I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungrrrrreeeee

eeeeeeeeee!

I am subsisting on one damn piece of ricotta cheese pie (YES leftovers from the party WHEN will they all be digested, NO ONE knows). The ricotta cheese pie that earlier graced me with the 272.

Since then:

242 (11:30am)
210 (1:06pm)

So, pump appears to be working. Feeeebly working. But no lunch for me. Nope! Refuse! I should probably stop being squirrely and just break out the syringe but ah...nope, refuse again. My boss thinks I took a lunch break; in reality I took a blog break, and a cup-o-water break. And my stomach is grumbling.

Hey, did I remember to mention The Smashing Pumpkins? Like, I totally saw them at the 9:30 club on 7/10/07 and they like totally rocked. I shook Billy Corgan's hand, and as I was shaking it I realized I had offered him my BAND-AID HAND. The day before, I had given myself a lovely paper cut with the side of a plastic binder (mmmmm..so really, a plasti-cut). It gapped open deep enough that I swore I could see the Mines of Moria, so I band-aided the sucker. Unfortunately, the humidity in the city (whoa rhyme) caused the band-aid to get a little flaky before the band arrived. So, Billy Corgan shook my grody peeling-offy band-aid hand. Sorry, Crog, it's only a paper cut I swear.

This was seconds after I contaminated him:


Yes, I am somewhere in that photo...and no, I am not the bald guy. If I was the bald guy, I would say eff this crap and just buy a new pancreas for myself on a periodic basis.

And I would also cry a lot and beg James Iha to come baaaack, pleeease come baaaack to meeee....because damn it musta been fun to look at that guy all day long.

By la way, someone requested wedding pics. Here's a link to a few. Don't make fun of my armpit fat, I slouch and I know it.

twennysomethin

Is it possible to have a breakdown in your 20's? Mid-life crisis, except not in the middle of your life? I think that so far, my 20's have been far more trying and terrifying and exciting than my teens. And I can't imagine being more confused in my 40's (please god no...if I'm still THIS befuddled in 25 years, put me out of my misery).

More on this later. No worries, I'm not depressed. ":D" <-- See?

Vicious streak

So I went to Bonnaroo last week . . . let me be up front: NOT MY SCENE. However, I really wanted to see some of the bands (Tool, The Police, Fountains of Wayne, Franz Ferdinand) and my husband's friend was in from Sydney and was dying to go. It felt just a bit too stick-in-the-muddish to say "Nah guys, I'll sit this one out." I also hate whining about how much unfun it's going to be to worry about diabetes in a hot, sweaty camping situation for four days. What am I, 75?

As it turned out, my diabetes was surprisingly well behaved. Yes, I had a few lows, but the highs were nearly nonexistant despite me tossing back frozen lemonade, pizza, pretzels, beer, and ice cream. I joked to my husband that I should walk around all day for the rest of my life - I was about 80, constantly. Amazing! (Incidentally, as soon as I returned to work this week - on travel - I began spiking to high 200's and 300's...seriously peeved here, but working on it.)

I took myself by surprise, though. I've posted before about being sick "for real" and how it annoys me and makes me feel seriously put upon. I guess I feel like since I have diabetes, a seriously scary PITA, I should be exempt from the myriad of other petty human ailments (or even the not-so-petty ones). The feeling's irrational and self-pitying, but it's there.

On the last day I'd be at the festival, this past Saturday, I got up as normal and was sitting outside of the tent reading a book. Enjoying the weather before it got too hot. I was sunning my feet and generally enjoying not thinking about much of anything. The boys got up and we headed to the main festival grounds for some grub. While walking there, I noticed that the insides of my ankles and lower calves were turning seriously red, and getting itchy. I thought back to anything I might have gotten into that could cause this, even though I've never been the type to have sensitive skin / get rashes. Putting my feet in the grass last night? Nah.

I stopped by the medic tent and was diagnosed with a case of heat rash. They gave me some sort of anti-itch balm. Okay cool, I can deal with this. I smeared the stuff on and rejoined my pals. Twenty minutes later, the itch turned into a "IT BUUUURRRRNNNNNSSSS!" sensation anytime that the sun happened to shine on the rash (which was constantly). So freaking weird, and so freaking miserable. It felt like I was holding a hair dryer on high right next to my skin, or pressing my skin onto the hood of a car that has been parked in the sun all day. The only thing that brought me any relief was to sit in air conditioning and cover my legs with a wet cloth / aloe.

Unfortunately I was at a rock festival with limited amounts of any of those things. I had some sort of mental breakdown at this point for whatever reason - I had spent a lot of money on these tickets, I had been having fun despite limited sleep, no showers, and being surrounded by roving, drunken hoodlums for the past three days (:D), and no one else here I saw had stupid heat rash. Everyone was having a great heat-rash free diabetes-free time, and stupid defective me was going to end up spending most of the day inside at a ROCK FESTIVAL. Am I truly not allowed to have any fun anymore, even when I make the conscious effort to be adventurous and try?! I was incredibly angry at myself and stomped off, cursing and crying, into a lukewarm tent sponsored by MTV (haha). My husband was extremely supportive (if a little exasperated with my overreaction) and made the trek back to our tent to get me some novels to read until the sun went down. The burn abated as long as I stayed inside, and when I ventured out around 4pm the worst had passed.

Looking back it was so silly; of course there were other diabetics there. Of course more than one person left those camp grounds in the back of an ambulance, so really the rash I got was so minor. I just have no patience or tolerance for my body anymore when it doesn't do things exactly right (or exactly as I plan). I never got a sun burn - and had religiously applied sunscreen, kept hydrated, and wore a wide brimmed hat the whole time I was there - and I still walked out of the festival with an injury. My red rash is fading, but I still hate feeling like a fragile, delicate flower who should give up anything the least bit "rugged" and spend the rest of my summer in a library. I was angry and full of self-resentment at the time...just one of those days I really wished I was NORMAL, dammit. Back in the day I would've brushed the rash off as inconvenient and painful, and I wouldn't have let it escalate into a personal attack on myself. Having diabetes makes me beat up on myself on a daily basis already. I gotta learn to check the baggage for the rest of life's little PITAs in the future.

Oh, vending machine.

Diabetic forgot her breakfast today in the mad rush out of the door!

So now it's a choice. Skip breakfast and try to hold out until lunch? Risk grumbly stomach, hunger pangs*, and hypoglycemia? Nah that sucks.

Visit vending machine? I generally consider vending machines my friends, as they are full of all sorts of sucrose-filled joy. Perfect for treating that late afternoon 47. This morning, not so friendly. Breakfast materials enclosed within: cinnamon swirl iced pop-tarts. Total carbs: 69g. Shit. I haven't had a pop-tart (unless I was low) in years.

I went for the pop-tarts, despite the fact that my 89 mg/dl was screaming at me. "I AM PERFECT, WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME? WHYYYYYYYY?"

I'll check my sugar level in another 30 min. Hope I didn't totally screw myself.

* I am a total wuss about hunger pangs these days. I'm so rarely hungry anymore, what with the balanced meals and the hypoglycemia induced snacking, that when I feel empty stomach pains I am simultaneously mystified and incredibly put-out. Used to be that I was a breakfast skipper. Sometimes a breakfast AND lunch skipper. Not anymore!

Sick f'real

I admit that I am a total wuss when it comes to being acutely ill. There's something about a cold or a stomach bug that registers extremely high on my Misery Scale that diabetes just can't touch. On a day to day basis I consider diabetes more of a "condition" than a "disease." Hit me if that doesn't make any sense, but diabetes is like a constant, physical state of being to me. Yeah, it causes discomfort, but on a typical day it doesn't totally incapcitate me or make me feel super uncomfortable. I can deal with diabetes, but a cold or any other seemingly minor ailment? Pisses. Me. Off. I also think this is cos I've got a huge chip on my shoulder - I already have diabetes, I don't deserve anything else, right?! (Pft, tough titty, sister.)

Anyway, I've been feeling a little funky since allergy season is now in full force. This isn't unexpected, but most years I can soldier on by popping a couple of antihistamines and going about my business. Last week I felt nauseous a few times in the am (yeah, making me nervous) but I attributed it to general funkiness. On Thursday I started feeling a mild tenderness on the left side of my groin (where exactly IS the groin, anyway) . By Saturday evening it had swelled to a Genuine Lump. I did a quick internet search and it sounds like I've got myself an angry lymph node friend down there. Well, the general funkiness intensified over Saturday night and by Sunday morning I couldn't stand upright without giving myself a pounding headache. I've had a sinus infection before, about 3 or 4 years ago, and this was similar but not quite the same...I'm still blaming it on sinus though as my nose was a faucet and my face felt puffy around the nasal region. Spent the whole day in bed. It was actually kind of nice, but also frustrating...

This morning I had an appointment with the endo...last time I saw her was in January. I was attempting to fast since I knew I'd have bloodwork drawn. I've never done this before and my stomach was rumbling like crazy about 15 minutes before I left the house. I decided to have a cup of green tea to try and assuage the grumblies. Awful, awful idea. I ended up puking up whatever was in my stomach - mostly tea. I haven't puked since 2002, so this was decidedly unfun. I'm not sure quite what's up with me, but I'd like to have it stop, pronto!

In better news, my PA and endo have given me the green light to go get knocked up (assuming that the blood work they draw today shows that my A1C is under 7). I won't be trying to conceive until late July or early August, but it was nice to get the "good job, way to go" pat on the back. My A1Cs have been under 7 for a couple of years now and my docs seem to have a lot of confidence in my control and ability to self-diagnose and dose. The goals and monitoring we discussed weren't off the wall either - under 90 fasting, 90 pre-prandial, and under 120 2 hours post prandial. Yeah, I am definitely not there yet but as my PA explained, blood sugars tend to drop during pregnancy anyway . . . and like I've said before, babies are great motivators. I've achieved "good" control without busting my butt too much, so if I start busting a little more things should elevate to "great!" I'll get a lot more doc help than I currently do also - fax in the sugar logs a couple of times a week, and a monthly appointment.

From now until August I think I'll be focusing on keeping my nose wiped and my lymph nodes normal sized...ugh!

My Job and Diabetes

This is a timely post as yesterday I had "The Departure Talk" with my performance manager. I'm in my first job out of university . . . I work at a Big 4 corporate tax firm, and boy has it been a show. 60+ hours a week during the busy season (after my mandatory hours were upped unexpectedly from 40 to 50 from September to January . . . hear that whistling sound? Yeah, it's my salary dropping. No, we are not compensated for overtime. MAYBE you'll get a bonus! Wow!) In addition to the crazy hours and multiple bosses asking you if you're done with those memos yet, the 25% local travel quoted to me during my interviews looks more like 50%+ and it's all over the country. Or wherever else the client is. For weeks or months at a time.

I feel like a wimp, but here's my beef. Even before I was diagnosed with the big D, I was a homebody. I never wanted a high falutin' high powered corporate job. I accepted this position only after expressly asking several people about hours & travel and was assured that it was a steady, predictable job . . . okay, I thought, diabetes won't be an issue at all then. My first week on the job, one of my superiors asked me if I was ready to go to Minnesota and North Carolina. I must've given her the googly eye face - I was genuinely shocked. I thought, okay, I'll stick it out. So eight months later here I am, and I still hate my life! Ha. I can't see it getting easier as I gain more and more responsibility and knowledge.

One of my major "selling" points in asking for either reduced hours and travel OR for an exit interview is that I physically can't handle this. I struggle with feeling like a phoney, though. I CAN handle it . . . but I feel like I'm doing myself a great disservice. Despite testing ten times a day and doing my best to make wise choices on the road, my A1C has still crept from a 6.1 to a 6.9. I know that's not a huge leap, but it's a move in the wrong direction and I know stress is involved. I'm so $*#&ing tired all of the time. All I think about is work and carbs, and my marriage is starting to go. I feel like the diabetes should be my major stressor, not diabetes AND my job AND my marriage AND whatever else life brings. What about when I want to have children? Diabetic pregnancy and this job . . . I shudder to think.

Then that said, I know there are tons and tons of people with diabetes out there who have stressful jobs, or jobs that require them to go "above and beyond." And people have fought for so long to show others that they are capable and employable and that diabetes doesn't hold them back . . . but don't we have to be honest sometimes?

Diabetes makes a hard job harder. I see the physical impact it has on my coworkers who are seemingly "healthy" and I feel like I'm working myself into an early grave despite my best efforts. I guess I'm trying to deal with what I feel is right for me and the guilt I feel on behalf of anyone with a disability . . . I know I am a great employee but I also want to respect the seriousness of my disease.

I guess I have to be my own advocate. I'd be willing to settle for less money if I could have peace of mind and peace of body.