The sun has been too bright

I’ve become a blog slacker. I admit it. But like most things in my life, I go in patterns of hills and valleys.

In no particular order this is my life these days:

We are trying to sell our house. It’s a lovely little house that we have put a TON of work into. It would be an awesome first house or retiree house for someone. We are just looking for something a little bigger, and with more than one bathroom. We are having our first open house this Sunday after listing it on the MLS. Hopefully someone will come with suitcases full of cash and offer us asking price. But with the market changing and slowing in MA, that is a highly unlikely scenario. But a girl can dream.

I booked my first wedding as a florist. It’s a friend’s wedding in September. I am nervous and excited and anxious and it’s awesome!

Our first friends had a baby girl in February. She is the most precious thing any of us have ever seen. When she comes to get togethers everyone just stands around to see what baby Alyssa will do next. Her mom had a perfect happy perky pregnancy and was even working out at the gym the day before she gave birth. No morning sickness, no excessive weight gain, no really worries at all. The baby is adorable, doesn’t say boo, and I’ve yet to see her cry. Everyone is enamored with her.

I am jealous.

I know that I will end up looking like a cow because of the increased insulin I will have to take, be tired all the time from trekking into my weekly doctors appointments, will be high risk and worry from the second we agree to start trying.

If one more person asks when we are going to start trying I will actually answer them with a “real” answer:

* When my a1c is consistently around 6.0.
* When I’m ready to test my blood every few hours all day every day and stress over any reading over 160.
* When I am ready to worry consistently about every carb, every gram, every ounce of food that goes in this body.
* When I am ready to realize that while diabetes has never been an issue for me in the past, people will comment about my “diabetic pregnancy” and reference Steel Magnolias over and over.
* When I am ready to accept that “good for someone with diabetes this long” as a positive answer.
* When I am ready to accept the guilt I will place on myself over and over again if God forbid anything were to go wrong.
* When I am ready to subject myself to medical students, lab tests and various doctors poking, prodding and telling me that my 6.9 is just not going to cut it…
* When I am ready to reaffirm that I work harder than other people to make life look easy but it’s the only life I know, so its “just what I do.”
* When were damn good and ready.

But for now, I just smile and say, when we have more than one bathroom! :)

D'oh!

Click, breathe in, hold my breath, 1..2..3.. pop, ahhh resume normal breathing.

That’s what it sounds like when I am changing my infusion set. Click it into the inserter thing. Take a deep breath and tell myself that I just have to do it and on the count of three…. Push a little harder, squeeze both sides of the button … pop …starting to need to breath again … it’s in.

This weekend there was an extra step. After the pop was a DUH! As the infusion set popped out and fell into the sink. For a moment I looked in disbelief. I had forgotten to take off the adhesive. I guess that’s what I get when I try and rush.


The worst part is that I now am short on insulin and have to change my site again tonight. I really love the pump and I think it's easy most of the times, looks like Bonnie is trying to make sure I don't take her for granted!!

A numbers game

I hate math. I do. It took me a long time to be able to admit it, but that’s a fact. Strangely I come from a family of finance guru’s, CFOs and doctors. I guess not only did I get diabetes, I got the anti-math gene. I can essay my way out of a black hole, but ask me to figure out anything more than balancing my check book and how much tip to leave and we’ve got a problem on our hands.

Yes, I know, diabetes and math go hand in hand. Carb ratios, correction boluses A1c’s and weekly averages. I never paid attention to the averages on my meters, just what my A1c clocked in as. I am generally pretty happy and pretty consistent with my A1c so I leave it there. Although, the pump makes getting those numbers and averages easier than ever. So I’ve started to pay attention just as a general point of interest.

I was sick for a bit over the past month and I noticed my averages starting to creep up. A tell tale sign that the A1c that I generally find acceptable may be a bit higher than anticipated. Once I was feeling better, I started eating better, and have been pretty happy since then. Last night after a marathon house cleaning session, I checked, 103 again. I thought that I’d take a peek at the averages just to appease my curiosity. It had been lingering around 158 when I was sick, so I was psyched to see a 110. wow, 110. That’s fantastic. Then in there I found myself confirming what I have though for some time. It’s not that I don’t like diabetes math. It’s not that I can’t do the calculations, it’s my deep down fear that when I do get things figured out, I won’t like what it says.

When I was a kid I was relentless with not getting my A1c done. I have hidden, shredded, burnt, and flushed lab request forms. I’ve faked fevers and “lost track of time” until the lab closed more times than I can count. Still to this day, I often pass out when getting blood drawn. I would always think that maybe its that little rubber band, maybe the sterile glow of the fluorescent bulbs humming oh so quietly, or the fresh out of phlebotomy class technician that can’t quite find the vein. Sure, I suppose those are things that no one likes. But to me it’s the office visit a few days later, seeing in hard cold black and white my “overall indicator of health” on a stark white piece of copy paper that really is at the heart of my apprehension. I find it overwhelming that all of the finger sticks, all of the good food choices and all of the worry can be whittled down to one number. (I know I know, I’ve been told time and time again that it’s just a number and there are many factors that indicate health and wellbeing etc… bla blab bla… I don’t believe it.) I am working on believing that my test results are a tool and not a test. There is no pass or fail, its just a guide. My problem is that I didn’t get D’s in school, and I certainly don’t want to get D’s with my health.

But for now, I will bask in the glow of my 110 average and make friends with my inner math goddess.