Today is my 11-year anniversary with Type 1 diabetes. This week has been a rollercoaster (though I am amazed at how much I can accomplish on so little sleep). Apparently, I’ve been holding in a lot of stress. Shocking. But bodies are perceptive that way (blood sugar levels included).
I haven’t seen a familiar face in four weeks (excluding video chats). The time has surprisingly gone by fast. But even if I am enjoying my newfound freedom and the productive self-isolation sessions, there is something missing beneath the surface. And that subtle ache pulls at me – materializing in my nightly, often anxiety-ridden dreams and blinking at me through the sun slants of the window pane.
I am not quite whole. I have felt broken before. And at times like these when I need to be reminded of my own resilience and feel empowered among circumstances outside of my control, I consult my favorite cinematic moments – scenes that are not necessarily award-winning but still inspire me and encourage me to find the strength to carry on.
Many of these movies (spoilers ahead) focus on a leader or woman (or sometimes that inner voice) overcoming adversity (often through innovative approaches) and subsequently inspiring others through their courage to stay true to who they are, follow their dreams and stand up for what they deserve. Continue reading
Nine years ago, this month, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. What exactly was going through my head that fateful day? I didn’t write much in those first few months getting to know my incurable chronic condition, but I did take the time to document my experience in the hospital post-diagnosis. The following excerpt would eventually inspire my book, Sugarcoated. I’ve trimmed some of the content for this blog.
Me writing in Paris a year before I found out I had Type 1 diabetes
I hear the drum of the metal cart on the tile floor, its rusted wheel curved backwards towards the slanted door. Its heavy frame makes a swishing sound when the nurse appears, and I cuddle beneath the thin scraps of my blanket. She checks my IV with a smile, and I no longer try to conceal my runaway tears. She says if I need anything to call, and she will be back in an hour to administer my long-lasting insulin injection. I hardly know what she’s saying, let alone believe that I need insulin to live. The door’s shadow disappears behind her, and once again, I’m left alone to the static television and a view of the parking lot.
I see the lights from a golf course in the distance and think of my boyfriend’s family on Easter, enamored with the flat screen television and shouting with each successful hole. I think of my boyfriend now sitting around the campfire at his aunt and uncle’s house with a good meal in his body – a meal I will potentially never feel again. He boasted about his aunt’s cooking all week, and I looked forward to a weekend with the family and then an afternoon at the Great American Ball Park with my co-worker and her boyfriend. They offered free tickets, four rows up from the dugout, and I even bought an outfit for the event (seeing as I never wore red). I packed my clothes on the way to the hospital in the hopes the doctor would discharge me by early morning.
I look at my flip phone with scratches on the screen, and I wish to see a blinking light, a sign of life, but the battery died from excessive texting. My roommate left me before I realized I had forgotten my charger. The University health center doctor set me up near his practice in Northern Kentucky so he could oversee things, but I feel so disconnected from everyone in Cincinnati. Even my boyfriend’s car could not make the drive across the river, and when my roommate left around dinnertime, I wished for morning. Continue reading
Last weekend, while thousands marched for science in DC, I met up with a longtime friend for the annual Howard County GreenFest. And while watching a documentary on the plight of migratory birds did not aid in my feelings of hopelessness and helplessness (although I highly recommend the film), meeting up with my friend gave me some perspective.
She’s the one who originally encouraged me to write about my struggles with diabetes and insurance coverage. She’s the one who introduced me to my first book producing gig and a mentor who is still having a profound impact on me post-mortem. And when I summed up the indifference I felt towards my current life, she gave me hope.
“It seems like what you need right now is to feel empowered in your daily life,” she said to me over lunch at David’s Natural Market in Columbia.
But when I feel so distraught and useless and anxious about the current political climate, how do I change circumstances outside of my control in order to feel empowered again? Continue reading
Today is my seven-year anniversary with Type 1 diabetes. I’m not sure what to say. It’s definitely been a learning experience, and I’m thankful I live in an age of technology where it’s easier to manage this disease but let’s be honest that doesn’t make it easy.
And maybe my diabetes (because I just love to give it its own persona) knew my anniversary was coming up and wanted to send me a big fat reminder of its existence by pushing the limits of my insulin sensitivity and resistance. A lot of highs and lows this past week.
Last night was no exception. Got home from a date with a friend, and my blood sugar was 77 with 0.9 units of active insulin in my system. So I drank some juice and ate some protein to keep it stable throughout the night. But then by the time I went to bed it was 167 and climbing so I gave myself a dose of insulin. And then my CGM woke me up at 4 a.m. because it was 48 and dropping. So I drank some juice. Then I ate some gelato. And then I just said f*ck it and poured myself some granola cereal and almond milk.
But by 4:30 a.m. it was 118 and climbing again. So I calculated how many of those carbs I really needed to keep my blood sugar stable and then gave myself an extended bolus rate over the next hour. By the time I checked it again at 11 a.m. it was 106 and stable.
Happy anniversary to me!
Oh and just for fun here’s a list of the most-read diabetes-related posts on this blog. Continue reading
I throw the covers off and stumble out of bed. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and look at my phone for the time. I check my CGM for my blood sugar level. I put on some pants and clip my insulin pump to the waist line.
You told me six years ago that we were going for a ride. I didn’t know then that the ride would never end. And for those six years, I’ve been searching for a way to get back home, but after all that I’ve experienced and all that I’ve seen, can I really go back?
Today marks my six-year anniversary with Type 1 diabetes. Six years ago at this time I was waiting in the exam room of Xavier University’s health center for results on a severe skin rash. But the results of that skin rash, among other symptoms and an out-of-control blood sugar reading, pointed to Type 1 diabetes. I was admitted to the hospital a few hours later and so began my journey with this autoimmune disease.
My anniversary coincidentally follows #IWishPeopleKnewThatDiabetes Day (April 22, 2015). I felt a sense of solidarity with the diabetes online community as I read through the various hashtag tweets. And I feel like my small contribution to the day evinces how I truly feel about the disease and others’ perception of it.