Danger: Sweet Potato Casserole

This Thanksgiving was a swiftly ticking time bomb, destined to be ominous...!

My very first with Diabetes.

The week did not start out well. Monday after the last day of classes I headed up to Forsyth for Thanksgiving break with the Kuckuck's. Tuesday my Blood Sugar was sort of spiky. I ate mostly protein all day - very few carbs at all. Yet, when I checked my blood sugar at 9PM, my blood sugar was 420. Yes, 420. I hadn't been that high since I was just out of the hospital. I hadn't seen an endo since June, and I was still unsure of what my correction bolus would be. Basically, this meant that I'd been taking wild stabs in the dark at trying to manage my Diabetes, and lately I was on the losing side of a nasty blood sugar battle between my broken pancreas and I. Managing blood sugar does not always have to be this difficult. But this is my first year with this disease, and my insulin needs change often. So every time I seem to find the correct ratio it changes again. The danger of nighttime corrections is that you run the risk of over correction and getting low - especially in my case, when I'm basically having to wildly guess my dosage. My previous correction had been 1 unit for every 100 mg over my blood sugar target was, and since my insulin needs seemed to have doubled over the past month, I doubled what normally would have been 3 to receive my magic number, 6. 

I woke up sweating, and I didn't know why. 2:30 AM. Josh came and checked on me. He forced me to sit up and tested my blood sugar. It was 258. Why was it still so high? I was so frustrated. I started crying into his shoulder. "This----issupposed--to-happen-to-to-to---to people that don't care! I do care! Why is it happening to me? What--did-did---I do--to deserve this?" I blubbered. I woke up the next morning and Josh stood over me as I tested again. 251. Not even a dent in my blood sugar had been made. Usually it would at least go down in my sleep. He called Laurie, who works at an assisted living facility. They reasoned that perhaps I wasn't actually eating enough carbs. I wasn't sure if that had anything to do with it. Either way I poured myself a bowl of cereal into a measuring cup that morning, and then carefully did the same with my milk. I counted all the carbs like the perfect Diabetes poster child I am and bolused 10 minutes beforehand before pouring in the milk and setting down to breakfast. I was confident that my good behavior would warrant fabulous blood sugar.

I ate nothing else the rest of the morning and went to test at noon. 384. What.in.the.hell? I stormed into Josh's room. You said my blood sugar might be bad because I'm not eating enough carbs, but now it's even higher! I started crying again. I was a failure at life. I was going to go blind. My feet were going to fall off. I was going to die. All of the worst possible scenarios rushed through my head as I sobbed huge tears of angry frustration. I hated this disease! I stabbed myself with my Novolog pen and gave myself 8 units. Josh called Laurie again. Josh stuck me in the car and we drove to see Laurie down the street, where I met all of the friendly nurses and tried to seem semi-put together. I doubted I was fooling anybody, and at any rate I still couldn't hold back some of my tears. Everyone comforted me, and one of the nurses checked my temperature and blood pressure, which were both perfectly fine. Everything was fine, really. Except for the fact that my blood sugars were insanely high. I felt like I'd been run over a bus. My mouth was parched, I'd had to pee like 5 times since that morning, and I felt like falling over and going to sleep that very second. In my groggy stupor I was handed a fistful of alcohol swabs and my blood sugar was tested in 15 minute intervals to determine that it was, in fact, going down. So, we could rule out the possibility that my Novolog wasn't working. Laurie bought me a bottle of water and Josh and I drove back home. Josh made me a comfy spot in his bed and ordered me to lie down, dragged some fans into the room to circulate air, covered me in a blanket and got me a bottle of water. I meekly thanked him and he turned on my favorite channel, HGTV. 

We checked again at 2PM. My blood sugar was better, 180. I felt a little more consoled. Josh cut me celery sticks and spread them with peanut butter as I made a giant omelet. 2 units of insulin for the small amount of carbs were given. I was still upset and wary about my blood sugars but felt much improved physically.

The next day was Thanksgiving. Eek! My blood sugar was 151 in the morning which was swell. But, mistakenly, this caused me to let my guard down. For dinner I had only turkey and green beans, with a little bit of sweet potato casserole, but all of the sampling in between had wreaked havoc on me. My blood sugar was 460 at the end of the day. I felt defeated once again as I gave myself 8 units and waited for it to go down.

The next morning, I was better. Woke up at 160. Spikey but... okay. Had low-carb jello for breakfast, bolused 3 units. Today was the start of a new day, a good day where my numbers were picture-perfect and I was the Queen of good blood sugar. Checked my blood sugar at noon. 515. 515?! That was high enough to hospitalized, for God's sake. What was wrong? I angrily gave myself 11 units of insulin and settled down for the long haul, checking my blood sugar all day. It did finally go down and was back to 160 by the start of the evening. 

I texted my mom later. My mom totally freaked out when I told her, and soon my old endo back in Florida was on the phone. He changed up my insulin dosages - 1 unit of Novo for every 7 units of carbs vs. my old ratio of 1:10. I was waking up fine, and my Lantus was kept the same.

So far my blood sugars have held pretty steady with the new ratio; I think it's been just what I needed. I've had to watch over my Diabetes with an iron fist, and it's been rough. My first Thanksgiving with Diabetes got off to a rocky start, and even though I know it's only my first year it's hard not to be hard on myself as I'm adjusting to this new life. I hope that things will get better and that I can reconcile with this disease in time. In a world where every bite and nibble counts, who knew that sweet potato casserole could be so dangerous?

Long Time No See, Low

I wake up sweat-drenched, and everything seems normal for just a second. Christmas carols play softly on the radio. The clock reads 2:32 AM.

2:32 AM? Why am I awake? And why am I sweating so badly?
It's been a long time since I've been woken up in the middle of the night by a low. I've almost forgotten what it feels like. And then it hits me; I'm low, and I startle into consciousness. I shake so badly as I weakly grasp for the meter thankfully lying within arm's reach on the nightstand. I struggle to sit up as I test. My blood sugar is 47. I can hardly find the strength to get up and walk two steps to the minifridge. My movements are about as fluid as maple syrup. By some miracle I had remembered just that evening to buy more snacks in case of lows; otherwise I would have been out, and I don't know what I would have done. I fall back onto the bed with my snack in hand, leaning against the wall to try and support myself as I munch on the snack. I feel awful. My heart pounds. I shake it off, but after the snack I am going to take a while to recuperate still. There is nothing left to do but turn off the light and roll back over to sleep; it takes the least amount of energy.

Sometimes, although rarely, I can ignore Diabetes.
In the peacefulness of slumber, in my dreams, I have no disease.
When I'm laughing, with friends, for brief seconds at a time I can forget and put it in the back of my mind.
Driving down rural country roads, or face painting children, or listening to music. Life, in that second, consists of only those things.
But Diabetes is like the sun and the moon; whether hidden by clouds, by light or darkness, in a windowless room, sometimes unseen; it is, and always will be, still there. It has become such an ever-present part of everyday life that your world is unfathomable without it. I don't want Diabetes to be like that, but it is. It has to be, because I live with and treat this disease every single day of my life, and nearly every choice that I make is overshadowed by the ever-present thought of "how will this effect my Diabetes?"

I'm glad there is a month to raise Diabetes awareness, even if so few people are aware of what the life of a Type 1 means. But sometimes I don't want a month. I don't want to raise awareness. Because that means that I have a disease to raise awareness for. I wish Type 1 Diabetes was more easily treatable, I wish that there was a cure. I don't want to have a disease where I have to give myself shots everyday and feel eternally guilty for eating half a pint of ice cream. I don't want to deal with the nasty smell of insulin, and see test strips of mine lying all over campus. I don't want a disease that can't be cured, a disease that too few people know or care about to donate money to. There are more "important" illnesses, more pressing issues, they say. What about the people whose lives are affected by this disease? Are they, their quality of life, not important enough? Do they not deserve better treatments, more pressing searches for a cure, than someone with a different disease, or a different plight? Are we not as worth it?

Let me tell you something you've probably already figured out if you've kept up with this blog. Once you get Diabetes, there is no going back. Life will never be the same. You age beyond your years because you have to. Every day is a mental and physical fight for your life, to stay happy, stay sane, stay healthy. I don't think about it a lot because I can't afford to think like that, but the quality of life for a Type 1 Diabetic is pretty crappy. We've been treating with insulin since the '20's. Where are all the new innovations, the better treatments to make our lives easier? Sure, we have better needles, insulin pumps, less scary looking lancets, but at the end of the day the treatment is still the same: it lies at the end of a needle in our side. I'm inevitably going to get sick of it. I'm already sick of thinking like this, of thinking that I will never get cured. Of thinking that this will be my life forever. Do you know I've never had a Twinkie? Rarely had fast food? My mother never let us eat processed foods as a child? I had a healthier diet than most people I know ever would? It did nothing to stop me from getting this disease. I don't understand how I can watch people eat all of the fried and fatty, sugary foods in the world and yet I'm the one who got this stupid, misunderstood disease - and then be judged because people think it was my supposed "unhealthy diet" that made me this way.

In short... I'm tired of you, Diabetes.
Please just go away.

Happy Belated Diabetes Awareness Month!

It's 16 days into November, and I should have written sooner. But of course, I'm a College student and there's lots to do. Here I am, though, and in November I am officially in my element - it's Diabetes Awareness Month. It's funny how last November I would not have even given a thought to Diabetes Awareness Month. I had never heard of it, let alone thought that one day it would mean so much to me. My goal this month? Simply to further my efforts to spread awareness about this disease to as many people as I can. I've said it before, and here I will say it again: I don't want pity. I simply want as many people as possible to understand and educate themselves about, most specifically, Type 1 Diabetes.

Oh, Diabetes. What a life changer it has been. I've come a long way since April 3rd, 2011. Looking on the calendar it doesn't seem so long ago, but these last months have been a lifetime to me. I've gone from needle-terrified to needle-junkie, I don't even blink at the thought of testing my BG, and eating a bowl of pasta or drinking a milkshake are to be considered amongst my greatest accomplishments.

Diabetes... I still hate you. I look back and am proud of myself for living alongside of you, fighting you, not letting you get in the way of my life or my happiness. But I have those bad days, too. I hate when you selfishly put yourself first. I am sad inside when I'm suffering from a low, my entire world crashing down on me, and not a single person even notices. I don't like it when people stereotype me. When waitresses think I'm snobby because I ask for the carb counts of the food. When I take forever to order when eating out, not because I mean to but because I have to find something with a feasible amount of carbs... I miss my freedom. Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and falling asleep sounds so nice - but wait, I forgot my Lantus. I need to check my blood sugar. That means I have to crawl over to the sink and wash my hands. Put a new needle on the insulin pen. Oh, and by the way, when's the last time I changed the lancet? Uhh, October? I'm annoyed by people thinking me odd for eating lots of vegetables when I'm in the dining hall. Truth be told in a way it's because I'm lazy. I don't feel like counting carbs, and I just want something thoughtless and easy, something foolproof that I know won't raise my blood sugar much. I don't want to play Russian Roulette with my Blood Sugars because I don't know how many carbs are in the fried macaroni and cheese or the pizza or the french fries. I don't feel like guessing and then suffering for it later. And the skin on my stomach and arms hurts from pricking it so much.

Sigh.

This November, I will wear blue on Fridays. I will acknowledge the millions of others fighting this fight with me. Diabetes isn't merely just a month on the calendar, though. For those with it, we know that it is year-round, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, every second of our lives. Diabetes affects nearly every single thing that I do, sometimes without my even realizing it now. It becomes habitual to put a snack in my purse, or grab my meter before walking out the door, or plan what I'll eat at my meals ahead of time based on my blood sugars. I'm not used to it... I will never be. I've adjusted to it, though. I've adapted my life around learning to do what's necessary to survive with a life-threatening disease.

Diabetes is my life - I'm crazy about it and I blog about it, talk to others about it and complain about my blood sugars and the stereotypes occasionally. But it's because I'm passionate about it. I have to be. Living with Diabetes, it is essential that you have something to live for. Something to help you perk up, something greater than your disease, something to get you through those bad times and during the good times make you remember why you chose to fight for your life, each and every day. And ironically enough, Diabetes has become a part of that "something to live for" mentality. I am proud to have something to stand for. To be able to stand beside others who fight this same struggle and long with all of our hearts for the very same thing: a cure. Ok, well, in spirit at least. I've still yet to find another Type 1. But the Type 1 Community out there is huge, and has a way of making you feel like a part of something even from a distance. I am a part of something. I fight Diabetes, and one day, maybe, after a cure is found I will be able to say that I am a survivor of Diabetes.

Diabetes is not my whole life - but certainly a part of it. And I will fight, not just this November, but every month of every year. Because that is our goal: that, someday, there will be an end to this, a cure. I have to believe that. I want to grow up and tell my children about the "dark ages" of living with Diabetes, when I had to check my blood sugars five times a day. I want to laugh as I tell them that, yes, I actually had to give myself shots at every meal and sometimes in between! I want it to be one of those things that may have been terrible at the time, but ends up being something I can look back on from a distance and see how much it's helped me grow. I've got to expect the worst and hope for the best - maybe a cure won't ever be found. Maybe, with my luck, the day after I die they'll have found one. I don't know. As badly as I want to be cured, I've come to terms with the possibility it might not happen. I want a cure terribly, but if I never get one? I'll be okay. I'll keep on living, keep on fighting, keep on hoping that someday it will happen. Always. Maybe I'll never be able to say I'm a "survivor" of Diabetes. But I'm not a victim, either. Every day I live with Diabetes I become a survivor. Each and every morning I wake up, I've survived another day. It's not the same as a cure, but still it's no small thing.

Happy Belated Diabetes Awareness Month, everyone - and don't forget to wear blue on Fridays!

Almost-Grown Up

Life goes by in a breeze. I blink, I'm in the third year of College. Exhale, already halfway through the first semester of Wesleyan. Time to pick classes again. A day goes by and I am now 18, finally an adult. I turn around, High School years lay behind me, so distant the memories seem as if they belong to a past life, surely not my own. I'm not old - I'm very young. But all of the things that were once so familiar have changed, and the differences make me feel as if I've been alive a hundred years. People have changed, left my life, gone off in their own direction. Home is no longer the place where I lay my head down at night, but instead now a place where I can only visit precious few times each year. I don't know where I'm going to Grad School, I don't know where I want to live where I grow up, paper towels are a luxury I haven't had since leaving home, and I miss my mom taking me out to go shopping.

I am an "almost-grown up".

I love it; I like feeling responsible, getting errands done, seeing things get accomplished. I like it when people don't treat me like a child, but instead like someone who matters. (Despite the baby face - sigh.) I'm at a time in my life where one part of the day I can act grown-up, and yet act like a complete child on certain occasions...sometimes merely hours later. There's college for you.

But then... sometimes... I don't like it so much. I feel a little homesick for my old life. Sometimes I miss Orlando - while so many times I hated that busy, hectic place, I realize that all my life I had grown used to it. Now the absence seems as strange and apparent as absolute silence. Which is, literally, just what the transition has been like - stepping from a room full of people into a completely quite one. The busy-ness, the rhythm, the life that my hometown possessed - makes so many places seem like ghost towns in comparison. I'm not used to seeing tiny Southern towns, driving down 20-mile highways through the middle of nowhere, not a strip mall in sight. The only place I had ever really experienced something like that before was Live Oak, a little town north of Gainesville where my grandparents live. Orlando was my city, my home, and there is no other place on Earth quite like it. It was familiar, and I miss familiar. I miss being around family and the people I know, going to all the familiar stores and restaurants, being privy to all of the exciting perks and things that only the inhabitants of one of the busiest cities in Florida got to enjoy.

And my, since moving I have aged. It's not necessarily a readily apparent thing - but I notice little changes, differences in the way I act, the way I think. There are things that make me shake my head now - like going to the store and seeing moms and their teen daughters shopping for clothes, and those girls just being so rude to their moms. I know I was like that at some point - I went through that phase - but really? What ever possessed me to do that? It just makes me want to tell them to shape up and stop taking their moms for granted. I was a terribly rude teenager, but I realize how silly that was now. My mom always made sure I had nice clothes, I had good food, that I was taken care of. Heck, she even endured teaching me algebra - a task that no mortal should take lightly. I realize how lucky I was, how patient and caring my mom was all those years, and I just wish I would have acted more grateful to her for everything she'd done for me... not be the moody, smart-butt teenager that I see in almost every store I walk in now.

The bottom line is, being an almost-grown up is hard. It's exhausting. It's worrisome. Trying to make my business work, getting all of my own shows and bookings, fighting for every customer, that's hard. Paying for all of my own things, budgeting carefully, takes self control - and many times I make sacrifices and go without a lot of things, like expensive low-carb ice cream and nice makeup and eating out. Making new friends, finding new places, that's foreign and discouraging at times - I feel as if I'm still trying to find in Macon, in Georgia, a place that feels like Orlando - but I know I'll never find it. And, you know, just by writing that I realize all this time that that's exactly what I have been trying to do - I've been taking pieces of my old life and holding them up against the new, trying to compare the two, trying to find similarities between two entirely different things. I try so hard, but I have to come to terms with the fact that those similarities I search so hard for will never be found. Everything I have ever known has changed, and that means I have to make changes, too. I can't keep searching for remnants of my old life in my new one. That doesn't mean I have to let go of Florida, becoming a complete hermit to my friends and family back home. That's always going to be a part of me that I will embrace with open arms every chance I get. But it does mean I have to also embrace new things, accept that my life from now on will involve more responsibility, and learn from all of the new lessons that life is bound to toss at me.

I know that from this blog I might come off as seeming discontent - this is not the case. I realize that these feelings are normal, that in time I will come to adjust. It's just... learning to be an adult is hard! I love college and finally being close to Joshua and meeting new people and (albeit slowly) becoming more educated. I love knowing that in a few short years, my hard work will pay off, and I will be able to put my college degree to good use. Until then, I guess you could say I have a homework assignment that has nothing to do with college classes -

That is, finding my "new normal".

2 Years! (In Other Words, the Most Original Title Ever)

Well, if you didn't already know from Facebook, I'm reiterating again to say that today Joshua and I celebrate two years together. And what a wonderful two years it has been! Three and a half years of knowing him from hundreds of miles away has not been easy. But despite the distance and whatever the odds against us, I feel that our relationship has never failed to grow. I can marvel now at how perfect God's timing was when he put Joshua in my life - he came just when I needed him most, during some of the most difficult and trying times of my life. Joshua helped me through, showing me hope and light even in seemingly dark times. And, of course, it's not just the hard times in life that Joshua's been there for - it's the best times, too! Countless visits during School Breaks, VSO, Thanksgivings and New Year's kisses will forever be some of the fondest memories that I possess. Joshua and I's relationship is the first and only that I've ever been in, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I couldn't imagine being blessed with anyone more perfect for me than he is. Joshua may be lucky to have a girlfriend who bakes excellent cookies, but I am the truly lucky one! Happy 2-Year Anniversary to the most wonderful man in my life!

From Knight to Pirate... Wait, Are You Sure This Is College?

I think a little bit of the stress is getting to me. I haven't quite felt myself lately, though this week I've been markedly better.

I've come to learn that stress always comes in waves. It's rarely a little bit here, a little but there, but rather it builds up all at once and pummels you at full force. This is how I felt lately. There's been so much on my mind. I apologize if this blog seems like it comes off as a rant, but, well, I suppose it is.

Organic Chemistry stresses me out. I think our professor wants to see us fail. She'll give out practice quizzes before our quiz, make us think we are prepared, then give us a quiz about nothing we've gone over in class. I am doing okay in this class for now but maintaining that "okay" status is going to make me in for a rough 2 months. I want out of this class. With a passing grade. December cannot come soon enough.

Thinking about where to go to Grad School - balancing location with finance - is stressful. You may think it's a little early to be considering this but apparently it's not. Change of plans. Registration for Spring Semester is coming up. My summer counselor at Wesleyan had previously convinced me that graduating in 3 years was a good idea. I would have more time to finish my classes, be less stressed, etc. Wesleyan's organizes its students by a class system that puts every new incoming class into one of 4 different classes. Right now it is Golden Hearts 2015, Purple Knights 2014, Red Pirates 2013, and Green Knights 2012. After the Senior Green Knights graduate this year our next incoming class will be the new Green Knight Class of 2016, next incoming class will be the Pirates of 2017, and so on. So graduating in 3 years made me a Purple Knight. But I looked over the list of classes this week that I need to graduate with my biology major, only to realize that I am easily going to finish my requirements in two years. I love Wesleyan dearly already but there's truly no point in staying, and paying for, another year that I do not need. Academically I will not feel challenged - I'll feel like I'm simply floating along. Financially I don't need to be paying for another unnecessary year when I could put that money towards grad school. I have a goal, and Wesleyan is simply a stepping stone on the way to the big picture. With this said, today I talked with my counselor and decided that I would be a Junior, graduate in 2013, and thus become a "Pirate".

So... I know this is going to be a stressful next year and a half. Being a College Junior slates me for picking out grad schools, applying and taking my GRE this time next year. I need to come up with a game plan, and I have little time to lose. One one side it hardly seems fair that I have just finished working out the stress of getting into Undergrad and now have to worry about the what comes next already. It's exhausting. And I'm scared. Did I just make a huge mistake? How am I going to make the right decision on which school I go to? I want to go to school in Atlanta but is the hefty price I will pay in student loans worth it? How can I make Grad School fit into the rest of my life, my plans outside of school? What is the best choice? What do I do?

The matter of Diabetes as well as In-State Residency really stresses me out. As I said above, I do want to go to Graduate School in Atlanta. It is a good fit for me; my entertainment business is working out really well. Most of my work is in Atlanta and I have to drive there just about every weekend as it is. In over a year I will have formed a clientele base with a job that I can maintain all throughout college. It brings in good money, and since it is only weekends, I do not have to worry about it conflicting too much with school - any other job might very well be out of the question due to the time and academic rigor that Graduate School will prove to be. My two main interests so far are Mercer's Doctorate of Physical Therapy program, which is located in Atlanta, and Georgia State University's. Georgia State University has great prices... for in state students. Mercer is private so I don't pay out of state fees, but, it costs nearly $9000 a semester for a three year program. So is it worth it to pay a high price at Mercer for a good name? After all, GSU tuition is half that. But becoming an in-state resident is complicated as I do not have an actual, non-college, address of my own with which to register to vote, get a license, register a vehicle, etc. And I really don't want to go back to Florida. Nothing against my family or friends who I love, but I literally just left and I don't want to come back quite so soon. To complicate matters is my ever-so-understanding chronic disease. Oh, Diabetes, how you irk me. Medicaid is going to run out on October 13th, 2012 when I turn 19, like it or not. And until I graduate Grad School and get a job that provides me health care finances are going to be a stretch. And though this probably sounds way too dramatic and I know in a few years things will be okay, just getting through College alive... literally... seems way more imposing than taking Physics I and II next year seems now, which basically means I'm scared out of my mind. (Especially if Grad School requires me to have health insurance like Wesleyan does. I could get the College health care, but, it is practically useless to a person with a disease such as myself. Y'know - a person who actually would need to use it to buy unimportant things such as insulin, and see a doctor, and such.) And until then, I still have Florida Medicaid and haven't seen a Dr. since June, making my Diabetes treatment far more difficult than it normally would be. Guessing how much insulin you need and what your insulin-to-carb ratio, while it changes sometimes on a weekly basis, is extremely difficult to do. And those grey zones when I have no Doctor's advice as to what to do insures that my Blood Sugar is suffering for it.

So with all of the stress of life right now... I try to be positive. I am anxious, but on the other side I am so elated to see my dreams play out. I've worked so hard and poured so many long hours into my education. You have no idea all the time I have sacrificed, all of the exhaustion I have put myself through, all of the hard work I have pushed myself to do. I have pushed my limits further than I would have thought possible before I began college back in Junior Year of High School, at 15. And it's been such a difficult journey, but never once has it not felt worth it. Some people may criticize me for perhaps rushing college too much, but I have never let their criticism get to me. I have done what I think is right for me, what I have deigned to be the best decision. It has not necessarily been the easy route, and I am bypassing a lot of experiences because of the choices I have made, but this is where I'm supposed to be. I feel like I am at the right place, at just the right time. God's timing is, after all, so perfect. And to feel so close to my goal of getting my 4-year degree - and moving on to the final step, Graduate School - gives me a rare occasion to feel proud of myself. I was a two-year college graduate at 17, and I am going to finish my four year degree at 19. Many people at my age haven't even graduated High School yet; I'm about to go to Graduate School in just a short amount of time.
There are just so many things to think about, talk about, and pray about right now. These last few days I have been praying and praying and I know that God is with me, helping me. I have prayed for inner peace, respite from my restless mind and that he will make apparent to me where I want to be. Things will work out, and I have the rest of this school year to decide all of the important things and smooth out the details. This all is such a big deal for me. These decisions are going to impact my entire life. It won't be easy, but I always knew that this journey wouldn't be easy. God has created me just capable enough of handling what needs to be done.

"Wow, You're 18. You're Old Enough To Be Arrested!"

Welp, the title says it all. I am officially 18. Have been for almost a week now. And, in case you were wondering, the title was not made up by me - somebody else congratulated me on being 18, smiled, and promptly notified me that I was now old enough to be arrested. Personally, I was more excited about being able to gamble and have a say in who does not become our next President.

So how was my 18th Birthday? I have to admit, after a string of birthdays in which I turned yet another year older, but never really felt any different, this Birthday broke the norm. I did feel different. The weight of my newly-had responsibilities, the pressure that would now be put on me to be an adult - was very present in my mind on October 13th. At the same time, I felt as if I had woken up older, somehow, more mature - cheesy, I know, but in a country where people do often consider you a child until after you hit the 18th year mark, I think it's only natural to feel this way.

And I felt thankful. I was thankful to have ever gotten the chance to turn 18, to still be alive to celebrate. I think back to that day 6 months ago, back to my diagnosis with Diabetes, and realize how closely I came to never even getting to celebrate another year of life. How easily it all could have been cut short, and the weight of that event in my life, will likely be something I'll be aware of for all of my hopefully many future birthdays to come.

I didn't know what to do on my Birthday. So I woke up, went to breakfast, and followed the same routine I did every Thursday. I went to class. In 3-D Design we were building towers out of a single board of foam core. Whoever built the tallest tower, without any adhesive, got a 100%. I had low expectations for my success. I lack the mathematical skills of a genius to figure out the best possible proportions for base to height. My stand-in X-Acto knife was an impressive looking pocket knife given to me by my grandfather. My measurements were sadly un-uniform. The project frustrated me to no end. But I thought, I experimented, and finally I came up with a simple plan: I made a base, and cut tiny little joints out of the middle of thin pieces of foam core. I fit these joints onto the piece below it, and was just going to keep stacking thin little pieces of foamboard vertical-ways up until the tower would support no more. Glamorous? No. Effective? Highly. Several students were able to build insanely tall towers, but after what seemed like an eternity of battling it out and trying to figure out how to get my tower to support just one more piece of foam board, I had constructed a leaning-tower-of-pisa-like stick that stretched all the way up past the art building ceiling. I had won the tallest tower at over 150 inches and completely surprised myself!

Lunch was next. Several people wished me Happy Birthday, which made me feel special. I logged on to Facebook only to find a major surprise: my father, who is in the billboard business, had just finished constructing the first tri-faced LED Billboard in Florida and had put "Happy Birthday Lacy" on the very front of it! He had posted a picture of it for everyone to see. My mother and him had gotten together and come up with the idea to do it for me. I could not even fathom that someone would do something so incredible for my Birthday. Now, in addition to everyone who was friends with me on Facebook knowing it was my Birthday, basically all of Orlando knew as well! Ha! How amazing was that?

As a Birthday present from Mom, Dad and my family, I was also mailed a Birthday Box filled with low-carb mini chocolate cake, party supplies and a Nook. I had sorely missed not being able to bring my books with me to College, and Wesleyan's Library was more of an academic library... meaning there was little of what I like to call "recreational reading", or easy books just to rest my mind and give it a break from my studies. I was thrilled to get a Nook - I could finally have books again!

I went to sculpture class after lunch and worked on my sculpture. We were sanding our nearly-finished works today. I decided to leave early because I wanted to head over to Forsyth before it got too late. I looked out the window only to find that it had started absolutely pouring. Restless, I was determined not to sit and work on stone birds for another hour. I sat and waited by the door for 15 minutes but after noticing the rain showed no sign whatsoever of slowing, I gulped, tucked my bag within the safety of my arms, and opened the door.

I ran. The rain was biting cold, the wind blowing. Water showered my face, soaked my hair and drenched my jeans and tank top. At first I was truly annoyed. I wanted to look at least somewhat decent on my birthday, not wet like a drowned rat. I ran across the parking lot like mad and slowed to hop onto the grass. I sped up and one of my slippery flip flops went flying. A smile broke out on my face as I bent to retrieve it. And then the other one flew off. I could hold off my giddiness no longer. I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I remembered all of the times in my past when I had run out in the rain with friends, or by myself, and all the fun that I had had. I lifted my face to the sky, silently thanking it for the rain. I ran up the hill, muddying my jeans, but I didn't care. I laughed the whole way back to the dorms. And it had made my Birthday perfect.

I got inside, set my wet jeans aside, and got into some warm, dry clothes. I dried my hair and my face, packed a small bag, and then I drove over to Forysth. Marleigh's Fall Chorus Recital for Mary Persons High was today, and I'd said I'd come see it. Jake and I went together, and it was nice to get a chance to sit and listen to music. After a stressful week it was good to be able to relax. Afterwards we went to Jonah's, one of our biggest Forsyth traditions. Jonah's is a fantastic pizza place - we're biased, but we consider it the best - right in the heart of downtown Forsyth. Jake, who up until last week had worked there, let the people in the back know we were here to celebrate my Birthday. We sat down and ordered pizza rolls and pizza. After a fantastic, completely Way too High-Carb dinner, one of the waiters Jake knew let me pick which slice of cake I wanted. I knew my blood sugar wasn't going to be that happy, but you only turn 18 once. And you bet that I was going to have some cake. Jake didn't really care for sweets so I asked Marleigh to help me decide and share with me. There were so many delicious looking options - chocolate fudge cake, poundcake, carrot - but having never tried a Banana Creme Pie Cheesecake before, that's the one I selected. Then everyone came out and sang to me! Laurie and her friend Donna burst in while they were singing and it felt like a complete party. I was embarrassed and delighted all at the same time with all of the attention. I resolved to have only one bite of my cake but after tasting it I couldn't help myself. It was completely delicious and I tried two more bites. Marleigh and I ate most of it and Jake ate the rest. After some pictures we drove home, dancing in the car to music, and I spent the night in my usually comfy spot on the Living Room couch.

Had it been the most eventful Birthday? No. Did I have a big get together or party? Certainly not. Had I received a lot of gifts? No. I missed my friends, my family, the big, grand parties with the presents and the friends and everyone I had known from High School and before. But I had gotten to spend my Birthday with people I adored, in a place that I loved, and welcome a new and exciting chapter into my life. My 18th Birthday was different, and it was going to take time to accept all of the changes that College had brought. But my life is changing, growing, becoming something new and wonderful. It's been the best 18 years of my life, but I know that the years to come will be equally the best, not for the same reasons, but in their own different way.

So... Happy Birthday to me. And here's hoping I don't get arrested any time soon.

Once Upon a Fall Break

Even in my third year as a college student I have always found that there is nothing quite like the anticipation of an impending break. Last day of classes, finishing up tests and homework, packing for mini-vacations - it all finds a way to make me happy quite unlike anything else can. Friday was one of those such days. It was the last day of classes before break and I had promised to volunteer for the annual Collegiate Golf Tournament at the Brickyard at Riverside Golf Course in Macon. I was bypassing Organic Chemistry to do so but excited to get off-campus and have a change of scenery. The only bad side was...

I woke up at an uncomfortably early, and dark, hour of 5:15 AM to be at the course by 6:30. I am not a morning person. I was so thankful for my Keurig as I painlessly popped a K-Cup into the machine and was greeted by the smell of warm, toasty coffee in less than a minute. My warm shower woke me up at least enough for me to be able to exit morning-zombie mode. I had been promised breakfast at the golf course for my efforts but downed a chocolate rice cake before leaving to stave off the lingering low I had woken up with. I then exited the dorms to climb into my car. It was dark and chilly outside. The sun had yet to rise. Khakis were required and all I had were a pair of khaki capris; I was worried jackets weren't allowed, so I hadn't thought to bring something warm. I don't know what I was thinking - correction, I wasn't thinking.

After driving around aimlessly in the dark I finally found the golf course off of Riverside Drive. I parked in volunteer parking and stepped out of the car, wrapping my light jacket tighter around me. I cursed the weather. YEP. This isn't Florida anymore!!! My head screamed as I shivered on cue. I walked over to volunteer check-in only to find, to my dismay, that it was located at the pool side, outside, with no heat whatsoever. 

Are you serious? I muttered to myself as I checked in. Muffins, danishes, and warm sausage biscuits were set out on a table. Steaming vats of coffee with cold cream beside them called my name. This morning might, possibly, be salvaged. I got to talking with another girl from Wesleyan volunteering that morning. 1 hour later and 4 cups of coffee down, the two of us were called out to the golf carts to begin volunteering. Our job was to wait in our golf carts at the entrance and shuttle people up to the golf course. It was a simple, enjoyable job, but the cold was killing me. The security guard we were working with was kind enough to turn on the air in the guard house and let us spend our free time warming up in there. It felt like heaven, but we always had to leave the warmth far too soon. At 11AM we had finished up and received Chick fil A sandwiches for our work. Not exactly the pay I was used to, but it had been nice to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. The weather was gorgeous now that we were leaving (figures) and the hills surrounding the golf course made such a pretty landscape. I snapped some pictures and hopped back in my car to get back to school.

Campus was more or less deserted by the time I had returned; everyone had already gone home or to wherever they were going for Fall Break. I went to my last class of the day, Spanish, followed by work study from 3-5PM. While eating dinner in the near-empty dining hall afterwards, I was glad that I had plans to visit Statesboro that Sunday because it would have been very depressing to stay on campus all alone. Saturday morning I was back doing the same volunteering at the golf course. This time we received Nu-Way for our efforts, but I took one look at the near bubblegum-pink hotdog and decided I'd pass. I got back to campus earlier than I had intended and ended up having extra time before work to walk around and check out Wesleyan Market, a conglomeration of local vendors all come out to sell their wares like an extra-classy, mini-fleamarket. I changed out of my volunteer outfit and got ready for my party, then settled down to work on an art project before leaving.

My party went well, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that some of my Spanish class was paying off - I could actually pick up a couple of words that everyone was saying! :P When I returned at 9:30PM to school, exhaustion couldn't even begin to describe what I was feeling. I was ready to sleep better than the dead. I set my alarm for Statesboro early in the morning, checked that my bags were packed for my trip, and blacked out.

My drive to Statesboro was not unpleasant, but I-16 East is not a terribly interesting drive. I munched on a granola bar as I drove eastward, the sun just rising above the horizon. Despite the overcast skies, the light was both brilliant and blinding. I realized my mistake in leaving so early - the sun was rising right in my face, making it difficult to drive. I did my best to avert my eyes and was glad that I was one of the only ones on the road that quiet Sunday morning. Exit 116 was finally in front of me and, glad that the drive was overwith, I drove into town. I was able to stay in Statesboro for three days, spending time with Josh and his apartment roommates. We went to Waffle House, watched lots of movies, rented the entire first season of The Walking Dead on Redbox and watched it all in a day, and made pizza. I had a really great time. And I was now addicted to Zombie shows. It was so nice to take a mini-vacation, see Josh and take a break from school. The break ended far too soon and bright and early Wednesday morning I was up, hesitantly, to drive back to Wesleyan for class. With a final hug goodbye to Josh I climbed into my truck and suffered through the drive on I-16. It had been a good Fall Break. It was over too quickly, but I had many things to look forward to - my birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas... it will be a good rest of the year.

Extra-Credit Diabetic

Sunday promised to be a good day. The weather was pristine, I had a rare day off of work, and possessed not an obligation to my name. (Yes, organic chemistry, you read correctly.) I woke up, went to the dining hall to grab some cereal and coffee, and came right back to my room. I showered and dressed and then settled down to look through some homework... with little intention of actually doing it. However, it wasn't until I was actually halfway through Spanish when an irresistible thought ran through my head: Target. This morning. Forget Spanish. Go. Now. 

Nothing like retail therapy to make the perfect day! Last year and early this year I received a ton of Target Gift Cards (us Florida people are very fond of Target and its respective gift card-giving). I had thus decided that, instead of buying a bunch of individual little things, I would stock up my gift cards and bide my time until I could buy something big, grand, and expensive for nearly free. Today was the day. Armed with over $100 worth of Target Gift Cards, some as old as 5 years, I drove to Target blasting Taylor Swift. And don't you laugh. Something about cold weather just really makes me want to listen to Taylor Swift, okay?

I arrived at Target at 10:30 armed with my weapons of choice. I had planned to just go in, buy my expensive item, and go out, but the Target vortex sucked me in and I spent a good hour just browsing the aisles thinking of what I might want to buy. New camera? Hmm. 6 different kinds of mini indoor water fountains? Please. TV? Still would be kind of expensive. Eventually I found myself drawn to the coffee machine aisle. This is the part where I confess to Joshua Kuckuck that I bought myself a Keurig even though I just bought him one. I couldn't resist! Those things are just so cool and I need my coffee! I happily put my to-be Keurig into my shopping cart and checked out the wide variety of K-Cups. Target was a mecca of K-Cups, stocked with many I had never even seen before. Pumpkin spice coffee, chocolate vanilla truffle, and elusive apple cider and hot chocolate. Even Kahlua-flavored coffee! The K-Cups were a little expensive however, so I decided to try the 12 that my Keurig came with and see which ones I like before buying a flavor that I might end up not liking. I take my ungodly expensive coffee machine to the register and pull out my gift cards - about 8 in all. The cashier probably thought I'd robbed a Target somewhere. My total came to $127 and, with all of my gift cards added in, I ended up paying only $22 for my new coffee machine. So yes, I had bought 2 Keurigs within two weeks, but I think that my mass savings on the second one more than made up for it.

I got back to Wesleyan just in time for lunch, which is always less-than-extraordinaire on the weekends. I helped myself to a salad as usual, though, which I could always count on to be decent. More so, salads were my scapegoat from insulin shots, and thus I tried to eat as healthy as possible, as often as possible. I met up with Mary Kathryn and Sarah during lunch. They followed me back to my room so that I could grab my keys and then we piled into my truck. This afternoon we were going to the Greek Festival and planning to check out the literary festival going on in downtown Macon. Anything would be better than sitting in the dorms doing homework all day!

Traffic was pretty sluggish and it was a while before we hit Vineville. "What the heck is this?!" I said, commenting on the odd traffic lights centered over all three lanes of traffic. Each lane of traffic was labeled with either a red "X" or a green arrow. The lanes with a green arrow in them meant those were the ones you could drive in; I'm assuming the ones with an X meant "X marks the spot" aka don't drive in those lanes or you will die.

We arrived at the Greek Festival amidst a large crowd. We drove around the parking lot looking for a space, and all the while we had started talking about how motorcycles should not be allowed to have whole parking spaces. "Neither should smart cars!", I exclaimed. "They should only get half spaces!" We finally found a parking space and I was about to turn in... and suddenly a bright pink smart car turned around the curb and took it. I wanted to take my truck and run over their puny pathetic car in that moment. Serious truck-rage. It took nearly 15 minutes afterwards to find a parking spot. It was so frustrating!

We were finally able to get out and enjoy the festival. We were greeted by a menagerie of enticing smells, baklava sundaes, greek music and all the excitement of a festival day. We perused the tents, checking out the lovely Greek jewelry and other exotic items. The food all smelled so good and was so tempting, but I had purposely eaten lunch beforehand so as to not eat at the festival. Mainly because my blood sugar, unfortunately, did not speak Greek. I had no earthly clue how many carbs were in baklava sundaes, random Greek food in general and I wasn't up for facing the wrath of my blood sugar later. After hearing a Greek girl sing Carrie Underwood we concluded our tour of the Greek Festival and decided to go on an adventure. We selected a sidewalk on a hill, looked it over contemplatively, and began walking aimlessly with the intent of exploring downtown Macon. This proved to be a very enlightening experience when we ended up walking in a circle and deciding that Macon was mostly creepy at night, but also perfectly capable of being creepy during the day.

Next we drove to Cherry Street. We passed a cute, crowded restaurant called the Market City Cafe. "Ladies," a man walking out of the cafe nodded and said as he passed. I suddenly sat down on a nearby bench, catching my breath. Pulling out my glucose meter, I tested to find a terrifying 45. It was terrifying because I had forgotten to put any snacks or glucose tabs into my purse before leaving. Stupid, stupid, I muttered to myself. I should have had that baklava after all. "Umm... I need food. Now," I said to Sarah and Mary, panicking. I was in a strange and unfamiliar city, in the middle of downtown Macon, with a blood sugar of 45 quickly dropping and no way of knowing when I could get food. "Let's go into the cafe with the classy guy in front!" Sarah suggested. I laughed a little, trying to be humorous although the situation was far from optimal. The restaurant was a beacon of hope (you'll probably never hear me describe anything about Macon like that again) as we turned back and went into the cafe. We exchanged puzzled looks as a man seated us even though I just wanted to go straight over to the baked goods and see what I could quickly grab. While a waitress went to get us menus and water, I ran over to the plexiglass and spied some cookies. It was Sunday, though, and I noticed the dessert stand cash register was closed. I was willing to try anyways. "Excuse me," I said to a man behind the counter, who was preoccupied talking with one of the chefs in the kitchen. "Can I please just get a cookie?" He started at me blankly. "A cookie," I repeated again. "I... well..." he stammered, seeming unsure of what to do. "I just started here," he told me. "Please." I said, the desperation apparent in my voice, practically shoving my debit card into his hand. "I'm Diabetic. I'm having a low blood sugar. I need sugar." His face softened. He called over to the host who had seated us. "Ring her up one of the cookies," He told him. He put two of them on a plate for me. Relieved, I thanked him, grabbed my cookies, and took them over to the booth where Sarah and Mary Kathryn were seated. "We ordered a slice of cake," they told me. The cakes here looked seriously awesome. They were about the size of a head (maybe a slight exaggeration) and were probably enough to turn anyone into a Diabetic... not to say they didn't look completely worth going Diabetic over.

I was devouring my cookies as a waitress came over. She gave me a funny look. "Oh, she's already started on her dessert, I see..." I wanted to tell her to hush, I was a freaking Diabetic and I would have my cookies, but as my low blood sugar slipped away back into normal levels I contented myself with simply stuffing my face with chocolate-ey chip-ey goodness instead. It had been ages since I had had a cookie... sigh.

The caramel mocha crunch cake came out, and needless to say it was the most incredible cake we had ever seen. We took pictures. And then dug in. I think we can all agree that I deserved some serious extra credit for treating this low blood sugar.

Crisis more than averted, we returned to the car and finally drove back to Wesleyan. It had been an interesting day, filled with terror, excitement, cake, and country Greek singers. And, above all, it was simply good to finally go on an adventure. Macon or not, that's something that I would pick over Organic Chemistry, anytime.

It's a Little Cold To Be a Mermaid Today, Isn't It Ariel?

Wow! This weekend has been one huge, long adventure. Saturday morning I woke up in my comfy bed, elated at the thought of sleeping in and lazing off for the entire morning before work. I curled my toes happily and snuggled further under my blankets, averting my eyes from the weak rays of blue light sneaking in from underneath the window blinds. The Church Bells chime, and I count. 1...2...3...4...5...6...7. I roll over and try to sleep again.

I sigh. It is Saturday, and I am perfectly licensed to sleep in, but who I am kidding? Certainly not my internal alarm clock. I am so used to waking up at 7AM, bright and early to get breakfast at 7:30 during the week, that I cannot make myself sleep past 8AM even when I want to. On one side, I am thrilled to find how much longer the day is and how much more that I can get done with several extra hours of daylight at my disposal, but at the same time I shake my head and wonder how it is that I have turned out to be such the antithesis of your classic college student.

I shake off the blanket and put one tentative foot on the cold linoleum floor. I wipe my sleepy eyes awake and climb into the shower, shedding away the last vestiges of sleep and getting my mind thinking for the day. The thermometer says 41 Degrees this morning, and it is the first true cold of the year. I am delighted and put on a long sleeve shirt and wrap a scarf around my neck. I am a little shaky and I test my BG to find a 67. I wish breakfast was served on Saturdays but the dining hall only offers brunch at 11, so this Diabetic is on her own. I have to keep a good supply of snacks for Saturday morning munchies as well as random lows but I haven't had the chance to go to Walmart yet and get some more food. Breakfast this morning includes two chocolate rice cakes and a half-melted fudge ice cream bar.

Cheesy-happy first scarf wearing of the season picture. And look - my bed-making skills are the best!

Work today is in Atlanta at 1PM so I have to leave around 11. I take a trip to the gas station first so that I don't have to pump gas in a mermaid tail (potentially awkward) and gas is priced at a comfortable $3.07 (for once gas prices make me reasonably happy). It costs almost $10 less to fill up my tank than it did 2 weeks ago. Not to mention the weather is absolutely brilliant and I am thus in a perfect mood. It was as if the entire world was conspiring to make me happy today. I am freezing, but despite my warm winter clothes I stubbornly refuse to wear anything but flip flops until December and thus deserve it. Flip flops are just so dang convenient...

I make it back to Wesleyan around 10AM and am in a serious mood for some coffee. I patiently wait it out instead of heading over to Starbucks and get ready for my party, loading up the car and putting on my bathing suit top so that I can grab some brunch real quick and then head right on out. The clock chimes 11, and I finally get my coffee and some salad before rushing back to my room. I chug the coffee on the way back, grab my purse and remaining party stuff, and return to the truck. It's roadtrip time and I'm excited! The drive Northwards on the same old stretch of 75 can be monotonous sometimes but never when I actually reach the city and get to see all of the new places around Atlanta. I have been to many of the different suburbs and each one has their own specific character, their own unique sights that make Atlanta such an exciting place to be. Atlanta is a city that I love and a trip up there is like vacation for me. I blast music on the way up 75 and keep the heat on so that the truck is a comfortable temperature. Well, for me, seeing as most other people think I have far too little cold tolerance. Can't say I disagree, but such is what living in the Gator Swamp all your life will do to you. I'm not exactly sure where in Atlanta I am going but it is slightly North of the city and the GPS directs me where to go. For the first time, it keeps me on 75 and that's when I realize that today for the first time I will be driving straight through the heart of the city. I have tested my driving skills on both 675 and 285 before but never actually driven alone by myself through Atlanta. OMG. My conscious shouts as I count 7 lanes of crowded traffic surrounding me. "Holy freaking crap I'm gonna DIE", I'm muttering as I grip the steering wheel and try not to totally freak out. The honest to goodness truth is Atlanta traffic itself is not that terrible, but it's whenever you want to get on a ramp or direct yourself to the correct exit that trouble can occur. It is imperative to know where you are going otherwise your Atlanta driving experience will not be a pleasant one. After a few more "OMG I'M GONNA DIE"'s coupled with a flurry of frantic prayers, last minute lane changes to remain on 75, and most likely a couple of P.O.ed Atlanta drivers, traffic calms down as I pass the main stretch of city and start ending up North.

I get off at my exit and need to stop somewhere real quick to use the restroom. I find a Chick-fil-a and hurry in, holding up the skirtof my mermaid tail and making little eye contact with anyone. For personal amusement purposes I do enjoy making people look twice at a clown or princess walking through public sometimes, but today I am not in the mood to bring attention to myself and I hurry back out as soon as I can.

I arrive in the correct neighborhood and gaze around in awe. The houses surrounding me remind me far more of castles than of any house I've ever seen. There is money here, and it is apparent. I finally arrive at a beautiful house in a pristine neighborhood, adjust my hair, and step out. I am greeted once I get to the backyard by a chorus of "Oh, it's Ariel!!" by little girls and "Gosh, you must be cold" and "It's a little cold to be a mermaid today, isn't it Ariel!" by the adults. But I am in the entertainment business and I do not complain. We do what it takes, whether that is dressing up as a clown and face painting outside in 30 degree weather or trying to face paint in the heat of July while you feel like melting. I settle in to face paint for two hours, all the while trying to figure out why on Earth the ONE day I have to do a mermaid party it just happens to be cold. My toil is worth it, though, when at the end I am asked for several business cards, the mom is happy, and I receive a very generous $30 tip. The party has wound down and I smile and wave goodbye to the remaining guests as I make it back to the truck, eager to return home and relax.

I make it back to Wesleyan relatively quickly and stop in the dining hall for dinner. My friend Kristina texts me and asks if I want to watch a movie with her and I reply yes, telling her I'll check the library collection for a movie. I scan the library schedule real quick only to remember that the library closes 5PM on Saturdays, putting a big red "X" through that plan. I sigh, text Kristina we'll have to re-schedule and resign myself to Homework (aka an open word doc and Facebook). I figure I'll use the time for some much-needed study. That's before my friend Sarah messages me on Facebook and asks if I would like to come meet her at Starbucks. Sarah also blogs and we had been trying to figure out a time to meet at Starbucks and talk next week. This was perfect!

I bundle up and go out to my car. Starbucks is close enough to walk but it is dark and cold and the thought does not sound appealing in the least. Instead I drive there and meet Sarah at a table next to the window. I take out my Organic Chem book in pretense of studying but really I know that most likely I will accomplish no schoolwork at all. I don't mind, though. I've been dying to have someone to talk to lately. I feel as if I always do a lot of listening but rarely get the chance to contribute much to the conversation. This is one of the first times that Sarah and I have really hung out and I had such a great time. I felt like we both got to contribute to the conversation, and we talked about everything, from Wesleyan to our disagreements about feminism to life as former homeschoolers. Even though prior plans were cancelled everyting worked out for the best because I was so happy to have gotten a chance to have a good conversation with awesome company. Not to mention Starbucks and the delicious smell of coffee makes everything better. We stay for nearly 3 hours, and I order a regular coffee as it is too late for me to have a high-sugar, high-carb drink on good conscience... okay, let's be honest, Starbucks never fits into a Diabetic's "good conscience".

It is nearly 11PM when we head back to Wesleyan and I've had a wonderful evening. A wonderful day, in fact. A job that went well, a trip to Atlanta, Starbucks, and new friendship.

As it turns out, the life of a mermaid isn't all that bad.

Grown Up? Hmm... No... Still A Princess.

It is officially Fall, and I am in love with this weather. Fall is my very favorite time of the year. The cool air, clear blue skies, and quiet restfulness of the season lend me a sense of peace and inner joy that spreads into all the areas of my life. 

Tomorrow is the first of October, and it is less than two weeks until it is my birthday. I don't know what I am doing for my birthday. This will be my first away from home, and it saddens me to think that I cannot spend it with my old good friends. And with a party like last year and the year before, any future birthday of mine has a great deal to live up to. Worries run through my head: What if it's completely miserable? What if no one wants to or has time to celebrate with me? What if everyone forgets? I really hope that I can find something to do, whether it is a small get-together with old and new friends, dinner with friends and family, those that I love, or perhaps the upcoming Perry Fair. I don't need a big party, but I do wish for something enjoyable and memorable to make my 18th Birthday a special day. 

It's hard to believe that I am going to be 18. Mostly because I remember looking back, while approaching my 15th Birthday, and thinking that the day was so distant and far away. What would past Lacy think if she had known the time would go so fast? It's been three years since then, and three years is an impossibly long stretch of life. I find myself caught up between two viewpoints of life; part of me still feels like a young girl, just role-playing the part of a College student and near grown-up. I'm still learning the ropes of living on my own, of answering telephones and working minimum-wage jobs while working my own business and having to deal with people myself instead of passing the task onto my mother. I'm still adjusting to the shock of having to buy my own snacks, trying to figure out why laundry detergent is so damn expensive, and figuring out an easy way to lug my laundry down to the basement. 

And yet, at the same time, I catch occasional glimpses in myself of what I saw in older people when I was truly just a young girl; mature, confident, grown-ups who had all the answers and seemed so capable of all the tasks at hand. Part of me has certainly grown up, I can't deny that. But what would my younger self see in me now? Would she see a young woman, nearly grown? Or just a little girl, still trying to find out how to grow up in this far away place away from home?

I chalk my qualms all down to the realization that this is just "one of those points in life." 18 is a time to grow and explore, to experience a larger part of the world which will, in turn, help me to become more of who I am to be. I don't know all the answers; and, unlike the last 3-4 years of my life, I am old enough to realize that. I still have a lot of things to experience, like voting and signing waivers as an adult and clubbing and losing vast quantities of money on the lottery (just kidding, mom.) I still have a long way to go until I will really feel like an adult - or maybe I will always be one of those oddballs, the ones that stay children forever and never grow up.

In the space under occupation I do still put princess, after all. 

Disney three years ago!

I'd Just DIE!

I receive a text from Travis around 1 on Tuesday asking if I want to go to the Braves game that night. Travis is Joshua's best friend and it's not uncommon for them to trade girlfriends with each other for short periods of time. "That would be really fantastic!" I text back. I've never been to a Baseball game before. We make plans for Travis to pick me up at Wesleyan after work. I go to dinner early and have just enough time to eat before Travis texts me he's on his way. Unlike Florida, that means he's about 10 minutes away, max. I put my plates away then rush over to my dorm to grab my stuff - insulin and meter being the most important things, of course. I meet Travis out by the front porch of Hightower and climb into his massive Red Ford. The trip to Atlanta is surprisingly fast; the traffic is especially good for 5pm. I'm excited as I take in all of the new sights and surroundings; "HILLS!" I exclaim happily, as if they are the most wonderful thing in the world. Travis laughed at me but I just thought that they looked so beautiful; they even made the traffic look pretty, one long string of lights moving through the curvature of the land.

We arrive at Turner Field amongst the pre-game rush of pushing crowds and shouting security guards. We make our way across the street to the entrance to the stadium and meet up with Travis' brother and some other people. Travis takes me around the stadium, showing me its odd quirks such as the giant Chick-fil-A cow with the arm that makes chopping motions whenever the Braves score, and the giant chairs situated near the top of the stadium. We go back down to our seats at around 7:10 and the game begins. I have to admit; I'm not a baseball fan, but baseball is so much more exciting to watch when it's in person! I loved the experience of people watching, being part of a crowd, and feeling like a part of the excitement. I loved all of the unique, delicious smells of the food, seeing people on the live cam, and actually being able to take a legit interest in the teams' scores (the Braves only scored one Home Run, sadly.)

I was glad that I had gone, and thankful that Travis had offered to take me. After the game's conclusion we headed back to the truck. Traffic wasn't bad and we made it back to I-75 rather quickly. On the way back my stomach grumbles. It's been since 4:30 that I've eaten anything and it's almost 11PM. "I'm sooo hungry, but, I really shouldn't eat anything because of my blood sugar... hmm." Travis suggests Waffle House, which is never something I can turn down!

After getting back to Zebulon in Macon we sit down at Waffle House. I perused the menu. Pointlessly, I might add - I'd only ever gotten one thing at Waffle House, and that, humbly enough, was a waffle. Both Travis and I request unsweet tea, and I ask for the little artificial sugar packets and whether they have sugar free syrup. The waitress gets me both and I happily sip my tea as we wait for our food to come up. I take out my meter and test my Blood Sugar - 146, better than it's been - and pull out my Novolog for later.

"Do you have Diabetes?" The waitress practically shouted when she returned. I moved to face her. "I do," I said, eying my insulin pen, the scattered Sweet 'n Low sugar packets on the table, and the sugar free syrup sitting inches away. Right. How could you possibly guess? "You're too young to have Diabetes, sweetie!" She tells me disapprovingly. My feathers ruffle. "It's not Type 2..." I say to empty air, as she walks away just then. "Ugh. That annoys me so much," I tell Travis, who is sitting right across from me. He laughs and tells me I shouldn't leave my insulin pen out if I don't want people to make a conversation about it. He's right, but most people never even notice my insulin, let alone make a comment about it. To them it just appears to be an odd-looking pen. Either way, I put the insulin pen away into my purse. I don't care if people comment about my Diabetes. In fact, I usually love talking about it. But it's the ignorant comments that get to me, that common myth in circulation about how all Diabetics got their disease from obesity or unhealthy living.

The waitress comes back over. "I guess Diabetes doesn't discriminate, does it!" She says to me. "Does it, huh?!" My face is the picture of blankness - well, I try to make it so. "Yeah." I say stiffly in reply. She sets down our food - waffle and butter for me, and Travis' order. "I tell you what," she goes on, "If I didn't have to take a pill for my Diabetes, I'd die! I'd just die! If I had to give myself those insulin shots, why, I'd just have to die." "Well, it's not like I really have many other options," I mumble, annoyed. "I know a girl who I work with that has to give herself insulin shots," The waitress says again. "If I couldn't take pills instead, I'd die!" She said, again, and walks away.

The waitress irked me. Call me touchy but I felt like her comments were ignorant if not slightly insulting. One of the first things that people always tell me when I tell them about having to give myself insulin shots each day is, "I could never do that. I'd just die." This just makes me go completely D-Postal sometimes. (See Kerri's blog post for the definition to my new favorite Diabetes-Word!) I feel as if people too often criticize me for my decision to live with Diabetes and my doing what it takes to treat it. As if there aren't so many other things they could criticize a person for, they choose that. More than once people have told me they don't understand why on Earth I'd ever choose to deal with living with Diabetes and its respective downsides. "YOU DON'T GET IT," I want to shout. Why on Earth wouldn't you choose life? Diabetes is a terrible disease to live with, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I hate Diabetes, and I hate what Diabetes does to me. (See previous blog post on Diabetes' and I's tumultuous relationship.) There's not a day goes by that Diabetes doesn't fail to make me feel crappy in some way, whether it's through a particularly debilitating low Blood Sugar, or three in one day, a BG of 436 that leaves me feeling like failure about myself for the rest of the day, the sting of a needle, seeing my supply of highly expensive, life-saving drugs dwindle, remembering that I can't just go drink a flipping milkshake or randomly snack when I want anymore, or just being really darn sick of having a Chronic Disease.

But the end point is, despite how much it completely, inevitably blows to live with Diabetes, it's worth it. Why?

Because I have something greater to live for than myself.


I have a man that loves me, a fantastic family, and a God that has a plan for me that is so special and unique in its own way, whatever it may be. I have beautiful Fall Days, chocolate rice cakes, Waffle House and quiet mornings by the Lake. And maybe that waitress didn't get it. Maybe all of the people that criticize my choice, my recognition of the absolute privilege that life is, don't understand at all. Diabetes isn't worth giving my life for. Diabetes doesn't deserve that satisfaction, that victory. My life is greater than Diabetes, and it always will be.

I wolf down my waffle - I'm super hungry and it's delicious - and Travis finishes his food. We leave, and Travis drops me back off at Wesleyan. "Thanks so much again!" I tell him. I had had a great time that night, and you know what? Diabetes hadn't made it any less wonderful. Not in the least.

All I Want For Christmas is a Cure for Diabetes!

I know, I know, that's not likely to happen. But dang it. I am so freaking sick of Diabetes today.

The feeling is mutual - Diabetes hates me. While Diabetes' apparent disdain for me seems to be more of a personal issue, my feelings today towards Diabetes are mainly a snowball effect of the events of this weekend. Saturday was WOW! A Day for Macon, Wesleyan's big bi-annual volunteering event. I was placed on the Campus Cleanup team, which I did not mind because I volunteered and was willing to work where they placed me. However, as I saw other girls go off to volunteer for needy children and the elderly, I couldn't help but have a sinking feeling that my volunteering project was a very bad match for me, 1. Because I had rarely done manual labor in my life, and 2. I knew 4 hours outside was just a low blood sugar waiting to happen. But what's a girl to do? It was a beautiful day, the sun had come out after several days of rain, and I was glad that at least my project involved being outside. It was one of those days that would have been a waste to spend indoors.

We first spread out pine straw underneath the trees out by the art building, then pruned them. Then we walked over to the lake and started weeding mimosa and scraping old paint off of the bridge. It was around 11 when I sat down to take a break and started feeling a little shaky. "Are you okay?" Jenna asked. "Be right back. I need to check my blood sugar," I told her. 3 minutes later a 45 stared back at me on the screen. Oh crap, I muttered. It was as if the symptoms had just waiting behind closed doors, waiting for the cue of seeing my BG number on the screen before screaming, "OH HEY. LOOKIE HERE. LOW BLOOD SUGAR" in flashing lights. It felt like death. I stared down at the infinitesimal 4 blood glucose tablets that I had placed in my bag this morning. Why, oh why hadn't I packed more? My blood sugar was dropping rapidly and I realized what a stupid error it had been to give myself Novolog in the arm this morning. One of the obscure rules of Diabetes: If you know you'll be using the body part a lot in the coming hours, don't inject yourself there or the insulin will absorb too quickly and give you low blood sugar. Scraping paint and pulling up stubborn weeds certainly hadn't done me a favor this morning.

I frantically opened the packet of glucose tabs (orange flavored - so not my favorite), and chewed them down. It did little to help though. I shook from the low, overwhelmed by how powerful it was. "I need food," I told our volunteer leader. She looked at me. "Are you alright?" She asked. I swallowed. "My blood sugar is 45." She blinked. "Are you going to be okay? I don't want you to pass out on the way to the cafeteria or anything." I laughed weakly. "I'll be okay," I told her. I think, My thoughts echoed. This low was bad, really bad. "I just need some food. Then I'll come back." "I think you're done," she said. "You did a good job. Didn't she do a good job?" she asked the other girls, who had now gathered around. "But -" I started to say. "I volunteered, I don't want to bail or leave early or --" "I think you're done," she repeated.

I was sick. And I would always be sick. Things weren't the same for me anymore, I remembered. But it wasn't right. I was slacking. Diabetes shouldn't have to be an excuse for me, a reason for my not being able to work as hard as other people. I appreciated her being understanding, I really did. But I was mad at Diabetes for doing this to me. For making things so complicated. 6 months ago I would've been just fine, working the whole 4 hours like everyone else, doing hard work. Nothing to balk at. But the fact that I even had to consider what 4 hours of work would do to my health frustrated me. I just wanted to be carefree about my health like I used to be able to. Be able to take it for granted because I was perfectly fine and there was no reason in the world to think otherwise. Now things are so different. I might talk about Diabetes a lot to people, but honestly, it's just because it plays such a big part in my life now. Like my shadow, it follows me everywhere. And unlike Peter Pan, I cannot lose my shadow. We are stuck for life. Prepare for this next major cliche: Deep down, truth is I really just want to be like every one else. I don't want Diabetes to be an excuse. I want to be able to work as hard and do as much as normal people. I don't want Diabetes to interfere with my life. I don't want Diabetes to be a reason for people to pity me, a reason for people to say or think, "Oh, that poor thing. Take it easy on her." I want people to see me and think, "Wow. Despite her illness, look at all that she has overcome." I don't need easy, but I do wish for normalcy. I don't want pity, I just want people to listen, to understand. That's why I'm writing this blog. I want people to read this and know what it's really like. No misconceptions, no misinformation. Truth. This is life with a chronic illness.

I am in a bad mood today though. My endocrinologist told me once when I was first diagnosed, "Diabetes doesn't have to limit you. Things may be harder for you, but they won't be impossible. You can do anything that a person without Diabetes can." But I don't feel like that right now. I remember envying how put together she seemed, thinking that I could never be like that. Thinking this illness would own me and had destroyed all of my dreams. I don't feel quite that dramatic now after adjusting to my life anew, but I am so tired of this fight and knowing that life will always be this uphill battle, discourages me at times. Life is never easy, but life with Diabetes certainly doesn't help make it any less difficult.

To top it all off, my blood sugars have been absolutely dismal the past few days. It seems my insulin needs have upped themselves again. I resolved to myself at this end of the week, "Enough goofing around, time to step it up with my treatment." Lots of water, low carb foods, Novolog at every meal for even small amounts of carbs. Last night my BG was over 350 where it should not have been. I gave myself Novolog for it right away but woke up at 262. Bolused for breakfast this morning only to find 372 two hours later. With near tears in my eyes I angrily grabbed my insulin pen and stabbed myself in front of everyone in Orgo.

"I'm okay..." I told myself, walking out of class later. And then I broke down on the inside, strings of saddening thoughts filling my mind. "I'm not okay." I said to myself angrily. "I'm sick. How in the hell is that okay? How will that ever be okay? Why do I have to deal with this, why is everything so complicated now?" I kicked the stones on the ground as I rushed angrily back to my dorm, needing to be alone. I ate lunch in silence that afternoon and gave myself 2 units of insulin. I went to Spanish and felt shaky. I emerged with a BG of 55. I ran into the cafeteria diner, grabbed an apple, and ran outside to eat it. I took a bit and spit it out. It was imperfect on the inside, diseased, though you could never tell by looking on the outside.

Just like me.

I ran back in, selected an apple more carefully this time, and collapsed in a shaking, sweaty heap on the sofa outside the Hurdle Cafe. Tears fell down my face as I ate the apple, trying to recover, trying to feel better. I couldn't stand this seesaw, this, "So, will it be a High or Low this time?" Why not just normal? Why was it seemingly always one extreme or the other lately?

Life with a chronic illness is overwhelming on days like this. And it makes me so selfish. I hate to succumb to pity, but sometimes I just get so upset that it's all I can do for the time being. I think, at least with some other diseases, there is hope of a cure. I may die, but there is a chance that I will not, that I will walk away a survivor. But instead I sit here on the sidelines and watch as other, more "popular" illnesses fill the spotlight. I swear, diseases are as bad as the media is sometimes. Everyone cares about the newest, most heartrendingly sad disease stories. Aids, Cancer, Breast Cancer - things that are worth fundraising for, raising awareness for. But what about other, overlooked diseases? Every day in America, 11 people die from Asthma. Diabetes is the fourth leading cause of death in the United States. Rheumatoid arthritis, the most crippling form of arthritis, affects approximately 1.3 million Americans and two to three times more women than men. Over 300,000 children are afflicted with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis before the age of 16. But who cries for them? Far fewer than should. A cure for Type 1 Diabetes is 10, 20, 50 years down the road. There are no survivors of Diabetes, just troopers. It is a game to see how long we can live like this. I am stuck in limbo now, with an illness that I can still stay alive with - but only with a lifetime of treatment that will never truly be a cure. I spend every day yearning for a cure but so afraid to hope in case I end up disappointed. I know that all of this is an impossibly selfish thing to write, to think. I would gladly take Diabetes and be grateful over handful of worse illnesses that other people have. But Diabetes is what I have, and judge me or not, sometimes this is what I cannot help but feel.

Diabetes, Go Away, Come Again Some Other Day

Sigh.

This week has been like walking on a cloud.

Joshua came Sunday, stopping at Wesleyan first to see me. I was so overjoyed to see him. It's difficult to miss him for such long periods of time but after that first hug I always realize immediately just why it's all so completely worth it.

I showed him my dorm and we stayed and talked for a while. Joshua helped me gather all of my belongings for my Cinderella party that afternoon, and we took separate vehicles to Forsyth to see the Kuckuck's. We stayed and talked a while, and then I got ready for my party and everyone else went to see additional family up in Jackson. We planned to meet back up for dinner at Longhorn that evening and I couldn't wait to finish up work. I admired the rural landscape as I drove through a quiet highway towards Gray and Milledgeville. It was an overcast day and the weather was cool and pleasant. The drive was an hour but I enjoyed the quiet time and the adventure it always was to see new places, to explore my beautiful new home. I really have come to love Georgia with all my heart.

The party went well; I passed out several business cards and my face painting was getting really good. I'm so thankful that I've gotten so much business so far and hope that it continues. Afterwards, I drove home, laughing quietly to myself as I reached and drove on Highway 441. 441, or Orange Blossom Trail back home in Florida, ran literally right past my house and I had driven on it nearly every day. I was right down the street from home... well, only by a few hours!

I made it back to Wesleyan, proud that I was learning how to navigate Macon and recognize roads and landmarks even without the aid of a GPS. Learning my way around has been a long process, but I know that I'll manage to do it eventually. I learn something new everyday. I unpack my stuff and heave it back to my dorm room. I get out of my voluminous Cinderella dress and change into nice, normal clothes, then give Joshua a call to see when I should meet them at the restaurant (still can't spell that dang word right!) 30 minutes later I find myself at Longhorn and greet Joshua with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. I've missed him in just the few hours I've been away. The wait is long and I sip diet coke to quell my hunger pains while we wait. We finally sit down and order our food and appetizers. The steak was awesome and I enjoyed talking with everyone again. I love being with my Georgia family, and it was so wonderful to have Joshua next to me and to remember what it's like to feel like a couple again. It's one of the best feelings in the world. My life feels entirely happy, complete. After dinner Joshua walks me back to my truck and we say a long goodbye. The next day is Joshua's birthday I don't want to leave him, but, I decide that I'll come back up to Forsyth for lunch after my O-Chem class ends at 10:50AM before I come back after work study at 5:30PM for his Birthday party. I didn't think that I could wait a whole other day to see him!

This proved to be correct because for the whole morning all I could think about was the very second that O-Chem would end and I would be able to hop in my car and go see Joshua again. The minutes ticked by achingly slow as I waited in class, diligently trying to take notes and pray that I'd pass my first Exam Wednesday, but finally it was 10:50 and I practically raced to the parking lot to hop in my car. I impatiently filled up my gas tank first before setting out on 475 up towards Forsyth. I raced there, hugged Joshua and wished him Happy Birthday. Josh, his brother Jake and I then walked downtown to get lunch. We stopped to get Ice Cream and then went to Jonah's for pizza rolls, both of which were a special, rare treat for my Diabetic self. Despite skipping Spanish for the day the minutes were too quick to race by this time, and hesitantly I left at 2PM to make it back for Work Study, promising to return soon.

Work Study in the admissions office couldn't end quick enough, and finally I was back in my truck driving towards Forsyth. Joshua and his friend Travis were at WalMart when I got back, and I impatiently waited for them to return. More friends came by and we all sat on the back porch until Mamabird had all the girls go into the kitchen to help set up dinner while Jake and the guys grilled burgers and hotdogs out back. I cut lettuce, tomatoes, cooked baked beans and helped set up the table all in a flurry as everyone rushed to get dinner ready. Everything was finally finished - and looked completely delicious - and we helped ourselves to good food, enjoying the company of great people.

When cake time rolled around, we all gathered around and sang Happy Birthday for Joshua as he blew out his candles. Then it was present time - I was so anxious for Josh to open his present! I really hoped that he would like it! He unwrapped presents from family and then got to mine. He opened the card first. "Read it out loud!" Everyone shouted. I blushed and convinced him otherwise, embarrassed to think of anyone except Joshua reading all of the mushy things I had written in the card! Josh then turned to the present and unwrapped it to a chorus of shouts - it was a Keurig! He really seemed to like it, which I was so happy about! I had been so excited the whole time as I had bought it and wrapped it, hoping so much that it would be something that he could enjoy! I ate a slice of cake and ice cream as we sat around the table and continued to talk, all the while my insulin staring at me from across the kitchen, forlorn and unused. I shoved the thought of Diabetes in the back of my head as I happily ate, the taste of cake all the sweeter for not having  to have faced a needle beforehand.

The rest of the week was wonderful as I was able to look forward to seeing Joshua everyday after classes. We watched movies, snuggled, and just enjoyed getting to spend some well-needed time together. My blood sugar had been less than optimal though, and I was disappointed with myself. I had been so caught up with the excitement of seeing Joshua again and being around my Georgia  family that I didn't want to think about Diabetes. I wanted to believe that if I shoved it away into some small, forgotten corner of my mind, that perhaps that would echo into my life. I hate picking the low-carb meals, opting for salad and vegetables, because they are "easy", non-bolus for foods. I hate the needles, which never stop hurting, which sting and bruise my body. I hate the symptoms, the constant seesaw that is my eternal struggle with maintaining my blood sugar. But Diabetes is so real, and I have to step it up again. Taking care of myself should be of utmost importance, no matter how much I get tired of the same Diabetes routine day after day. Taking care of my health is important, just like Joshua is, my family is, my education is. And I will start stepping it up again, gathering the motivation I need to carefully watch my blood sugars again. I don't enjoy it, but this is the price I pay to live. And that price is so worth it. Because, in all honesty, I wouldn't change this past week one bit. It was perfect, just as it was. The needles, the bad blood sugar, everything - I wouldn't trade any of it away. My life will never be perfect, or go the way I want it to. But I would never change anything about my life, either. God is so good, and he continuously graces me with so many blessings and signs of his love. Always. I have a caring, amazing family, a wonderful boyfriend who loves me, I go to a great college, and Jesus Christ is my savior. Life is full of blessings just the way it is, and there is nothing that Diabetes can ever do to change that.