Okay, so I’m usually cool with my diabetes. I mean, after all, at least it waited to sock me until I was 43…until after college, babies, well, you get the idea. I’m even glad for it on occasion. Take last week for example. I have a really close friend whose 13 year old son was diagnosed with Type 1. When I got that frantic call from her while in she was the PICU with him, I was really glad to have some help to offer. So I’m usually okay with this disease. But sometimes…..
This morning, however, I was ready to squeeze the living daylights out of diabetes. I mean, really! I was just giving my baby a bath when the water looked a little wavier than it should have been. When I tested in at 56, I got stinking MAD! WHY can’t I even give my BABY a bath without the big D demanding its share of the action? Give me a BREAK!!! Pu-lease!!
Okay, so maybe I’m not being fair. My “baby” is 11 years old and, at 5 feet tall and weighing 120 pounds, he is unable to move a muscle. He’s a special child, severely affected by cerebral palsy. When he’s naked, wet and in the tub, he’s nearly as big as me. I guess giving him a bath would challenge anyone. Also, I know better than to strip all the beds, do four loads of laundry, mop two rooms of floors and drive 1 ½ hours taking my rabbit to the vet AND give my son a bath, all on 15 grams of breakfast carb. But, heck, it was only 11 a.m.!!
I just wanted to get the little feller all clean and sassy before we have to drive the hour and a half back to get the rabbit, drop off 4 bags at Goodwill, run to the post office, finish the floors, do 5 more loads of laundry, make supper, get ready to square dance for two hours tonight and then hurry home to prepare for a 6 hour First Aid and CPR training tomorrow. Oh, and get my son ready for bed….a hour long process that would pale a ghost.
So why can’t I go at lightning speed? After all, my life depends on an insulin pump. I run on a AAA battery!
I just don’t want to be different. I get so annoyed when I’m interrupted from life by this monster. I give it plenty of time and thought. Why doesn’t it just let me alone??? How can I lose weight, or ever get a decent meal if I have to parcel out food to fix lows like I was a squirrel hiding nuts before the first frost? I don’t want to fix grilled cheese sandwiches at 11 p.m. because I was too annoyed to eat supper last night and went to bed low….and got lower…..and my CGM wouldn’t shut up. There are times I just want to forget about diabetes….you know….take a break from it. But I can’t. It’s too selfish.
Oh, well. Elijah is clean. I’m over my low. No floors are getting done since I’m writing this. But whatever. Diabetes. It’s a Motherload.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Addicted to the Weed
Summer 2009
Hi, I’m Mouse, and I’m an addict. There, I said it. I may as well get things straight on my very first post.
I’m addicted to my yard. Grass. Dirt. Flowers. At the first whiff of freshly mowed grass, I’m intoxicated. I’m like a junkie anticipating a good fix when I see fresh dirt to be dug, weeds to be pulled, hedges to be trimmed or perennial beds to be cleaned. I pull my weeds. I pull my neighbors weeds. I even pull weeds in public places. This is a serious addiction! My husband can’t take me anywhere that I might see a weed to be pulled, lest he be embarrassed!
Since I live at a Children’s Home, situated on 64 plush acres of beautiful central Tennessee farmland, it looks like I’d get my fill of yard work. There is no end to the need for gardening services around here, and I’m happy to oblige. It’s a garden junkie paradise! I’m out of bed and on the mower before daybreak and only quit when I can’t see what I’m doing at night. It is total heaven for me….living in such a place. It is my own garden of Eden.
Unfortunately, in all gardens of Eden, there are a few snakes. I’m not talking about the little slithery kind….although I do see my share of those. I’m talking about the diabetes kind. The ‘snake’ in my paradise is diabetes. I’m insulin dependant. Type 1. That means life is a delicate balance between food, exercise and insulin….and, you guessed it , gardening is exercise!!
I can’t count the times already this spring that I’ve been ‘bottom up’ in a flower bed and covered in mud, only to feel that familiar feeling of an oncoming low. Standing up to assess the situation, I feel the tell tale sign-- that someone has cut off the tips of my fingers and the life is draining out of my entire body. I see it snowing, and, even in my foggy brain state, I know it can’t be snowing right now….I’m in the garden planting flowers! Struggling to clean off a small spot on a finger to test requires super human effort. When my meter blinks back a sweet little 52, my next job is to clean my hands well enough to find my glucose tablets. Sometimes kind neighbors come over to offer assistance. If I ever sit down, or even slow down, they go for the glucose . Poor diabetes educated folks….so used to my lows.
Sitting in the dirt, sucking down my glucose, I feel like a junkie for sure. I’ve never been one, but I look like they look. Glassy eyes, exhausted body, can’t move, can’t think, insulin and sugar bouncing around in my body so that I feel like a human pinball machine….. So close to the weeds, yet I can’t go after them! Frustration. Why does diabetes have to slither up and bite me when I’m minding my own business??
I suppose that since this is my first summer on the pump, I have lots to learn. It doesn’t seem to be much easier to ward off lows with the pump than it was the shots…..I still hate paying attention to myself all the time…..but I suppose I need to become acquainted with my friend the “temporary basal rate." Either this, or not work outside so much. What????
Okay….so where is my pump manual so I can start reading??
Hi, I’m Mouse, and I’m an addict. There, I said it. I may as well get things straight on my very first post.
I’m addicted to my yard. Grass. Dirt. Flowers. At the first whiff of freshly mowed grass, I’m intoxicated. I’m like a junkie anticipating a good fix when I see fresh dirt to be dug, weeds to be pulled, hedges to be trimmed or perennial beds to be cleaned. I pull my weeds. I pull my neighbors weeds. I even pull weeds in public places. This is a serious addiction! My husband can’t take me anywhere that I might see a weed to be pulled, lest he be embarrassed!
Since I live at a Children’s Home, situated on 64 plush acres of beautiful central Tennessee farmland, it looks like I’d get my fill of yard work. There is no end to the need for gardening services around here, and I’m happy to oblige. It’s a garden junkie paradise! I’m out of bed and on the mower before daybreak and only quit when I can’t see what I’m doing at night. It is total heaven for me….living in such a place. It is my own garden of Eden.
Unfortunately, in all gardens of Eden, there are a few snakes. I’m not talking about the little slithery kind….although I do see my share of those. I’m talking about the diabetes kind. The ‘snake’ in my paradise is diabetes. I’m insulin dependant. Type 1. That means life is a delicate balance between food, exercise and insulin….and, you guessed it , gardening is exercise!!
I can’t count the times already this spring that I’ve been ‘bottom up’ in a flower bed and covered in mud, only to feel that familiar feeling of an oncoming low. Standing up to assess the situation, I feel the tell tale sign-- that someone has cut off the tips of my fingers and the life is draining out of my entire body. I see it snowing, and, even in my foggy brain state, I know it can’t be snowing right now….I’m in the garden planting flowers! Struggling to clean off a small spot on a finger to test requires super human effort. When my meter blinks back a sweet little 52, my next job is to clean my hands well enough to find my glucose tablets. Sometimes kind neighbors come over to offer assistance. If I ever sit down, or even slow down, they go for the glucose . Poor diabetes educated folks….so used to my lows.
Sitting in the dirt, sucking down my glucose, I feel like a junkie for sure. I’ve never been one, but I look like they look. Glassy eyes, exhausted body, can’t move, can’t think, insulin and sugar bouncing around in my body so that I feel like a human pinball machine….. So close to the weeds, yet I can’t go after them! Frustration. Why does diabetes have to slither up and bite me when I’m minding my own business??
I suppose that since this is my first summer on the pump, I have lots to learn. It doesn’t seem to be much easier to ward off lows with the pump than it was the shots…..I still hate paying attention to myself all the time…..but I suppose I need to become acquainted with my friend the “temporary basal rate." Either this, or not work outside so much. What????
Okay….so where is my pump manual so I can start reading??
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