetic educator's office. Made me smile.
Day 16 Just another glimpse of my Lego addiction.
Day 17 Two of the four newest chicks bought in February went missing. My theory is a hawk made a feast of them. We have since reinforced their growing enclosure. There are two new hicks in this brooder. Anna and Elsa. I named them, and I'm not even a little ashamed of that.
Day 18 These cute dollar store calendars make my day. I love the baby wildlife ones the best.
It has been nearly a week!
I last blogged days ago! I have been sick, the kids have been the same energetic minions, and I have been in a constant state of blargh since the last blog post was published.
I was officially trained on my new pump and barely had anything new to learn.
I lost out on the last 5 days of photos, so I will post all 5, and today's pic, later today.
I'm officially registered for classes in the fall, so that makes me super freaking excited!!!!
I was officially trained on my new pump and barely had anything new to learn.
I lost out on the last 5 days of photos, so I will post all 5, and today's pic, later today.
I'm officially registered for classes in the fall, so that makes me super freaking excited!!!!
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
D:365 Day 12
Cheat day! Thanks to Type 1 Diabetes Memes on Facebook, I have a whole slew of hilarious memes I love!
Monday, April 4, 2016
Sunday, April 3, 2016
D:365 Day 10
This alone is not what causes me to panic. This combined with being unable to bring it up and then proceed to do things and not remember them is what causes me to panic.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
D:365 Day 8
My way to keep my test strips from overtaking everything.
Please excuse the dirty looking nails. I promise they are clean.
"Easily treatable" BULL$#!+
I am incensed and have no where else to vent my frustration.
I just read an article written by an obviously non-type 1. If he were, then he would never use the phrase "easily treatable" to describe diabetes.
A little girl in Tennessee just died due to a late diagnosis of T1D, and she died from ketoacidosis. It's fucking horrible and my heart goes out to her family.
My irritation has naught to do with her. It has to do with the poor word choice by the reporter. If I were able to eloquently put into words a way to inform the reporter that diabetes may have a commonly know treatment but that it is different than being treated easily, then I would. I just can't do that right now, and I don't want to go all diabadass bitch on someone who likely has his heart in the right place but is simply ignorant without sounding like a curt rude asshole.
I just read an article written by an obviously non-type 1. If he were, then he would never use the phrase "easily treatable" to describe diabetes.
A little girl in Tennessee just died due to a late diagnosis of T1D, and she died from ketoacidosis. It's fucking horrible and my heart goes out to her family.
My irritation has naught to do with her. It has to do with the poor word choice by the reporter. If I were able to eloquently put into words a way to inform the reporter that diabetes may have a commonly know treatment but that it is different than being treated easily, then I would. I just can't do that right now, and I don't want to go all diabadass bitch on someone who likely has his heart in the right place but is simply ignorant without sounding like a curt rude asshole.
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
D:365 Day 7
A whole week down!
This is not from today but it reminds me of my father. His last trip was to visit Mt Rushmore and Crazy Horse.
It's been 11 years.
My father.
When I think of my father, I think of the man who raised me, my biological father married to my biological mother (there are all types of families.)
I grew up in a "nuclear family" as it was called when I was a child. There was Dad, Mom, siblings, pets, and that was it. We lived in a single family house in a suburb.
That's where the average resemblance to a family ended as far as I am concerned.
I am the youngest of five siblings. Technically we are six, but my second eldest brother died in-utero. Thomas was his name and he was rarely talked about. He wasn't raised with us. He was a source of great pain for my dad and mom and eldest brother, his twin.
Mom was young when she married Dad. Their first pregnancy was after the wedding though naysayers in their day liked to pretend they were the reason for the swift courtship and marriage. No. Mom and Dad met on a blind date. They spent the entire evening talking on the levee. Two weeks after they met, Dad proposed. Two months later, they married. Six weeks or so before their first wedding anniversary, my brothers were born. T1 (eldest brother) and Thomas were born. Thomas was taken away as medical waste I assume, as we never have visited his grave. I don't know if Mom knows what they did with him. Times were different back then.
So my parents moved forward with life. Dad worked many different jobs. He was smart as hell. He had great "street smarts" and could read a person like a book. He knew how to fix anything mechanical, could build a wood frame house, wire and plumb it, and roof it with shingles despite having no official certificates. He was a soldier in the US Army, he could complicated arithmetic and calculations without aid of calculating devices of any kind. As a child, I accompanied him to the grocery. He used to calculate the price per ounce of food in seconds. Keep in mind, this was in the early 1990s, where there were no cell phone and calculators weren't in our pockets.
My father was a stubborn, determined, intelligent man. If he wanted information, he found it.He was an avid reader, he absorbed facts like a sponge.
He was kind, he was considerate, he was gentle to his children and wife.
He was also sick. All my life. I never knew him in a healthy state. My earliest memory of him was one where I felt guilty. It was Chritmas, and I had just launched myself onto his lap/ He caught me and winced in pain, then gently asked me not to jump on him like that again. I asked why not. He told me it was because his leg was sore and it hurt him when I landed on him. I remember the last time he played "horsey" with me. His breathing was labored and he said "No more, Sweetie, this horse needs a break." I never saw him run. I saw his last construction project rot before our eyes because his health failed before he could complete it. I went with him to purchase tools from a hardware store he used once or never, and I remember feeling so special that he chose me to go with him. i remember his health declining steadily. I remember the last school function he went to with me. It was my freshman year, MCJROTC banquet. After that, he saw me graduate but left before I ever got a picture. You know the one. The new graduate in cap and gown, with proud parents on either side? never got that. He and my mom left to get home so he could elevate his severely swollen legs and recover for the next month from the outing.
I remember the alcohol. At my uncle's 50th birthday party, I remeber his jumping off the sobriety wagon. I was standing at his front, talking to him about something silly. He old me to close my eyes and count to ten. I did and opened my eyes to see him swallowing the last of the tumbler of some brown alcohol. That was the last night I ever knew him to be sober. He wasn't ever the typical drunk or anything. he just always had a state on inebriation to him.
In January 1980, Daddy was on his way home from work on a motorcycle. He stopped at a four-way stop. The Cadillac driver did not. He was dragged with his bike about a hundred feet before stopping. His injuries included a cervical vertebrae break, a compound fracture of his left femur, a broken left ankle and a lot of road rash. Helmets in 1980 apparently eight a lot more than today and doctors told him he'd have been decapitated had he been wearing one. They attempted to fix his femur,( and it want badly, as the orthopedic surgeon did a bad job the first time. It broke a few more times after he left the hospital). He was kept in a medically induced coma for two weeks to give him time to heal. he woke up, they kept him on straight morphine from admittance into that hospital until discharge day. He was in traction for a month and was not treated well at the hospital. It was a Veteran's hospital in 1980, again, times were VERY different back then. These were Vietnam Era veterans, and if people don't remember, anyone associated with Vietnam seemed to be looked down upon. He had to relearn to walk, to do many things, and he now had less control over his temper. Due to morphine withdrawal, he left the hospital coming off morphine cold-turkey. He turned to alcohol. For a while, it helped take the edge off the pain, but after a time, he could not cope. There was a time of arguing, and once it got close to becoming physical, Mom gave Dad an ultimatum and Dad chose Mom and my siblings. Things go well for a while, Dad learned more coping skills, He went to work again after the grim diagnoses or "you'll never walk again, you'll never work again, you'll be a cripple in a wheelchair" He learned to walk, re went back to work and he and Mom had two more kids, me and my youngest brother.
Somewhere between 1980-something and that night at his brother's "over-the-hill" party, he learned to balance alcohol and living a fruitful life. I never saw him drunk, He was a dedicated father, hard working husband, and a skilled homeowner.
I remember him getting a tiller and making a big huge garden. Building a grape vine trellis , laying concrete slabs in parts of the yard, and being the one to tune up the vehicles.
After 1992, when he had a massive heart attack, and his doctor laid it out bluntly of "medically retire or have another heart attack and die next time" he retired. His drinking became more frequent and my development of abhorrence for beer bottles and cans became overwhelming. things from your childhood leak out all over your adult choices at time. For me, I will not deal with anyone else's empty beer vessels. So, Dad retired from work, but his mind was as sharp as ever, despite his body giving up on him.
See, let me backtrack a bit. Before my mom, my dad was a kid raised in the dangerous areas of New Orleans. He grew up on Magazine street. I'm not sure where he lived before my grandfather died, but after, it was in the heart of the Irish Channel. He was the younger of two sons between my grandparents. My uncle left right around the time my grandfather withered away from lung cancer. My dad was 13. My grandmother went to work to support the two of them and Dad was left to roam the streets of New Orleans alone. He got by but I gather from comments not made and tones of voice that left a bit to the imagination, that my dad had some shady dealings in his youth. Once in high school, he butted heads with a young math teacher fresh out of college. Remember my mention of my dad and his arithmetic prowess? Well, that bit him in the ass one day. He got into a verbal disagreement with the written textbook and how the teacher was teaching. Dad spotted an error and the teacher disliked being corrected in front of others. Words were said. My Dad's temper flared. He got so angry he walked out of the school and to the nearest recruitment station. In 1970/1971, my dad went to the Marines, then the Air Force, then the Navy, then the Army office. The Army was the only recruiter not out for lunch at the time. Dad enlisted, with apparent approval from his mother. My knowledge is shady of that time as both parties are gone now.
He enlisted, served in the military, then left military life for civilian life in New Orleans. He worked odd jobs, one of which was as a man who worked the X-ray machines on the roof of the Superdome. He handled radiation pellets for the machines and worked them. In my humble opinion, his handling of the materials played a role in his later heath decline, but as I am no scientist and there was never a study done in which he was included, it is only my supposition which links the two things.
So, he was in the Army, then back to civilian life. He did many odd jobs. He met my mom, they married, they had 3 kids, then he had the accident, then recovered, next was 2 more kids. Life tooled along until 1992, where he had heart attack, Retirement, more of him thirsting for knowledge, and finding it in any material he could learn from. He would have LOVED the internet's resources availability. Then 2005 rolls in. His health is declining even more steadily. He has more instances of his legs "going out" on him and episodes of confusion. I believe he had mini-strokes which caused temporary weakness and loss of memory. Then March 4, 2005. It happened. He had a massive stroke and heart attack. I refuse to get into the hours surrounding the events leading up to his arrival at the hospital but I will say my guilt for the hours will never go away.
Mid-March, he has heart surgery. He recovered, is extubated, and begins the process of recovery. I go to class. I go back to the hospital. He is re-intubated. I spend the next two weeks living in his hospital room. I watch him die, slowly, and without realizing it. He fights the intubation, he thrashes each time the "milk of amnesia" (propofol?) wears off. He tries to pull the tube out! They put soft restraints on his arms. I held his hand as he fought them and tried to be there for him. It never helps long. I sleep in the chair next to the bed so I can try to stop his thrashing at night. Finally the fights begin to ease after a few days. I memorize his medications, the schedule and frequency of the doses. I fight with the doctors who want to change things without my mom being there to approve them. I live there, watching him slip away. I wake up to a code blue, his heart stopped while I slept next to him, and I never knew. The machines wail, the beeps, the sounds of the defibrillator, them getting him back, fumbling for my phone, Calling over and over until my mom answers. Telling her to come to the hospital. Waiting, waiting, waiting; they arrive. Doctors gather us around' tell us he is brain dead. We can wait for him to die on his own or we can turn off the machines. It's March 30th. My sister's birthday is coming up. We do it that day, so he doesn't die on her day. We call everyone. People arrive, my active duty Soldier brother is still here on emergency leave, thank God. We surround him, we pray, we tell him he can let go. Mom tells him goodbye. We assure him we understand he has fought a long, long time to stay with us but he can go now. The nurse slowly begins turning off machines. Heart flat-lines. That horrid sound of the the heart rate monitor signalling flat-line. Thank God she turns it off quickly. The doctor quietly pronounces him dead. We cry, we weep. We begin to grieve. I can't leave but they want me to go. I sit at his feet. I watch his face as they extubate for the final time. His lip is bitten through completely. The thrashing makes sense and the guilt washes over me in waves. As with the time preceding his arrival at the ER on March 4th I didn't listen. The guilt never leaves, to this day. His face has turned green. He's really dead, they're really urging me to leave. I don't care that they need to take him to the morgue. That's my daddy. He's going to be cremated and I will NEVER see his real face again, only pictures. They convince me to go. I hate them for it but I have to go. I try to be there for my mom. I sleep in my home for the first time in two weeks. I sleep on his side of the bed, next to my mom. It's hell.
We make plans with a funeral home. I go to classes on the coming Monday. I have a huge exam. I can't take it. I break down in the hallway telling my professor why. It's the first time I've said the words out loud and it nearly beaks me.
Life moves on, the pain starts as waves during my conscious hours. The waves recede until they come less frequently, Now, eleven years later the waves hit like tsunamis, rather than a constant category 5 hurricane that won't hit landfall yet wont leave the coastal waters.
In those eleven years, I've accepted he is gone. I've felt this overwhelming sense of loss each time I reached a milestone without him. Getting my driver's license, my first real job, meeting the man I would marry, graduation college I skipped completely but he missed that as well. My wedding, the birth of my children, buying my first home with my husband. My first car wreck, my first surgery, my child's first surgery.
He missed it all.
When I think of my father I feel pain, loss, grief, sadness, and pain.
I also feel relief. I am relieved he is not suffering. He was in physical and emotional pain from the day of his accident until he died, twenty-five years later. So while I am sorrowful that he is gone, it comforts me that he's not suffering through unceasing pain, drinking himself into oblivion in an effort to ease the agony that was his nervous system following his accident, his development of asthma and emphysema, lymphedema, and in the end, systemic organ failure.
My dad suffered a lot but he did it out of a strong will to live, to love his family, and to be there for us as his father could not.
I hate that he is gone but am thankful his pain is ended,
When I think of my father, I think of the man who raised me, my biological father married to my biological mother (there are all types of families.)
I grew up in a "nuclear family" as it was called when I was a child. There was Dad, Mom, siblings, pets, and that was it. We lived in a single family house in a suburb.
That's where the average resemblance to a family ended as far as I am concerned.
I am the youngest of five siblings. Technically we are six, but my second eldest brother died in-utero. Thomas was his name and he was rarely talked about. He wasn't raised with us. He was a source of great pain for my dad and mom and eldest brother, his twin.
Mom was young when she married Dad. Their first pregnancy was after the wedding though naysayers in their day liked to pretend they were the reason for the swift courtship and marriage. No. Mom and Dad met on a blind date. They spent the entire evening talking on the levee. Two weeks after they met, Dad proposed. Two months later, they married. Six weeks or so before their first wedding anniversary, my brothers were born. T1 (eldest brother) and Thomas were born. Thomas was taken away as medical waste I assume, as we never have visited his grave. I don't know if Mom knows what they did with him. Times were different back then.
So my parents moved forward with life. Dad worked many different jobs. He was smart as hell. He had great "street smarts" and could read a person like a book. He knew how to fix anything mechanical, could build a wood frame house, wire and plumb it, and roof it with shingles despite having no official certificates. He was a soldier in the US Army, he could complicated arithmetic and calculations without aid of calculating devices of any kind. As a child, I accompanied him to the grocery. He used to calculate the price per ounce of food in seconds. Keep in mind, this was in the early 1990s, where there were no cell phone and calculators weren't in our pockets.
My father was a stubborn, determined, intelligent man. If he wanted information, he found it.He was an avid reader, he absorbed facts like a sponge.
He was kind, he was considerate, he was gentle to his children and wife.
He was also sick. All my life. I never knew him in a healthy state. My earliest memory of him was one where I felt guilty. It was Chritmas, and I had just launched myself onto his lap/ He caught me and winced in pain, then gently asked me not to jump on him like that again. I asked why not. He told me it was because his leg was sore and it hurt him when I landed on him. I remember the last time he played "horsey" with me. His breathing was labored and he said "No more, Sweetie, this horse needs a break." I never saw him run. I saw his last construction project rot before our eyes because his health failed before he could complete it. I went with him to purchase tools from a hardware store he used once or never, and I remember feeling so special that he chose me to go with him. i remember his health declining steadily. I remember the last school function he went to with me. It was my freshman year, MCJROTC banquet. After that, he saw me graduate but left before I ever got a picture. You know the one. The new graduate in cap and gown, with proud parents on either side? never got that. He and my mom left to get home so he could elevate his severely swollen legs and recover for the next month from the outing.
I remember the alcohol. At my uncle's 50th birthday party, I remeber his jumping off the sobriety wagon. I was standing at his front, talking to him about something silly. He old me to close my eyes and count to ten. I did and opened my eyes to see him swallowing the last of the tumbler of some brown alcohol. That was the last night I ever knew him to be sober. He wasn't ever the typical drunk or anything. he just always had a state on inebriation to him.
In January 1980, Daddy was on his way home from work on a motorcycle. He stopped at a four-way stop. The Cadillac driver did not. He was dragged with his bike about a hundred feet before stopping. His injuries included a cervical vertebrae break, a compound fracture of his left femur, a broken left ankle and a lot of road rash. Helmets in 1980 apparently eight a lot more than today and doctors told him he'd have been decapitated had he been wearing one. They attempted to fix his femur,( and it want badly, as the orthopedic surgeon did a bad job the first time. It broke a few more times after he left the hospital). He was kept in a medically induced coma for two weeks to give him time to heal. he woke up, they kept him on straight morphine from admittance into that hospital until discharge day. He was in traction for a month and was not treated well at the hospital. It was a Veteran's hospital in 1980, again, times were VERY different back then. These were Vietnam Era veterans, and if people don't remember, anyone associated with Vietnam seemed to be looked down upon. He had to relearn to walk, to do many things, and he now had less control over his temper. Due to morphine withdrawal, he left the hospital coming off morphine cold-turkey. He turned to alcohol. For a while, it helped take the edge off the pain, but after a time, he could not cope. There was a time of arguing, and once it got close to becoming physical, Mom gave Dad an ultimatum and Dad chose Mom and my siblings. Things go well for a while, Dad learned more coping skills, He went to work again after the grim diagnoses or "you'll never walk again, you'll never work again, you'll be a cripple in a wheelchair" He learned to walk, re went back to work and he and Mom had two more kids, me and my youngest brother.
Somewhere between 1980-something and that night at his brother's "over-the-hill" party, he learned to balance alcohol and living a fruitful life. I never saw him drunk, He was a dedicated father, hard working husband, and a skilled homeowner.
I remember him getting a tiller and making a big huge garden. Building a grape vine trellis , laying concrete slabs in parts of the yard, and being the one to tune up the vehicles.
After 1992, when he had a massive heart attack, and his doctor laid it out bluntly of "medically retire or have another heart attack and die next time" he retired. His drinking became more frequent and my development of abhorrence for beer bottles and cans became overwhelming. things from your childhood leak out all over your adult choices at time. For me, I will not deal with anyone else's empty beer vessels. So, Dad retired from work, but his mind was as sharp as ever, despite his body giving up on him.
See, let me backtrack a bit. Before my mom, my dad was a kid raised in the dangerous areas of New Orleans. He grew up on Magazine street. I'm not sure where he lived before my grandfather died, but after, it was in the heart of the Irish Channel. He was the younger of two sons between my grandparents. My uncle left right around the time my grandfather withered away from lung cancer. My dad was 13. My grandmother went to work to support the two of them and Dad was left to roam the streets of New Orleans alone. He got by but I gather from comments not made and tones of voice that left a bit to the imagination, that my dad had some shady dealings in his youth. Once in high school, he butted heads with a young math teacher fresh out of college. Remember my mention of my dad and his arithmetic prowess? Well, that bit him in the ass one day. He got into a verbal disagreement with the written textbook and how the teacher was teaching. Dad spotted an error and the teacher disliked being corrected in front of others. Words were said. My Dad's temper flared. He got so angry he walked out of the school and to the nearest recruitment station. In 1970/1971, my dad went to the Marines, then the Air Force, then the Navy, then the Army office. The Army was the only recruiter not out for lunch at the time. Dad enlisted, with apparent approval from his mother. My knowledge is shady of that time as both parties are gone now.
He enlisted, served in the military, then left military life for civilian life in New Orleans. He worked odd jobs, one of which was as a man who worked the X-ray machines on the roof of the Superdome. He handled radiation pellets for the machines and worked them. In my humble opinion, his handling of the materials played a role in his later heath decline, but as I am no scientist and there was never a study done in which he was included, it is only my supposition which links the two things.
So, he was in the Army, then back to civilian life. He did many odd jobs. He met my mom, they married, they had 3 kids, then he had the accident, then recovered, next was 2 more kids. Life tooled along until 1992, where he had heart attack, Retirement, more of him thirsting for knowledge, and finding it in any material he could learn from. He would have LOVED the internet's resources availability. Then 2005 rolls in. His health is declining even more steadily. He has more instances of his legs "going out" on him and episodes of confusion. I believe he had mini-strokes which caused temporary weakness and loss of memory. Then March 4, 2005. It happened. He had a massive stroke and heart attack. I refuse to get into the hours surrounding the events leading up to his arrival at the hospital but I will say my guilt for the hours will never go away.
Mid-March, he has heart surgery. He recovered, is extubated, and begins the process of recovery. I go to class. I go back to the hospital. He is re-intubated. I spend the next two weeks living in his hospital room. I watch him die, slowly, and without realizing it. He fights the intubation, he thrashes each time the "milk of amnesia" (propofol?) wears off. He tries to pull the tube out! They put soft restraints on his arms. I held his hand as he fought them and tried to be there for him. It never helps long. I sleep in the chair next to the bed so I can try to stop his thrashing at night. Finally the fights begin to ease after a few days. I memorize his medications, the schedule and frequency of the doses. I fight with the doctors who want to change things without my mom being there to approve them. I live there, watching him slip away. I wake up to a code blue, his heart stopped while I slept next to him, and I never knew. The machines wail, the beeps, the sounds of the defibrillator, them getting him back, fumbling for my phone, Calling over and over until my mom answers. Telling her to come to the hospital. Waiting, waiting, waiting; they arrive. Doctors gather us around' tell us he is brain dead. We can wait for him to die on his own or we can turn off the machines. It's March 30th. My sister's birthday is coming up. We do it that day, so he doesn't die on her day. We call everyone. People arrive, my active duty Soldier brother is still here on emergency leave, thank God. We surround him, we pray, we tell him he can let go. Mom tells him goodbye. We assure him we understand he has fought a long, long time to stay with us but he can go now. The nurse slowly begins turning off machines. Heart flat-lines. That horrid sound of the the heart rate monitor signalling flat-line. Thank God she turns it off quickly. The doctor quietly pronounces him dead. We cry, we weep. We begin to grieve. I can't leave but they want me to go. I sit at his feet. I watch his face as they extubate for the final time. His lip is bitten through completely. The thrashing makes sense and the guilt washes over me in waves. As with the time preceding his arrival at the ER on March 4th I didn't listen. The guilt never leaves, to this day. His face has turned green. He's really dead, they're really urging me to leave. I don't care that they need to take him to the morgue. That's my daddy. He's going to be cremated and I will NEVER see his real face again, only pictures. They convince me to go. I hate them for it but I have to go. I try to be there for my mom. I sleep in my home for the first time in two weeks. I sleep on his side of the bed, next to my mom. It's hell.
We make plans with a funeral home. I go to classes on the coming Monday. I have a huge exam. I can't take it. I break down in the hallway telling my professor why. It's the first time I've said the words out loud and it nearly beaks me.
Life moves on, the pain starts as waves during my conscious hours. The waves recede until they come less frequently, Now, eleven years later the waves hit like tsunamis, rather than a constant category 5 hurricane that won't hit landfall yet wont leave the coastal waters.
In those eleven years, I've accepted he is gone. I've felt this overwhelming sense of loss each time I reached a milestone without him. Getting my driver's license, my first real job, meeting the man I would marry, graduation college I skipped completely but he missed that as well. My wedding, the birth of my children, buying my first home with my husband. My first car wreck, my first surgery, my child's first surgery.
He missed it all.
When I think of my father I feel pain, loss, grief, sadness, and pain.
I also feel relief. I am relieved he is not suffering. He was in physical and emotional pain from the day of his accident until he died, twenty-five years later. So while I am sorrowful that he is gone, it comforts me that he's not suffering through unceasing pain, drinking himself into oblivion in an effort to ease the agony that was his nervous system following his accident, his development of asthma and emphysema, lymphedema, and in the end, systemic organ failure.
My dad suffered a lot but he did it out of a strong will to live, to love his family, and to be there for us as his father could not.
I hate that he is gone but am thankful his pain is ended,
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Sunday, March 27, 2016
D:365 Day 4
I got very bored with the boring test strip bottle. Dollar tree had some cute paper stickers. Problem solved!
D:365 Day 3
Well, this didn't get written technically on the 26th, but I am not in bed yet and I try to write these before I go to sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)