world diabetes day preparation.
get it.
thank you Mr Mike Lawson and the Diabetes Hands Foundation for making this video possible.
when everything’s made to be broken, i just want you to know who i am
my cousin got married last weekend. i went to the home where i grew up before hand because it was en route. i’m not sure what inspired me to begin poking around my old stuff, but i ended up with a book of poetry in my hands. it is more like a stack of papers in a folder than an actual book, but it was none then less a collection of poems and stories written by yours truly between the ages of 9 and 17 labeled “book of poetry”.
i stumbled upon something that made big proud tears water my face. i found the first edition of my diabetes story. ever.
it’s called, ‘Arnolds story” and i barely remember writing it. what i DO remember is the deep feeling of liberation that i felt as i handed it to my mother with a smile on my face and said ‘read this’.
i had never talked about diabetes like that before. i hadn’t found a way to tell my mom that i knew i was going to make it out alright. this was an empowering moment in my life.
i didn’t write my first diabetes story about my self… directly. i disguised it. i changed a few details. from me to arnold. from age of diagnosis from 11 to 7. from dr. bechini to dr. burgertoes. — there is no way to pretend this isn’t about me and my experience with d, but writing about someone else can make it easier to access feelings. and this is where i started, eleven years ago.
here is a fuzzy photo of my first *story:
* did you enjoy the terrible punctuation. 😉
here is the way i most recently wrote my diabetes story. there are similarities and differences.
i think the way we story tell affects the way our memories of diagnosis and life with d feel now. if i CHOOSE to remember the good things, diabetes can feel like a gift rather than a burden. if i CHOOSE to retell my stories with a positive spin, then they will eventually only exist in my mind the way i tell it.
i’ll keep storytelling and allowing my story to shape-shift. who know’s where it will go if i give it freedom to morph. great things come from change and movement. warm and empowering feelings can evolve from bad ones.
have you written your first edition diabetes story? what about a second edition?
if you have or have not, here is your challenge.
write your story through/about someone else.
share it with a friend or relative.
feel it.
then, rewrite it.
retell it, and each time change a little something about it. let it impact the person you are now for the better. how did the experience make you a better person? how are you stronger? smarter? more connected?
move onward, my friend, onward.
A less fuzzy version: Diabetes Story
man, i feel like a woman
you know the feeling of being overwhelmed right?
you’ve felt it, talked about it, heard about it, maybe even cried about it?
it can be gut-wrenching. if you’re like me, it’s this internal friction that just looms and grows and mocks. it has a great power over me, and even when i know that i have lost power to it, i can’t seem to get it back. it’s like putty, the tighter i grab it, the more it squishes out my fingers.
gentleman, please do not take offense or feel like i am trivializing your struggles.
that is not my intent (although it may be unintentionally implied).
what i am trying to say is that being a woman and having all the lady things going on makes being overwhelmed from external circumstances much more overwhelming.
at least six days of every month…
my blood sugars are high.
im kind of being a biiitch.
i’m sensitive.
realllllllly sensitive.
i cry when i see apple commercials.
my favorite playlist on grooveshark is ‘sad songs on steroids’.
i am grumbly.
i’m less productive.
nothing in my life is balanced.
i’m upset about something i can’t figure out.
i walk around wanting to growl at people who look at me weird.
i’m a complete nutcase trumping around in oversized sweaters with unbrushed hair, and a costco-sized bag of brownies in my purse for 20% of my life.
i know that NOT ALL women find truth in this.
but for ME, there is.
i get affected.
the chemicals that apparently organize and attend week long raves in my body change the way i see the world and the way i react to all the stimuli that come leaping in.
the light, the jokes, the work, the fun, the friends, the love.
i feel like i loose some authorship, some agency.
it’s like i’m still the architect, but i’ve been drugged or something.
it’s wild.
and the point of all of this is to say that when i am in all of this madness, when i am feeling the most helpless, like i have the least amount of control over my reactions to my life and everything IN IT is ALWAYS in tandem with the times in life when i feel the most alone.
logically, i know that the universe is on my side, even in the middle of the mayhem. but the way i FEEL happens without my permission. the feeling of being alone and isolated happens in me immediately, automatically.
i then have to go back in and reflect.
i then have to process and lend my self the compassion and understanding i need to NOT react to my chemical reaction. i have to try really hard to not be mad at myself for getting mad at someone else for something i shouldn’t be mad about.
BUT there are many times where i don’t find time to do that work. i don’t find that time to process. so i go on feeling isolated until those six or more days are over and i start coming back to baseline.
i am writing this because it took me too many years to realize that being in this weird space is normal, predictable, and temporary.
my feeling of being alone in this unsolicited hysteria is ironically shared.
moving onward.
i just wanted you to let me in
my panic was suspended. home-treat. no hospital.
–> lungs, you may inflate.
last friday, after of a string of not-so-thought-through decisions and indecisions, i became a ketonic-mega-monster. that’s a thing, right?
the highly unfortunate sequence of events:
i had a beer the evening before around 11pm, after an intense two hours of dodgeball (one game of which left me the closer. aka. last woman standing – it rocked). i hadn’t eaten dinner because the sport is very physical and well, i didn’t want to introduce all my teammates to my prior food choices.
i didn’t drive home because one beer usually knocks me out, and on an empty stomach, especially so. my hunky boyfriend jesse drove me and right when i burst through the door like the champion i felt i was, i ran to the shower, suspended and disconnected my pump and jumped in.
after getting so fresh and so clean clean, i reconnected my pump, checked my bg (189) and went to sleep.
did you catch where i went wrong?
i didn’t catch it.
i didn’t catch it until after noon the next day.
here’s why:
i decided on sleeping in because it was friday and my day off. i had a busy week and deserved the leisure morning! i didn’t notice how melty i was. even when my hunky boyfriend got out of bed i stayed because i didn’t feel ready. i just laid there. 9 , 10, 11am.
when i finally got out of bed, i was queasy. but considering the past two weeks i had been waking up a little nautious anyway, i didn’t take notice. plus, i could smell bacon being cooked downstairs. it would be fair to say my mind was almost entirely focused on the prospect of food.
this is where i went wrong for the second time, did you catch it?
i hobbled down stairs in a fog, which i wasn’t chemically equipped to notice, and slumped on the couch.
i ate half of the bacon egg sandwich my hunky boyfriend made me and couldn’t eat the rest. THIS NEVER HAPPENS TO ME. i always eat everything he cooks me. it even had cheese on it!
i still didn’t even connect the dots after placing my unfinished food on the side table.
it was around noon as i fell asleep on the couch. i woke up about ten minutes later feeling like death. i couldn’t even communicate.
i just laid there and moaned until i couldn’t moan anymore and then fell back asleep.
this cycle of outcries and sleep probably happened five or six times over about a half hour period.
i hope that right now you are thinking, what the hell was your hunky boyfriend thinking?
here’s the thing. 1. i am verbally expressive. all the time. i sigh when i’m sad and breathe heavily when i’m overwhelmed. i don’t cry out loud, but i have wailed my frustration tearlessly a number of times. what i mean is that he is used to it.
and B. i haven’t had high ketones in the entire time we have been together (5 years). Not only has he not been around it before, but I honestly didn’t even remember what it felt like to go through. I haven’t had them like this since high school.
so: he didn’t notice and i was too foggy to care. and just so i’m clear, at this point in the story, i still don’t know that i have ketones.
after the fifth or sixth moaning cycle, i came to a little bit and realized that i was actually going to introduce my breakfast to my toilet.
i lurched from the couch and the pain of ketones really kicked in. every single muscle in my body was contracted and tight. it was like i had been given flu shots in every square inch of my back and sides and butt and legs and feet and hands. i was tense and tender and all of that mounting sensation gave me goosebumbs everywhere.
after i actually started throwing up, my hunky boyfriend came running and asked if i was okay.
here is my first lightbulb: oh shit, i haven’t checked my bg this morning.
i cried at him for my meter. he ran up the stairs to get it. i checked.
280.
get this:
i reach down to my pump to correct.
SHEER BEWHILDERMENT: my second, terrifying, panic-ensuing lightbulb:
my pump was still suspended. from the night before.
it had been over 12 hours. no insulin.
i freaked out. i wailed. i kicked i cried.
my first thought post initial shock. ketones.
jesse nearly sprinted to the nearby walgreens for ketone strips while i continued to stubornluy give my guts to the golden throne.
after i lost literally all of my insides to the inside of the toilet (ew, i know) i checked my ketones and surprise surprise large large ketones present.
i used the urine strip to test and i will never forget how quickly that stick went black.
i started to panic because i felt like i had to go to the hospital
but here is where the whole story turns around.
instead of just going to the ER, i sent a text to some friends from the DOC.
Mike Lawson. Manny Hernandez. Emily Coles. Melissa Lee.
melissa lee answered the call like batman and told me she could chat.
THAT WOMAN is AMAZING! if you don’t know her, introduce yourself.
she walked me off the plank and calmed me down and said the best thing i could have ever heard in that moment: “you may be able to home treat”
i guess it is time for a disclaimer. i am not a medical professional. what worked for me may not work for you and whatever i say from this point on is not medical advice. the same goes for melissa. she did not give me medical advice, nor is this post representative of her giving you medical advice. bases covered, right?
and so it goes, she was cool calm and collected and described options and ways to make my own discussion based on the information i could collect from my body.
liquids. if i could keep down liquids, i could probably home-treat.
rage bolusing. i needed to take a larger amount of insulin than to just bring my bg down to base because insulin breaks the ketones too.
food. i needed to eat to keep up with the insulin i was taking. this part was really contradictory to what i have lived by for so long, it was hard to understand.
i learned more in that 16 minute phone call that i have in the last 5 years with diabetes.
melissa then told me a story about a time she had high ketones and how she surprised the ER docs by walking in declaring what she needed in an empowered way. she knew what was wrong and she knew what treatment she needed. and that was that.
what a fantastic thing to share with a young woman, feeling controlled by ketones, crouched over on her bathroom floor, just hoping for someone to say ‘i’m sorry this sucks’.
it took about 10 hours, but i recovered. i home treated.
melissa checked in with me several times that day and i really can’t thank her enough.
melissa, people like you are the reason why the DOC is such an amazing and supportive place.
i am sorry i didn’t ask you how your day was or make sure you had time to talk with me. i wish i could’ve been more thoughtful. you’re understanding and willingness to lend time to help is something i will always be touched by. i will do everything i can to emulate your kindness. i will pay it forward.
so that is my horror story with a good side.
diabetes can suck. ketones definitely always suck.
but if putting up with the suckfest that is diabetes means i get to learn about the kindness and resilience of the human condition as i have in the last 11 years, , i’d do it time and time again.
move onward, my friend, onward.
cause i don’t shine, if you don’t shine
#LancetThePug
how long does it take to be considered a veteran?
how long until one can be honored with a certificate of completion?
what governing institution would offer the PhD in diabetes management that each pwd has been working their buns of steel off to achieve?
i’m 23.
i might be wise beyond my years, but i’m not yet wise.
i might be professional, but i’m not yet a professional.
i’m no veteran, but i sure as hell have served.
i’ve had diabetes for nearly 12 years.
this december, i will have lived longer WITH diabetes than i ever did without.
and on that glorious day i am going to strut to the frame shop with my self made certificate of achievement and say, ‘i need a frame for my PhD, please!’
i’ve been around teens with diabetes lately. some of them have been living with diabetes longer than i. some of them less. but for each one – regardless of the number of years they have, i want to hug and say THANK YOU for existing, thank you for living with diabetes and being such a great team player. i want to tell them that this CLUB is better because they are in it, and i want to tell them that it gets easier with time.
we all have to work for our degrees, for our honors and awards. we have to put in hours and feelings and love into our bodies, the bodies that decided they didn’t want to work for us.
but boy, i’d tell them that with all that time, all that energy, we become the smartest people in the world, the most empowered people in the world.
i would say this:
becoming diabetic, empowered and moved by the effort i was forced to put forth, was one of the best things to ever happen to me.
i would mean it.
today, i mean it.
tomorrow, i’ll mean it.
even the day after tomorrow, when diabetes decides to not play by the rules and i feel like crap, i’ll mean it.
being diabetic describes me.
it moves me.
i’m strong
i’m intelligent
i’m thoughtful
i’m ambitious
i’m careful
i’m fun
i’m honest
and if you are a person with diabetes, you are too.
come on, strut with me to the frame shop.
be proud.
we work for this, we can decide it is an honor to live with it and take our perks as they come.
cheers to life with diabetes.
for bringing us together and holding us tight.
move onward, my friend, onward.
and we’ll all float on, okay
waiting.
you know what it is like right?
you’re friends tell you things like: just keep swimming, patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait, get your mind off it, go for a run or something, chill…
maybe you are waiting for your lab results or to hear back from grad school. maybe your vacation starts at some point in the future. maybe your birthday is less than 365 days away. maybe halloween is your favorite day of the year. maybe your husband is coming home from being away for a long time. maybe YOU’VE been away for a long time. regardless of the ‘what’ there is always SOMETHING we are waiting for and it always ‘comes with a price’.
there are varying degrees of waiting. sometimes, life around what you are waiting for carries on as if there isn’t anything being waited on. it’s no big deal. maybe the outcome wont effect your life much one way or the other.
however, sometimes, what you are waiting for consumes you. even when you don’t want to be thinking about it. you know it is out of your hands. but it parades your thoughts because the outcome could bring big changes in your life.
the past month has been a month of waiting for me. i’m waiting for all of the running i’m doing to have an effect on my bod. i’m waiting for dodgeball to start again. i’m waiting for october 5th to roll around so i can meet up with some people of the diabetes community in DC. i’m waiting to hear back about someone else’s decision so that i can make one of my own (vague, i know). i’m waiting on each paycheck so that i can keep my landlord from waiting on me for rent.
and i guess i am stress prone because all of this ‘planning to live’ is giving me anxiety. this place is not my favorite place to be.
i know that soon the storm will calm and i’ll float on okay.
but friends, i’m telling you that right now, here, currently, i’m waiting with bated breath.
i’m on tenterhooks with a little less than a smile on my face.
i’m trying to exercise my great power of patience.
i’m trying.
all the while i am trying, i know this:
eventually, there comes the moment when what you have been waiting for has arrived and is over. you feel overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time (can you ever just feel whelmed? -for hattie). there is confusion, and a sense of loss. you can’t remember what normal is, or how you existed before what you were waiting for took over your mind like a bunch of brain eating scarabs (like from the movie, the mummy).
relaxing is a good idea right now.
maybe a nice lavender bath!
maybe a visit to to dog park with my darling pug, Lancet.
i’m trying
and baby i’ll rule, i’ll rule, i’ll rule
a mom once told me that she is the face of diabetes
her child, needing needles and blood draws
woken from slumber
by a mother who loves her
wanting only survival one more night, she tries
type three transitions
her child grows into a young girl and sees diabetes as a monster within her
scratching for attention
in the dark behind that closet door it’s been forced into
stuck between boxes under her bed with old costumes
and secret journals
kept hidden from years of effort and failure
its hard
her young girl grows into a teen and sees diabetes as a monster within her
self,
begging for attention
like a boyfriend that wont stop calling
like a fly that won’t stop flying
she tries to control it
she tries to mask it
she tries
it’s hard
like attempting to float in a wave pool
her teen girl flips under the surface against her efforts
she struggles
one breath at a time she feels like she’s flailing
arms stretched, reaching up for safety
it’s absent
the face of diabetes doesn’t wear a read swimsuit
feeling helpless mom watches from
an indiscernible distance
yelling from behind the screen, “don’t go in there”
it’s dangerous
type three transitions
her teen grows into a young woman and finds expression
she types out her darkness
using her heart and a thesaurus
she explores
creating freedom from layers of metaphor she rescues
with blame, she tries to place it
with guilt, she tries to accept it
with shame, she tries to override it
crossing her fingers all the while that the chemicals inside her would change and become less needy
they’re demanding
she hates it
wishing for a truth that was less muddled the kind of fear and sadness
that powered the waves she’s been trying to float in
her young woman grows into an adult and finds others.
she prospers.
the face of diabetes grows proud
type three transitions
and all she can do is find a way to say:
mom, you’re not the monster
because there is no monster
she lets diabetes emerge into the light, from the darkness of the closet
and like a child neglected,
cautious but still trusting
she let it be in the light it needed to grow
she let it grow and she fed it
she let it root into her like a forrest of fresh air
providing a scope above the trees facing a canyon of poppies
in bloom
She doesn’t need to float
mom
because she’s not drowning
she’s got it
and she says this:
i want you to know that it’s not everyday that i feel this,
but it is everyday, that i feel
something
i feel something shifting then reacting
then shifting some more
and it’s like the movement is eternal and
infinite
existing within me with out my permission
commanding
demading
asking questions
needing answers
swinging from high point left to high point right
like a bumgejumper post decent
accepting the pull of gravity in all directions
making fun from fright
learning to move
in transition
there is no stagnent
and in that i find peace
i can.
cheer up, sleepy jean
‘i’m reading two books right now’
i said that to jo treitman at the sfo airport yesterday, as i was pulling scott benner’s book life is short laundry is eternal from my purse. this was a while after i had pulled mitch albom’s ‘the five people you meet in heaven’ out of that same bag.
as the words i had just spoken found their way back into my own ear, i felt confused. did i just say that?
two books?
am i actually reading two books at once?
i felt astonished, and accomplished, and then saddened by the fact that the realization left me feeling that way.
i think for my whole life i have semi-pretended that reading was my thing.
this is my truth. i haven’t read a book since highschool. brave new world. that was the last book that i read cover to cover that i wasn’t assigned.
in college i did read everything i was assigned.
BUT:
my extended truth: in highschool i didn’t read the books that were assigned to me. i am not sure why. maybe it was because life was too overwhelming with diabetes in the mix. maybe it was because i felt smart enough to pretend i had read them. either way, i got excellent grades without reading anything. once, i wrote an essay about the scarlet letter without having read it. if i remember correctly, the paper was called, “why high school students shouldn’t be required to read the scarlet letter’ i got a b.
i am amazed that i have two books in my purse. one has 85 pages left and the other has 45. by the end of the week, i will have finished two books.
this is stride for me.
i am reading.
i am taking care of me.
i am reading.
i am reading.
i think everyone has an activity that they really enjoy, but that they don’t give themselves time to do. what is yours?
maybe you have many?
maybe ‘managing diabetes well’ is on that list. i know it is for me sometimes.
maybe some kind of pact is in order?
do pinky-promises still carry the same infinite power they used to?
here’s to keeping diabetes and reading on our list of things to always make time for.
pinky-promise.
“no life is a waste,” the blue man said. “the only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone.”
remember what you told me
august 15th. that’s today. … yes.
one year ago today was my first day of work at the diabetes hands foundation office. i dressed up in heels and fancy clothes. i began to learn about all of the magic of the dhf and the magicians behind the curtain.
what started as a great opportunity, is now home.
i feel so lucky to be a member of the team here.
using this blog as a mountain top, with you as my witness, i scream with all the air and voice i have in me,
“dhf forever”
who wouldn’t?
______________________________
here are some throwback thursday’s for you. mostly courtesy of @mrmikelawson over at SocialyDiabetic.com
birds singin’ in the sycamore tree
dear lancet,
happy birthday.
i know you can neither read, nor write (i think). i know your brain is too small to understand what the internet is or how a blog works (maybe). i know your whole universe consists of eating, pooing, sleeping, walking, and sniffing butts (probably). but i wanted to write to you anyway because today, smothering you in hugs just doesn’t seem good enough.
i want you to know that you have made my life so happy. and it’s not just because of your good looks, i swear it. you have the best demeanor. you are a happy go lucky kinda dude and it rubs off on me in all the best ways.
you lick my tears why i cry and snuggle me when i’m cold. you are mellow when i’m down and energetic when i’m feeling joyous.
if i could make one wish, it would be for us to be friends for my whole life. because life with you is better.
i change my lancet more because of you. i go for walks to dog parks because of you. i smile more because of you and take more pictures because you’re so stinkin’ cute all the time.
i’m better because of you.
cheers to you little man.
you made it to one.
Unexpected Blues 