D Blog Week: It's my list and I can fantasize if I want to

Today's Diabetes Blog Week prompt asks us to come up with a fantasy diabetes device that would make our world better.  I wrote the following list in less than 5 minutes.  Me thinks maybe I think about this stuff more than I think I do..

So in true Letterman style I present to you:

Meri's top 10 list of 

Made up diabetes care devices

 countdown style

10.  Cracked tubing alert sensor.  Within the past month we have fought three intense rounds with cracked tubing.  Cracked tubing that allowed no insulin to be injected...which led to large ketones and miserable kids.  It would be nice to know if the tubing has been compromised for sure.  (cough...understatement...cough.)

9.  Ketones automatically tested with every blood sugar test.  It would be a combined test, using one strip.  (And lest I'm not specific enough, this fantasy includes the strip NOT costing 10 bucks a piece.)

8.  Implanted microscopic microphones.  If I could get these embedded  into my boys ears, I could be their Jiminy Cricket.  "Did you test your sugar?  Did you forget to brush your teeth?  Don't forget to return your library book.  Ummm...did you test your sugar?"  You know you want to do it.

7.  A low fix that can fit into your pocket, and doesn't taste or look like a glucose tab.  Instant, easy, durable.  Is that too much to ask?  Not in my fantasy world, baby!

6.  Automatically texted blood sugar numbers from child's monitor.  I think this exists, but I want one that works on wifi and doesn't cost me an arm and a leg for a subscription.

5.  Noninvasive blood sugar testing.  Where is that dang watch?????  How hard is it to invent a flipping watch that infrared-ly checks blood sugars?!  We can invent snuggies and we can't invent this?  Come on!

4.  A glucagon chamber on the pump...in case of emergency press gluc button.  I think the bionic pancreas has this...but I'd like it on the next generation Medtronic pump.  (That means I want it now.  And by now, I mean yesterday.)

3.  A swelly brain deflator.  Nuff said.

2.  A blood sugar monitor that alarms if a teen hasn't checked in a certain amount of time.  One that alarms LOUD and Proud and can't be turned off unless a sample has been added to the strip.  Which on the surface, I know, sounds really mean.  But trust me, one time with that alarm going off and J won't let it go off again.

And the number one device...would be...

A cure.

How is that a device?

Hello...FANTASY device.  I'll let the fantasy world work out the deets on that one.

This concludes day 4 of D Blog Week...to see other blogs on this topic visit the link HERE.

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D Blog Week: Diagnosis M.C.A.F.

Today's topic for D Blog Week is "One thing you need to work on."

Sharing my secret shame:  That's what I get for blowin' my own SWAG-nificent horn yesterday...

 I get put in my place.

I've written about it before.  But it's bad.  It's real bad. 

I have M.C.A.F.

Midnight Check Alarm Fatigue.

If you aren't familiar with this condition, here is an excerpt from Web MD:  The deterioration of certain ear parts, and subconscious elimination of alarm sound in the wee hours of the night.

In other words...I don't wake up to my alarm anymore.

(FYI:  That isn't on Web MD. I made it up...except I didn't .  It's really real.)

I'm so far progressed in this condition that I honestly don't know if the alarm blares music at 10 million decibels, or if it just doesn't go off at all.  There is also a scenario that it  gets turned off by the angels, or Satan....or me. 

I have no recollection of it in the morning, and I'm not happy about it.

Maybe it is years and years and years of me waking up multiple times a night.  Maybe my body is rebelling.  Maybe my brain has to completely check out at night to survive these days.  I don't know. 

I WANT so badly to hear it.

 But since I don't...I have no choice but to stay up.

Lately if things are awry, I'll stay up until 12:30.  If things are really bad I'll ask Ryan to get up for me after that.   Sometimes I set RYAN's alarm, have him wake up, so he can shake me, so I'll get up.

It's one thing that has fallen apart in my diabetes management.  I'm not writing here to argue the merits of a the nighttime check...I believe in it for a million reasons I won't write out today. 

But it is what it is.

Something I need to work on, or rather, something I need to find a solution for.

Luckily, the mySentry alarm DOES wake me. 

Weird.

Classic diabetes conundrum.  Diabetes management never makes perfect sense.

Maybe if I start a M.C.A.F. support group, I'll be able to work through my problem.

I'll be the President.  I'm opening up the floor to nominations for VP.

Wait...do support groups have Presidents? 

Let's make it a club instead...

See how I made my problem fun???  Clubs are fun!  Here is a pic of me in one of my first clubs...

The Starlets!

And how dare you accuse me of using a cute pic of me in a Garfield shirt to distract you from my secret shame!  Well, I NEVER!

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D Blog Week: I got the moves like SWAG-ger

Today's prompt asks us to be totally conceded and tell everyone how great we are at something in regards to our children's diabetes care.

How am I supposed to spout out how great I am at something?

I mean, really?  For someone like me it seems close to impossible...

Because I'm really not great at something...

...

I'm AH-MAZ-ING at something!

Great doesn't even begin to cover it.

(lol!  I made a funny!)

Today I am going to talk about one of my super powers.  SWAGing.

For the newbies out there, SWAG is a acronym for Sientific Wild A** Guess.

I do this "SWAGING" thing when I am counting carbs. 

Which honestly, I think I do more than anything else in life.

I'm so good at it, I've got my kids convinced that I am magic.  They will often eat a plate of food in one room, and then come into the other room where I am and say, "How many carbs?"

"ummmm...let me look in my crystal ball.  Seriously?"

Just as outrageous is the phone calls I get every day at lunch.  My two littles call me before lunch to get their lunch insulin.  This means I have to GUESS what they are going to eat.  Luckily, I pack their lunches and learned the oh so smart trick to give them VERY little lunches.  1/2 sandwich.  1 yogurt or 1 cheese stick.  Crackers or pretzels or chips.  They eat the fruit I pack them for snack.  This means they eat what I give them.  Then, when they get home they have a big snack.  

Calling from school for me to count birthday treat carbs is another example.

"It's so and so's birthday...we are having cupcakes...how many carbs?"

"How big?  How much frosting?  Is there candy on top?   Is it homemade or from a store?"  (Sadly, this conversation is the story of my life since it is the last days of school and party-pa-looza.)

Now I know what you are thinking.

"Meri, why don't you create a website where we can download pictures, and you can SWAG for everybody all the live long day!"

Alas, I cannot.  Because sadly, there is a caveat to my super power. 

It only works for my boys.  No one else.

When I meet up with other T1 families, I'll often get asked the question, "How many carbs do you think?"

But I've found that carb counting is very individually specific.   My boys are true examples of that.

Subconsciously, and within milliseconds of seeing a plate of food,  I'll adjust carbs to the situation, taking into account past highs or lows at certain times of day, past effects of food on blood sugars, and activity of the day...so on and so forth.  Case and point.  All three of my boys get different carb counts for the same bowl of cereal in the morning.

My endo and nurse hate that I do that.  (Waving our diabetes team in SF right now!  HI GUYS!)  They hate it because it provides more work for me...but honestly there are like 50 variables that go into how I SWAG a meal, and I can do it in seconds of calculating.  No other human can do it for my boys like I can.  (Except my SIL and my husband. They are almost as good as me, but they are good at everything, so it isn't fair to compare.  My husband wants to me to add here that they are my Scottie Pippen to my Michael Jordan, but this is my blog, and no sports analogies are allowed....wait... )

Anyway, my system works for us.  I can SWAG in the most unlikely of conditions in just a glance. 

It's been 14 years.  It is part of me now.

But there is a humbling factor to all of this.  J has been SWAGing for himself for a good two years now,

and he is better than I am.

Poo.

I don't know how that little sucker does it, but he gives me a run for my money.  I think he was sent here to keep my ego in check.

So yeah, my head won't blow up from swagging self adulation.

 It is probably for the best...my brain is swelly enough as it is.

This concludes day 2 of D Blog Week, masterminded by the incomparable Karen at Bitter Sweet.  Want to see who else posted on this topic?  Check it out HERE.

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D Blog Week: Call of the Wild...card.

This is day one of D Blog week...

SQUEE!!!

All my favorite peeps throughout the blogosphere are coming together and posting the entire week on a chosen set of topics.

Today is:  Find a friend.  Introduce us to a blog you love!

But I can't do it.  I can't choose just one person, (or 2 or 3 or 4.) That would require making a decision, and I am really sucky making these "decision" things these days.  Maybe it's my inner don't-want-to-disappoint-anyone copping out...but every blog is amazing, and has so much value!  Above is a tab that says, "More Sweet Peeps."  Click it and transport yourself into blogger heaven baby!

I'm going for the wild card today!  'Cause I'm super rebellious WILD like that!!  The Wildcard is: Something Good to Eat.  Share a favorite recipe with us.

Yesterday was Mothers Day.  I was spoiled.  Not shockaprising to say the least.

I got an ipad, because yeah...I'm not online enough.  I got beautiful homemade cards and pictures, and even a box full of love and adoration from my 14 year old J.

But the bestest part...was breakfast.

Ryan always cooks the most amazing breakfasts.  This is what mine looked like yesterday:

Eggs Benedict!

I know...WOWZA!  And it tasted even better, if you can imagine.

So today I'm going to share Ryan's secret, on how to poach an egg. 

1) Get a big pot, like about a 10"-12" pot and fill it up with 4 to 5 inches of water.

2)  Add about 1 Tablespoon of White Vinegar into the water.

3) Bring it to a light boil.

4)  Crack an egg in a small bowl or cup.  Crack another one in another small bowl or cup.

5)  Take a spoon and make a whirlpool in the water.  Going around in circles with the spoon.

6)  As soon as you pull the spoon out, gently pour/drop in one egg in at a time, try to leave space between the two.  Ideally the eggs will turn around and the whites will fold over the yolks.

7) Set the timer for three minutes.  No more stirring.  Just wait.

8)  When the timer goes off, scoop them out with a slotted spoon.

Viola!

An English Muffin.  A poached egg.  A little hollandaise sauce.  A slice of Canadian bacon that has been fried.  And if you are like us...maybe a little avocado or asparagus on top.   All topped with a sprinkle of paprika.

YUM!

I have to admit, it tastes even better when you have someone else doing the clean up! 

(Told you it was a rockin' Mothers Day!)

This wraps up day 1 of D Blog Week!  PHEW!  Just under the wire!  Thank you Karen for all your hard work making this happen!  Want to sign up?  It isn't too late!  Sign up HERE.

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Diabetic Humble Pie

It was Wednesday at 2 AM, and I couldn't sleep. I stared at the walls intently as if they held hidden messages for me; my own hieroglyphs to decipher. Suddenly, just like an omen in a bad movie, the soft light that usually bathes the bedroom's walls was gone; complete blackness engulfed everything. Five minutes later, there was light, alright... Lightning and thunder made their explosive way into the picture. The stuff usually soothes, and helps me sleep, but that wasn't going to be the case on this morning. This morning I had to rise early, and walk to work... and it was going to be a very interesting, and very wet, walk to work.

And I can't begin to tell you just how interesting. 

Let's just say I completely underestimated the situation, and thought it was just... well... an annoying moment of rain, and some fading thunder. At 4 am, though, let's just also say that some things are better left unseen. 

Most of the homes on my city's main avenue are small, and unimpressive. Not a blight, by any means, but just average homes that probably serve as 'first homes' to many newlyweds, or even some retired folks. They don't really have much in the way of yards, trees, or shrubbery, but I got to see a few fallen branches here and there, and that's common out here in Iowa during some of our Spring storms. No biggie. 

But then, you hit a slight bend up the road... and the homes become bigger, 'stately', and with sprawling large front lawns, gardens, and trees. You might even see a posh car or two, parked on a driveway; testament to how much someone, somewhere, makes. And this is where the horror began. 

Have you ever seen a a tree trunk that's, maybe, a few feet wide, in diameter? Yes? Now, have you ever seen it BENT IN HALF, like the bending of a simple tulip stem; like a Twizzler... Like it was made of rubber? Well, at this point in my walk, very MANY of the trees were in this state.

I got quite scared. The city sirens never rang that morning, and no warnings or advisories were in effect for my county. But I know quite well a few of you KNOW what this represents. Unless the Jolly Green Giant's bratty son was out and about, or Godzilla, for that matter... the only two things I know that can do this to such large trees are tornadoes, and hurricanes. And we don't have hurricanes up in the northern Midwest. 

I really didn't know if this was still happening in the vicinity... I sure didn't hear anything in the way of a "freight train" noise. But by then, I was closer to work than to home, so I tried to finish the journey as quickly as possible, and get out of harm's way. Stupid? Maybe. Later, in the papers, experts were looking into whether a tornado 'potentially' touched down in Ames. Well, you sure could've fooled me. :/ 

I was very scared, and when I get scared... I tend to get angry at the impotence of the situation. Scared of being alone, scared I have nothing to rely on to save my own behind, and very angry. I don't know why... like what could I do? Slap the sky? I guess I just want life to happen smoothly, sometimes, and not scare the crap out of me. Not force me into confrontations, or situations I don't want. I JUST WANTED TO DO WHAT I HAD PLANNED - GET TO WORK! 

But life seldom cares what we want, and we have to roll with it...

So we come to Friday, at the second job. I worked an 11-5 pm shift, and I'd been sick with a stomach virus for a few days. Really, foolish or not, I didn't have much in my stomach at that moment; I was just too scared I couldn't keep any of it down. 

Lunch rush starts at this Mexican restaurant, and I'm quickly into the groove of things, making order after order after order. It's okay...! I'm in my element! Things are going awesome... 

And then, without notice, the floor was made of lava, and I was in a movie, and people were watching me. And I was making those burritos... on a compartment, atop a roller coaster ride, and trying to hold on soooo hard to the railing. I think I thought the burritos were the railing, at one point. Everything was funny, and sooo not funny, at the same time. I got scared, and very angry.

I wanted to stop, but there was no one else there. I'm pretty knew, so people don't really know much about what I need, or don't need, and frankly... I only work a few hours, part time. I guess I foolishly thought I could get away with it. I *knew* that I was having a quite sudden, and quite low, LOW. But I couldn't stop.

"I can finish this lunch rush," I say to myself... I can. By the time rush was done, I'm sure some of my folding, and wrapping, looked as mangled as those trees on my main avenue. I was so sick feeling, and so scared... Like a person drowning, and their head rising in and out of the water. Where the hell are the jellybeans? I quickly announced I'm going on break -- whether people like it or not -- and NO ONE refused. They must've seen something in my eyes, and wisened up. 

Funny, the place is typically crawling in ho-hos, twinkies, and jelly beans... and not a damn piece of sugar was in sight. 

Luckily, I ate through 3 pieces of candy I had in my pocket (too scared to go down the greasy, steep steps to the basement, and find my purse, and get the meter and the glucose tabs), and a cup of regular soda... 30 minutes later things seemed to improve. My break was only 15. 

I will have to ask if I can keep things upstairs -- we can't really keep personal things, nor food, in the work areas. But it's going to have to be... an uncomfortable conversation. I just don't like to bring it up.

ALL I WANTED WAS TO DO MY JOB, AND FINISH, AND GO HOME. 

In the end, I took a detour through Alice's Wonderland of Diabetic Crap, and finished with a terrible headache... and NOT from the magic mushrooms. :/ 

I hate Diabetes. *&^%#! Diabetes.

Lesson: We can't exactly plan for every situation, in life. Who the heck knows when a tornado's going to come in, and rip through your lunch rush, at work... BUT we must be willing to reach out to others, and identify safe beacons along the way. Don't hurt yourself because you want to be tough, and stubborn, and stupid. Just don't. It's so not worth it... 

"One order of diabetic humble pie, please. For here." 

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We are the D Mothers

We are called D Moms.  D Mamas.   Even Type 3's.

Sometimes we get a bad rap.

~We're too "intense."

~We worry too much.

~We are overbearing.

~We over think.

~We over react.

~We over manage.

And I only have one thing to say about all of that...

You are probably right.

I want to tell you that if you are a parent, you can understand.

But that is not true.

I want to tell you that if you have diabetes yourself, you can understand.

But that is not true either...just as I will never fully understand your diabetic life,

you will never fully understand mine.

The only way you would understand what goes on in the swelly brain of a D Mama,

is if you were a D Mama yourself.

We are special.  Chosen for our story, as you were chosen for yours.

We are fighters, and we will fight until our last breath to keep our children safe.

New technologies like fast acting insulin and insulin pumps provide keys for better management, but they also provide a clear and present danger at all times.

We have to be vigilant.

We look into the eyes of our children and we love them with a bright tenderness.  We want more than anything for them to live a life free from restrictions, free from prejudice, free from complications, free from emergency rooms and hospitals.

We feel a responsibility well beyond any bounds of normalcy.  We do not want to live a life of regrets.  One day we will need to look into the eyes of our adult Type 1 Children and we want more than anything to say...

"I did my best."

The mothers of Type 1's spend every day racked with guilt.   Every blood sugar number pierces our heart.  We feel responsible for every high and every low.

An argument can be made that diabetes is responsible for every one of those numbers, but in our eyes...whether a reasonable notion or not, we feel they are a reflection of our efforts.

We may not always admit it to you, or to ourselves...but we take those numbers personally.

The A1C isn't called the mommy report card for nothing.

We do not sleep.  That is a choice.  We choose to keep a close eye on the numbers while the world takes a break.  We don't take breaks.  We know that waking up with a off number can domino to the rest of the day. 

We know that pancreases sputter.

We know the soccer game from 5 hours earlier can affect the nighttime numbers.

(Yet we urge them to play.)

We know that Pizza can wreak havoc hours after consumption, and we know that Chinese food for dinner means a sleepless night for us.

(Yet we delight in serving them their favorites anyway.)

We know that diabetes never sleeps.  That is why we don't either.

We know that a 200 can turn into a 52 in 30 minutes flat.

We know that on field trip days our children may spike with excitement, or bottom out from activity.

We know nothing is for sure.

So we check, and constantly ask our children how they are feeling...and we hover...watching every move...looking for changes in our children's faces...changes in their gait...tiny beads of sweat on the back of their necks...we know the signs of lows.  We know our children better than anyone else.

We love hard.

We try hard.

We cry hard.

We hug hard.

We hope hard.

We stress hard.

We are hard on ourselves.

We are D mamas.   

Don't judge us because we fret over the details.  To us...Our Diabetic Life is all about the details.

We are 100% responsible for the well being of children we love more than anything on this blessed green earth.

No, we will not back off.

No, we will not calm down.

No, we will not stop making noise.

As mothers, we know that our children are special.  Diabetes makes them stronger.  It makes them resilient, responsible, amazing.  It gives them a sense of humor.  It makes them grow up too fast, and let's them spread their wings too slow.

We wish we could take away the pain. 

We wish it were us.


We are warriors.


We are D Moms.

Hear.   Us.   Roar.

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My life: The million piece jigsaw puzzle

My life is a puzzle.

It's sitting in front of me in a million different pieces.

I want more than anything to put all the pieces in their place.  I don't like clutter. 

But the pieces shift and situations change.  Just when I have all the edges picked out of the pile...the edges morph into center pieces.  Their smooth lines change to curves and pointy 45 degree angles.

I spend my days mentally trying to put it all together.  Trying to make sense of the big picture.

I sort out my thoughts into separate color piles.  Organizing my feelings in each situation.  Are these feelings here because of the cancer?  Am I angry right now because of diabetes?  Am I scared or am I just a human being feeling what should be felt?

The biggest problem lays in the fact that I'm not in full control of the puzzle.

People, problems, life...they walk into my swelly brain and mess with my progress.

These days, the puzzle doesn't seem to be any more closer to completion than it was a month ago. 

I just want to make progress.

But it is blaringly obvious to me that I'm not completely in charge of that.

Ryan's cancer decides on its own whether many of the pieces work or they don't.

The boys blood sugars have power far beyond my organization skills to mix up all my pieces again and again.

Looking at it sometimes...all I see is a big fat mess.

I put one foot in front of the other...one piece connecting with another and I keep going because I have faith that the full picture will emerge one day.  Imagining the successful future of our picture gets me through.  I'll work on this puzzle forever because I know we can eventually make it a piece of art.

The pieces are a big chaotic mess right now, but on the other hand I realize there are enough pieces at my disposal to make something out of them...smaller sections of beautiful.   And that is something. 

A very big something.

Maybe not everything fits right now...but my children are here.  My husband is here.  He is alive, and smiling.  I have my home, my family, my friends, and my faith.

All the pieces are there to make an amazing future.  Well...most of them.  Cancer is holding a few pieces hostage at the moment...but we'll get them back.  I have to believe that. 

Believing that is what keeps me moving.

Puzzles aren't meant to be put together in a single moment.

Puzzles take time.  Patience.  Faith that we can do it. 

And above all, the belief that there is a worthwhile  final picture.

Sure, the final picture I imagine for our family requires a miracle... 

But I believe the man upstairs is sorting those pieces into cohesive piles as we speak.

After all, he created the puzzle in the first place.  I need to stop scrambling and have faith that he'll guide our family to the finished product.

One prayer at a time.

One piece at a time.

 

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Blue Cinco de Mayo...

In Loving Memory...

Gone too soon, nine years ago, today.

Gone, but not forgotten... 

Just one loving memory away.

Hector Rafael Collazo Santos

(September 11, 1938 - May 5th, 2003)

He may have lost his chapter with Type 2 Diabetes,

but the WAR continues with me.

I will keep on fighting, dad.

I will NOT give up.

Rest in Peace

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Atypical ranting soapbox mama

I'm in a mood.  I'm wagging my finger and double air snapping all over the place.

Oh look!  A soapbox!  Looks inviting... 

Listen up!

It is real.

Diabetes is not a joke.

People honestly think that fat people just need to eat less and diabetes will disappear.

Diabetes is not a fat person's disease.  It is an everyone disease.

Type 1, Type 2, Lada, Gestational, all of it...everyone is a target no matter what your waist size.

My boys have a type of diabetes called Type 1.  It thrives in the otherwise healthy population.  This particular type is autoimmune...it is serious...it is not a joke.

Diet won't make it go away.  Diet won't make them "better."
 
Their pancreases do not make insulin.  NO INSULIN.  Too bad every one's bodies need a constant stream of insulin to survive.  If insulin was only kinda important it wouldn't be a big deal.  But insulin is very important...so important that just a few hours without it is an emergency...a life threatening emergency.

But the world turns a blind eye and doesn't want to see what a serious thing it is. 
Story time.  TRUE story time.
 
Grab a blanket and some cocoa 'cause it's gonna get all kinds of real up in this blog...

Today I was picking up my boys from school.   My nephew attends my littles school and I was chatting with my sis.  We said goodbye and within minutes she doubled back to find me again.

"Meri!  Did you know L is laying down on the ground...in the middle of the playground?"

I ran over to him and found him face up laying flat on the ground. 

"What's up L?  Are you low?"

"No...I'm just so super tired.  My body doesn't want to work.  I just want to sleep."

"Are you sure you aren't low?"

"I am sure.  I checked my sugar before school was out and I was a little high.  I gave myself insulin"

We get the car and pick up his brothers at the Junior high and High School.  We run to the outlet mall...I need a baby shower present and L needs shoes.  Like...his shoes are 2 sizes too small...

But as we are walking into the mall L says he is going to throw up.

Blood sugar:  592.

I check his pump.  His reservoir is full of insulin.  I check his history.  Yes, he gave himself lunch insulin.
 
I have him bolus himself insulin to correct his sugar and send another child to the drink machine to buy L a bottle of water.

But my gut tells me something is wronger than it seems, so after the insulin is injected, I take off his set and prime out a unit of insulin...just to make sure it is working. 

I hold his set up to the sun so I can see more clearly...

Nothing is coming out.  

I try again.  A tiny speck appears. 

"What do you think J?"

"That isn't a unit." Says J.

Then I feel it.  Insulin on my hand.  The tubing cracked and L wasn't getting any insulin at all.  I look at B with my mouth agape.  B returns my stunned gaze and says, "dot dot dot."  Which is his way of saying  "..." which is his way of articulating an uncomfortable pause or heavy moment.  Probably a sign that he plays too much Mindcraft, but I digress...

L is about to lose it.  We run to the bathroom and he composes himself.

So then I order B to take his pump off and give it to L.  I give L the proper amount of insulin through the prime so it doesn't show up on B's IOB.  And I leave the pump on L...he needs the insulin more than B right now.  

What kind of choice is that?  Not cool fates.  Not cool.

So we get home and this is what I find.

And checking ketones takes a lot of extra blood...more than a normal blood sugar test.  And blood spurts all over me...

And my baby looks like this.

And so I throw on new tubing and a fresh reservoir with fresh insulin for good measure.

I insert the needle into my boy, and pull it out leaving the tubing inside.

I spend the next two hours monitoring ketones and blood sugars and finally realize...

Meri...you can breathe.  He is going to be okay.

But here is the kicker...

What if I didn't test his sugar?  What if I left him and figured he had the flu?  What if I didn't test him at all the rest of the day? 

I'll tell you what would have happened...He would have gone into a coma...or even worse.

Now I know you are all rolling your eyes and thinking:
"MERI!  That would never happen!  You are a rockin' pancreas.  You always are vigilant about checking your boys.  You would never ignore symptoms and not check him."

And you are right.  I never would.  But it happens around the world...ALL THE TIME.

Maybe a family can't afford the test strips.  They are a dollar a piece.  Some families can only afford to test their child one time a day...if at all.  Somefamilies can't even afford insulin for crying out loud!  And they have to CHOOSE to let their child die.

There are teens out there, adults even, that don't test for days.  Maybe they weren't educated about the importance of it.  Maybe they are just so darn sick of CONSTANTLY CHECKING ALL THE TIME.

There are people out there misdiagnosed as Type 2...when they really have Type 1.  I can't even properly relate how dangerous this is.  Most Type 2's can go without insulin...there isn't a Type 1 in the world that can go without it.  (Most type 2's make insulin...it is slow and sometimes insufficient...but it is present.)

It's serious. 

I'm pretty okay with that.  On hard days, like today, it is hard to be okay with it.  But for the most part I accept our story.  We can do this.

But so so many are misinformed.  Even by doctors.  Misinformation is just as much an epidemic as diabetes is.

And those on the outside looking in think it is a dietary issue.   That's just cruel.

Our life is REAL, and SERIOUS every day.
 
And lest you want to gag...I want you to know I am honestly not complaining...

I'm just seriously gobsmacked with the misrepresentation diabetes has in the media.

I'm getting off my soapbox now...and going to bed.

For a couple hours anyway...

Because at 2am I will be checking blood sugars and ketones again.  Because diabetes never sleeps and not checking is a gamble.

Sure, the odds are in their favor that they will wake up alive even if I don't check.  But I don't play the odds when it comes to my boys. 

I don't gamble with my children's lives.

Because as I said before...Diabetes is serious.

How can we get the world to see?

(Wow. How did this soapbox get into my bed?)

Lights out on my rant.

Good night.

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When Will I Die From Type 2 Diabetes?

"I do what I have to do, so that I can do what I want to do."

Life is not a simple exercise for me. While it just seems to come naturally to some, it's just not so, for me. Having a positive state of mind is a continuous choice I have to make, and it is a continuous decision to stop self destructive thoughts in their tracks, and choose to believe the positive mantras that might seem cheesy, or ludicrous to me.

I don't really know why I am like this... and I could psycho-analyze it to death, but I'm not sure how helpful that would be. I'm pretty sure that some of the hurdles I've faced (especially in my childhood) have helped me develop a somewhat dim view of the world. Things like childhood obesity, a grim personal appearance (thanks to undiagnosed PCOS), constant exhaustion and mood swings (thanks to undiagnosed Hypothyroidism), uninvested parents and a lack of personal development, etc.

I felt so alone most of my childhood, and so inadequate, that I spent it trying to pursue instant gratification. In my teen years, eating and TV became my sole companions and comforts, while my family was mostly off in their own world. It's still like this today, you know. I don't get social phone calls from family, nor so much as a card on a birthday, or a holiday... and quite frankly, I don't remember the last time I got anything at all in the mail, from them, or even a social phone call. You can see why a child would try to drown itself with 'love' in the form of whatever one came across -- be it food, or TV, or what have you. Pick your poison.

When one is swimming in loneliness, illness induced mood swings, life induced anxiety, and self loathing... it is extremely hard to have self control of any kind. Whether it be with your refrigerator, or with your checkbook, or whatever brings you immediate release. What's worse is that when you don't have deadlines or commitments of any kind, you can put off desperately needed changes, for as long as possible and tell yourself that 'tomorrow, you will start;' but when someone tells you that you have NO choice, that it's the hour zero and you need to buckle down, or else... your life turns into a shiny, red button. Do not press the shiny red button, they say... You must guard yourself to never press the shiny red button. Everyone's anticipating, and policing you. Everyone knows.

History Eraser Button

If the video doesn't show, follow the link above.

This is what life is like for many of my fellow type 2 diabetics, right now... A shiny red button. It's easy to understand how one gets to that kind of place, and ever soooo hard to help someone get out of that place, see the light, and understand that although life may be smacking us with its behind (like the announcer guy on this Ren and Stimpy video), that we have a choice. We indeed have a choice, and our lives don't automatically go down the drain... Our destinies are not planned for us. We MAKE our own futures; we write them today.

Someone I admire profoundly, once said to me: "Lizmari, you are no one's victim." 

But it's so comforting to believe that I am; that I am life's victim, that I have no choices, that I am like a small boat, with no sails, and no paddles... at the mercy of life's waves. That I am being held hostage at the mercy of a big, shiny red button, awaiting to erase history; MY HISTORY. Or at least, in my warped sense of self I like to think it is... "Woe is me..."

Why? Because it's PAINFUL to not be anyone's victim. It takes MUSCLE, and exercising your discipline muscle is just as painful as stretching your calves. Ouch. 

... But I am not anyone's victim. I AM NOT, and neither are you. 

Listen to me, friend. You who decided to google "When will I die from Type 2 Diabetes?" and suddenly chanced upon my blog: You are not a tiny raft, alone at sea. You are a MASSIVE ship, and you can take charge of your course. You can choose to stir your ship into the icebergs, you can choose to press the shiny red buttons of your life, every day... Or you can choose to tell diabetes to buzz off.

"Hey, diabetes... GET LOST. You may place hurdles in my life, but you will NOT take me. Not today. TODAY WILL NOT BE THE DAY. I am NOT your victim. You are NOT my master. I AM, and I am allowed to BE, and you do NOT get to tell me who I am, what I am, and when I get to leave." 

I have my own shiny, red buttons... and I understand. Believe me, I do... 

But you have choices... And while you may decide to throw in the towel, let me remind you (or perhaps inform you), that Type 2 Diabetes =/= death. YOU have the power to let it equal LIFE. A life reborn, a life re-defined, a life EMBRACED. 

Embrace life, WITH diabetes. It may take courage to not be a victim... but I promise you, if you do it, you will NOT be disappointed. You will be OKAY. You will not just survive, but you will THRIVE. You can do this thing... Life awaits you! 

I promise. 

Will you take the challenge?

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Ruh Roh.........Hacker Alert

First I would like to apologize to all the people who receive emails automatically from, and the group of readers who check in to OUR Diabetic Life.  This is not the usual witty, well crafted, insightful post that generally comes from this blog.  Grammar? Whose the Hells needs Grammar? This is not even the person who writes the blog, it is her husband, Ryan.

I do have a swelly brain, not the original one but I do have pictures to prove mine.  In this post I will add some things I like……I like to call them “flairs.”  I may throw in one of these !!! Just to add a little spice. I even plan on posting a picture and adding a song.  Now don’t think I’m an amateur at this, I have my own blog! Oh ya, it’s called “Welcome to My World, a husband’s feeble attempt to enter his wife’s world in order to get closer to her.”  Started it a year and a half ago, I belted out 6 posts...believe me they were epic.

Now Meri has asked me in years past why I never comment or guest post or even read her blog.  She talks about other male bloggers and awesome observers like Fred Cunha, Manny Hernandez, and Mike Hoskins.  That’s when my blog idea came about, but I started thinking about all the pressure of having everyone know that I was Meri’s husband and my posts and comments be….. dare I say at times inappropriate or not politically correct. What also came to thought was I didn’t want to ride the coattails of my famous wife.  So conflicted, I thought of Emilio Estevez, he not wanting to ride his dad’s fame, changed his name.  So I came up with this idea of creating an alter ego, someone that wouldn’t be tied to Meri and she would know it was me……..I called him Enrique Ferrell (I was thinking of someone sexy, everyone name Enrique is sexy, and funny, Ferrell, cause I think Will Ferrell KILLS!) I know what you’re thinking………this guy is either making this up or he’s crazy………it’s the latter, this is a true story.  It’s CRAZY love.

OK so on to my list of things I want you, Meri to know, and a few things I want the blogosphere world to know.  I want you to know it tears me up inside that I’m putting you through this.  I also want you to know I thank God it’s me and not you.  I don’t think I could be as strong as you watching your soul mate go through this, you are MY hero!!!  I want you to know that is the most twisted 3 sentences I have ever put together, they contradict each other and almost don’t make sense.  I want you to know that “spoiling” you make me feel like I’m doing something of worth.  You are the most important person in my life and that’s where all my efforts should go.  I want you to know that I don’t “think” you’re beautiful, you light up my life and any room you walk into.  I smile at you after a disagreement because you are so damn cute and it’s not worth a second of our time to be cross with each other.  I want you to know that as years of our marriage continue to grow they only get sweeter.  I can’t believe how blessed we are. I give you all the credit for the boys, they are so awesome. So much better than I was and that’s on you.  Without you I would still be stuck in the bakery, thank you for believing and seeing something in me I could have never comprehended on my own.  We have been married 6941 days and I’ve loved you every single one.  I want to add something that will “B LOW YOUR MIND“ (in the words of Jack Black,) but I tell you everything :P   I want your friends to know I appreciate all of you and the support, prayers, and love we receive from you each day. We feel these physically every day.  I will dedicate hours at Friends for Life just for hugs (I’m a hugger). I had a hard time realizing you all were real people but did get that realization before all chaos came into our life.  I see the support Meri gives and takes and it’s a beautiful thing.  I want you to know my family and I will make every effort to pay forward all the acts of kindness offered to our family.

Meri you are my best friend and I love you with all my heart and I know you feel the same way. I look so forward to a bright future walking hand in hand in love forever and always.

I said I’d post a picture and a video…..I lied. Just a video if I can get it on :) I think this song was written for Meri and I..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pG1pG47XStA&feature=player_detailpage
 
 
Ryan

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Ryan, I want you to know something...

Ryan reads my blog.

He subscribes to it and receives emails on an account that I thought he never visited.  (The other day when he said, "Run, Ryan Run!" as he looked at me sheepishly with one eyebrow raised and a smirk, I realized this wasn't the case.  He reads every post.)

Hi Babe!

So today in honor of our nineteenth anniversary, I thought I'd write him a little note, spoofing off another blog/love letter I sent to all of you a year or two ago...

Dear Ryan,

I want you to know something...

I want you to know that when you tell me you love me,
I know that you mean it.  I know that you mean it forever.

I want you to know that I've loved you from the first day I saw you in Mike's window.

I want you to know that I fully realize how lucky I am to have you.

I want you to know that I KNOW you are my greatest blessing.

I want you to know that I'm proud of every day of our history.

I want you to know that when you smile at me after a disagreement, really...everything is made better instantly.

I want you to know that after years of you taking care of me...spoiling me...I'm glad to take care of you.  You've done so much more for me than I've ever done, or will do, for you.

I want you to know that I LOVE that you loved picking up the boys from school.  You are a great father, and I know it meant a lot to them.

I want you to know that you will be able to pick them up again. 

You make the best breakfasts.  I don't take them for granted.

I want you to know that even though the steroids make you look different on the outside, you are still my Ryan on the inside, and still every bit the man I married...plus every bit the man I am madly in love with.

Your smiling eyes and bear hugs are two of the things I love most...but you know that.

I want you to know I wouldn't take back one day of our life together.  I look back and don't see any bad times.  I see hard times.  Times when we had babies, and diagnoses, and times when working 15 hour days was normal for you.  Those hard times have brought our love to where it is today.  It was all SO worth it.

I want you to know I want to be better, I try to be better...for you, because of you.

I want you to know that this is just a bump in the road.  We can do this.  You are the strongest most wonderful person I know.  Don't be hard on yourself.  Fighting cancer is HARD...and exhausting.

You can do this!  I want you to know I truly believe that.

I want you to know I love you more every day...still.  It seems impossible that I could love you more tomorrow than today, but experience tells me I will.

Thank you for loving me Ryan....for seeing past all my imperfections.  Thank you for telling me every day that you love me.  Thank you for thinking I am beautiful.  Thank you for nineteen years, and thank you for fighting for nineteen more.

I want you to know you're my hero.

Forever yours,

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