Clowning Around

Hi there, I'm becoming a masochist. Because now I seem to think that Blood Glucose testing is fun.

It doesn't help when your meter case just so happens to be really cute.

Observe: Meter Case. (I have about 5 cases and just as many meters and lancets. Thankyou, hospital, for ensuring that I have all the equipment I need in order to harm myself.)

If you are wondering why I appear to be dressed like a clown, well, it is because I am a clown. Now before you stop reading my blog forever, please, put your fears of clowns aside. I'm not going to bite you. I don't kill little children in their sleep at night. And hopefully I do not appear to be overly creepy or give off that tell-tale "stalker" vibe. (But I'll explain my job later. Back to hippie meter cases, and all the fun presents they contain inside).

Lancets (finger-pricky-thingies):

Death by lancet?

Seen below: Blood Glucose Meter. (Note: this picture was taking earlier in the day, when I was not dressed like a clown. I possess neither the ability to change the time of day according to whim nor have the willpower to change out of my clown outfit that fast.)

This meter shown here is my favorite - I received two brands, Accucheck and The One Touch Ultra 2, two of each. The one I am pictured holding is the One Touch Ultra 2. (Notice the friggin' PERFECT blood sugar. 83 BG. Boo-Yah!)

I prefer my One Touch because it's just so darn COOL. Unlike the Accucheck, it doesn't just check my blood sugar (because, seriously, how stone age would that be? A blood glucose meter that only checks blood sugar? What good is that for?)

I like it because I can write little notes after I test, like specifying "before" or "after" meals, and "feeling hypo", "too much food","too much exercise", etc. (The "too much food" note gets its fair share of use. Heh.)

It also can tell me my result average for before and after meals, and for all of my results. This thing has pretty much everything, including the kitchen sink. So much so that sometimes I like to play with it just for fun. Or I'll get bored and feel like testing my blood sugar, as if pricking myself with a lancet and testing my blood was the kind of thing that every child wants to do with their spare time.

When I get around to it, I'd even like to write a letter to the meter companies with more suggestions on how they could make their product bigger and better (so to speak). It would go something like this:

Good Day, Meter Company! I am in possession of one of your meters and would like to make just a few suggestions. Firstly, you should add some games to your meter. Blood Sugar testing would be so much more fun if you could play Tetrus, Solitaire, and that annoyingly addictive air traffic controller game all while enjoying the comforts of playing scientist trans-blood testing at home. I think I would check my blood sugar about 50+ times a day. Second, I think that you should make your meters "smart meters". Right now they are kind of dumb I'm afraid. By "smart" I mean that after doing a test, you should get feedback from your meter based on your results. Quirky comments like, "Your blood sugar is over 200? Sheesh, lay off the cupcakes!", "I'm sorry, but your blood sugar is too low. Game over. You lose.", and, "Stop getting high, you pothead" are all perfectly acceptable.

In addition, I would greatly appreciate an attachable candy dispenser (err, only for in the case of low blood sugar, of course.) Those glucose tabs just aren't doin' it for me.

Yours sincerely,

Lacy Ball.

Moving the topic away from meters themselves, it's pretty crazy, being a diabetic and watching your blood sugar levels. You get the strangest results. Like, I'll test at 51 BG in the morning, and then be 301 before lunch for no apparent reason. What.the.hell? My blood sugars have THE WORST sense of humour ever. I swear they throw in those "45's" and "453's" just to screw with me. They'll tease me with good levels for a while and then all of a sudden, "BAM!" 400!, or, *PING* 42! If my blood sugars could talk, I'm pretty sure they'd have a lot of interesting things to say. Until then, I simply amuse myself daily by playing the "let's see what my blood sugar is after eating this" game.

And if test strips weren't so darn expensive (about $ 1.00 a test strip, or nearly $100 for a pack of 100!) I might do it a lot more often, finger pricking or no. But as it is, I'm testing about 4-5 times a day, and if you do the math, you see how quickly those pricey little test strips go. So, until Medicaid kicks in (it will only last until I turn 19, but that's a blog for a different day), I'll stick with tests before meals and before bed. I did indulge my eccentricities today and test after lunch, however, and it was only 117! (Now that's pretty good for a newly-diagnosed diabetic whose blood sugar is often all over the place.) With the exception of this weekend and eating WAY too much food than I should have, which wacked out my blood sugar for the next two days, my blood sugar has been - dare I say it? - behaving suspiciously well these past 2 weeks. According to my blood sugar average of 147, my A1C is roughly 6.74%, which is really good. (I attached a link for diabetic-illiterates, in case you don't know what A1C is.)

However, I'm not going to get too excited about these levels - when diabetics (Type 1, I don't know if this goes for Type 2 since their pancreas can still technically make insulin) are first diagnosed, once they start on insulin they enter a "Honeymoon Period". This can last anywhere from 2 months to a year, and during this time our pancreas is still making a little bit of insulin. So blood sugar is more behaved, you usually require less insulin, and A1C is often at fantastic levels. Unfortunately, I know the time will come when my poor little pancreas goes kaput for good, and then my A1C will probably skyrocket and make my daily diabetes struggle just a little bit harder.

But until then, I'm playing cheerleader, rooting my dysfunctional little pancreas on;

And "clowning around."

Literally.

"They're Amoebas, NOT Cow Spots!"

Today's Josh and I's year-and-a-half anniversary.

I know, to some, that might seem a little obsessive-compulsive, but I've always been a bit of a mushy person, and I've always had a soft spot for people who buy me Zaxby's, anyways. :P

We've known each other three years come this Summer and been good friends for pretty much all of that time. I met him in the back of a van (how sketchy does that sound?) and - wait for it - while I was in the middle of drawing amoebas in Sharpie on a guy's arm.

"Why are you drawing cow spots on his arm?" He asks.

"They're not cow spots. They're amoebas. Clearly." I retorted, immediately annoyed.

Aaaaand that's how it all started, with me greatly disliking him. But after sticking "Call Me" signs in the window of the van on the ride up to Camp in North Carolina, teaming up to play Scrabble with me acting as spell-check ("Is DUI a word, guys?") and being told by him that my leg was going to have to be amputated before I knew that that hideous purple and blue mark on my leg was a second-degree burn, he didn't really seem so bad. (Ensuring I didn't fall off the side of a mountain and getting to fall asleep on his shoulder the entire ride back to Florida definitely earned him brownie points, too.)

This guy's always stuck around, no matter how cranky I may be when I don't get enough sleep, or how annoyed we both get with my terrible cell phone reception, and even when I was pretty sure I was going to kill his car when he tried teaching me how to drive a stick shift.

He's surprised me by showing up in Florida randomly on several occasions, bought me enough food to last a fat guy through the apocalypse, and I'm pretty sure we've seen more movies together than is even sanely reasonable.

I know, I'm 17, and your expectations for my relationships probably aren't very high. But when it comes down to it, Joshua is the greatest blessing in my life that I have ever received. Joshua's been the one constant in my life for years, through good and bad, through my emotional high school years, the times when I was under more stress than I could manage, when I got diagnosed with Diabetes. Without him, I'm not sure I'd have been able to handle it all. But he's always helped me to pull through. He is always there for me when I need him, which is all the time, because he truly makes life a joy to live - a joy I would never want to live life without. Life is imperfect, but he makes it... absolutely perfect. In all its imperfections.

Yeah. I'm a little bit biased, but he's the best.

What Do You Think I Am, a Pancreas?

I have been out of the hospital for over two weeks now.

Currently, life has fallen into a steady rhythm, and for the first time in a long time, it feels almost normal.

Sure, there are those times when I sit down to eat my lunch, finish my sandwich, and realize I forgot to take my Novolog Insulin.

Times when I'm chilling out, listening to music, and realize I'm 30 minutes late to take my Lantus Insulin.

Times when I'll sit up and my heart starts beating fast, my legs grow weak, my arms grow shaky as my body begins to battle hypoglycemia yet again.

The moments I get frustrated because I know that I shouldn't eat as many carbs in that meal as I want to; when I have to skip out on the sweet tea or get guilted into getting a salad instead of fries on the side.

The tiring moments when I have to search my room for extra test strips, remember where I put the cap to my needle syringe, and poke my finger three times with the lancet before I can get enough blood for a meter test.

And then there's the worry.

The worry of how I'll ever be able to pay for all of this stuff.

The worry that though life seems normal now, there are serious long-term complications that can arise - and are more likely to arise - the longer I have diabetes.

Lately it's been this second one that's been nagging at me. I guess in a way, it might be a blessing that I didn't get diabetes until I was older. My hope is that perhaps it will bide me sometime before any possible complications start rearing their ugly heads. Beyond that is my hope that complications will never arise at all. I just want to be healthy. Is that so much to ask? Apparently, it is. You never realize what a blessing it is to be in good health until you aren't anymore. Until you can never go back.

If I was back to my normal life and didn't have diabetes anymore, I would wake up every day thanking God and thinking that life could be a whole lot worse: "At least I don't have Diabetes."

I think the hardest part about having it is knowing that there is no cure.

Guess I'll have to think of a new terminal illness to be grateful about not having.

Truth: I'm scared. Still.

I'm scared I'll lose my vision, or die of kidney or heart failure. All possible complications.

I want to be a mother someday, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to ever manage my blood sugar well enough to be safe to have children. That I'll mess up. That I'd be putting an innocent life in danger, that wanting to have kids with diabetes is selfish because it is very difficult and complicated. That alone just makes me want to cry sometimes. Why, why can't I be normal and healthy like so many others? I just wonder that sometimes. I know it is not my fault, I know it is not what I did. But sometimes I wonder why I had to be the one, out of so many healthy billions of people, to get diabetes.

To err is to be human - it is impossible to explain to someone without diabetes how difficult it is to manage for yourself what the body is supposed to do for you without a second thought.

It comes down to the fact that: I am not a pancreas.

How I wish I could go through life again, without a worry for my health!

Now it is a constant worry.

I know that I can't and shouldn't let worry get ahold of me.

And it's all part of the process of first being diagnosed.

But will the worry go away?

Or will it always be there, always nagging, always in the back of my mind, or in the front, like it is today?

Am I justified to worry?

I think so.

I just pray that God watches over me and that I can overcome it...

I could use all the prayer I can get right now.

They're Handing Out Free VEGETABLES!

Nothing like a $21, 765 hospital bill to take the sticker shock off of college. What a rip! My first year of college costs *only* $18,000 + room and board.

Okay, okay. What I really should be saying is either, "Wow, that's a really nice car I just bought", or,

"AHHHHH!"

But I am surprisingly calm.

When you receive a bill that high, it's sort of so surreal that you can't actually fathom paying it, so you sort of just feel like bragging about it instead. "Hey, guess what! I got a $20k hospital bill! What's YOUR highest bill? Ha! I bet mine's higher than yours! Isn't this so EXCITING?"

Yes, I realize that the real world doesn't really function this way, but I'm quickly coming to learn that in the medical world, all you can really do is just "go with it" and pretend that everything's alright. So here's to letting at least this one worry off my chest.

Today started out pretty good. Blood sugar tested at 72 this morning - Awesome! I had oatmeal and a fried egg for breakfast, and before lunch my blood sugar was 86. The Endo adjusted my insulin levels this week when I went in for an appointment Monday, and my blood sugar levels, while occasionally moody, have seemed to level out for the moment quite well.

Finals are next week and I will admit that I am succumbing to pre-finals stress. But I'm doing my best to handle it all. I have a handy little Whiteboard I got while staying in the hospital. I write out all my To-Do's and it gives me an undeniable sense of satisfaction to check each task off as I finish it.

Yesterday was good as well, I went to Valencia to drop off the evil ten-essay-Wall Street Journal Project that I waited until THIS WEEK to start! I'll be glad after school is officially DONE next week and my serious case of Senior-itis will be alleviated for, hopefully, ever. (Then I will have to settle for other less-convincing excuses for procrastination - note to self: start writing the list now! (Or tomorrow...)

I planned to stop by Erica's house on the way back from Valencia so we could study for our economics finals, and as I held my cell phone up to my ear to call her, she answered, sounding more excited than if she'd won a free car.

"I'm at Valencia too. THEY'RE HANDING OUT FREE VEGETABLES ON THE SSB PATIO! AND I GOT A FREE PLANT!"

Nothing like free vegetables to get me in the mood to keep eating healthy.

So in honor of Earth day, I got a free head of organic lettuce and one of the best cucumbers I've ever tasted. I also got a free thyme plant - (I still think it's pronounced "THYme" and not "time". I possess a miserably useless green thumb... (I once killed a cactus because I didn't water it enough) so hopefully I'll be able to keep this plant alive for longer than two weeks, and soon be enjoying some thyme tea.

Don't forget, for all you freebie-excited people out there - tomorrow Lowe's is giving away 1 million free trees! Don't you just love Earth Day?

Now that I've gotten out some of my finals stress, it is time to get back to work and STUDY!

What do you plan to do over this Summer?

Caution: Fragile.

Death is patient, death is deep;

Death is slumber, peaceful sleep

Death is equal, death is kind

Death's of subtle, cunning mind;

Death caught me once, how could I forget

Dear Lord, please do not let death take me yet.

My life is fragile.

A string, a feather, a blade of grass -

Easily stepped on, snuffed out, blown away.

All of our lives, so easily broken.

Sometimes we forget, sometimes we remember.

But our lives are also so much stronger than they seem.

Each of us, imbued with a passion to live, a love of life.

Don't ever lose that passion.

When I first got diabetes, I felt like I had.

I had my life, but it hardly seemed like a life worth living.

But that's selfish.

There are so many people who prayed for me, who loved me, who took the time to tell me they care.

It would be selfish to not have a passion for living, to face life with the same drive and courage that I always had.

And I will face life like that - if for them even more than for myself.

Whoever is reading, please don't ever forget that God loves you.

That God made you special, that the reason you are alive right now, at this very moment, is because God has a very special plan for you, a plan made just for you, a purpose that ensures that your life is never in vain.

It could be something as great as changing the world.

Or something as simple and poignant as falling in love, which changes the world in its own little way.

You are here for a reason, a reason that no other person here on his Earth is alive for.

Cherish it.

Disclaimer: No, Not Low - Just Annoyed!

Herm... lately I have been hearing a lot of debate over whether or not Type 1 Diabetes should be considered a disability.

Well, I don't know what the general consensus is, but here's my opinion:

yes.

I think that diabetes should be considered a disability, absolutely.

This might sound weird, I know. Why would I actually WANT to have an illness that is considered a disability?
Honestly, it has nothing to do with being angry about having diabetes or feeling sorry for myself. Nor is it a matter of pride.
I'm not saying it because I hope to get special treatment, or perks for having a serious - or at least potentially serious - medical condition.

It's just, what irks me is that many people would write off diabetes type 1 as a non-disability out of ignorance.
Out of this ignorance they have no idea what Type 1 diabetics have to go through on a daily basis, the complications that can inevitably arise simply for having diabetes, and the consequences of what would happen if diabetes was not treated properly. Diabetes is a lifelong condition, and it does have restrictions. I cannot enter the services, I cannot drive a public bus, and there are some careers that I would be restricted from entering or would not be suitable for me to pursue. I need to take breaks from my schedule to check my blood sugar, eat, give insulin injections, etc.

Doctors honestly don't know why a person gets Type 1 - but it is generally agreed that it is not because of lifestyle, as is usually the case with Type II. Yet Diabetics type 1 are pooled with the high-risk groups in insurance companies as if it were a punishment; as if it WERE their fault that they got Type 1. This is ridiculous! Type 1 diabetics can help becoming diabetic no more than cancer patients can help getting cancer. (Note: I'm drawing a line between getting cancer and sitting in a tanning bed every day.) I understand, yes, insurance companies are a business, and it isn't very good business sense to insure a diabetic. But charging me three times as much as a normal person? That's not even reasonable. That's more than it would cost to buy the insulin myself from Canada. Really?

Back to disabilities.

A disability is defined in the dictionary as:

a. The condition of being disabled; incapacity. Something that disables; handicap.
b. Something that hinders or incapacitates.
c. A disadvantage or deficiency, especially a physical or mental impairment that interferes with or prevents normal achievement in a particular area.
4. The condition of being unable to perform a task or function because of a physical or mental impairment

Diabetes is typically not considered a disability. This is understandable; with insulin, diabetics can pretty much function like normal.

But let's face it - Diabetic Type 1's are COMPLETELY insulin-dependent. Insulin is NOT a cure, it is only a treatment. But without it a diabetic type 1 will die. As of now there is no cure for diabetes - there may never be.

A pancreas that does not function is quite the disadvantage, isn't it? Isn't it a deficiency? A vital organ in me is not working properly, if it is even working at all any more.

When I was lying on my bed sick, throwing up every few minutes, unable to keep any food or drinks down, I felt pretty disabled. When I passed out on the floor and had no strength to get up and get back to bed, I was pretty incapacitated. When my legs were turning blue and I had lost so much weight that you could see my ribs, my elbows, my hip bones, when I looked emaciated - that wasn't normal. When I was going into a coma and dying because my blood sugar levels were through the roof, I was restricted from doing much of anything. And you know what? That could happen again, any day, if I were not to take my insulin.

Without insulin, I have a condition that renders me unable to eat without killing myself - unable to perform a task or function because of a physical impairment. A faulty pancreas is, indeed, something that disables, since it will kill you if it goes untreated.

Granted, there is no infallible test to determine disability. There is no golden standard. However, an individual is considered to have a disability if it significantly limits one or more of an individual's major life activity. People tell me diabetes doesn't limit me - well, I'm not trying to gain sympathy or pity for saying this, but it does. Diabetes does limit me - or has the potential to limit me - in several major life activities. Without insulin, I could do nothing.

Life is usually like normal for me, as long as I remember to bring my little cooler of insulin with me wherever I go, and make sure I never forget it. That little cooler with JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) printed on the side is like a constant reminder of what I now have to live with, telling me, "Hey, remember me? Yeah, I'm your diabetes. Don't eat too many carbs or I might have to kill you. P.S. don't forget to take your insulin injection. Have a nice day!"

Insulin is like the diabetic's version of the wheelchair, and without it we are paralyzed. I think if you are so dependent upon something that you need it to function in normal life and you need it to live, that that's quite a disability.

Perhaps what I'm asking for is simply a little more respect from people and places like insurance companies for what I have. I wish people would stop treating diabetes like it was something that deserved a punishment because it was my fault for getting it. I wish people wouldn't stereotype diabetics, I'd love it if people became more educated before opening their mouths and saying un-educated things.
For some reason lately, this subject has just seemed to rile me up. That's all.


What are your opinions? Do you think that diabetes should be considered a disability, or no? I won't be offended if you disagree or completely bash my opinions - it's expected, I am perfectly capable of agreeing to disagree. So please, feel free to leave your thoughts - simply be respectful when you do. I'd love to hear them all. Thanks!

What is Quickly Becoming My Newest Pet Peeve...

Oh, the reassuring things people say... not.

Finis: Ode to the End of High School as I Know It!

Well, I've almost done it.

Almost finished high school (without having ever even attended an actual high school.)

Four years of endless homework, quizzes, speeches, tests, exams, death-by-chemistry, obscenely overloaded class schedules, enough awkward phases to last me two lifetimes, characteristically high school-ish stupidity...

I am nearly free.

In one week from tomorrow, I will be done with highschool for GOOD!

Here are some of the highlights of my high school years:

1. Pouring melted cheese all over myself intentionally is definitely the icing on my no-more-highschool-cake.

2. Anything VSO-related, including self-inflicted Cheerwine-highs and almost falling off the side of a mountain.

3. Pole dancing on the monorails at Disney.

4. "Mommy, are they part of the exhibit?" and, "Uhh... are you guys okay?"

5. Making obscene amounts of chocolate chip cookies in the wee hours of the morning at the Kuckuck's. (Hey, just because I'm now diabetic doesn't mean that's gonna stop.)

6. 2 a.m. trips to Waffle House while singing to Kesha.

7. Attempting to light batteries on fire in a church parking lot.

8. Anything to do with a. Erica and b. The food at Erica's house.

9. Swimming... giggly-inquisitive mermaids... "unleash your inner Goddess"... no more is gonna be said on the subject.

10. Mall at Millenia in prom dresses.

11. Basically going to any public place wearing outfits that should be expressly reserved for Halloween.

12. Smith Prep Prom, every year.

13. The infamous meeting of Hello Sexy and Mr. Delicious.

14. Tackling Kelle to the ground at the airport terminal.

- Too many more.

I don't graduate highschool until June 2nd, but a week from now I'll be finished with all my finals, papers, studying, classes, for good. Which is basically like graduating because it means that, for a brief honeymoon period, I will be free of all educational obligations and be able to enjoy my life again and all the things that that entails.

On my post-high school pre-start-of-college bucket list includes:

- Finally going to the beach

- Using that Twistee Treat gift certificate

- Shopping for swimsuits!

- Getting my butt to the track and RUNNING, no more wimpy walks around the lake when I can manage to squeeze them in

- Rock Springs and Wekiva Springs

- A long overdue trip to Georgia

- Vigorously searching for yummy diabetic-friendly recipes

- Finally using that copy of Rosetta Stone

- PACKING FOR COLLEGE! AHH!

- Washing my poor, neglected truck

- Spending some quality time with my cat

- Investing in some new books, which I will have a chance to actually read

- Taste-testing every diet soda on the grocery shelf in order to find my favorite soda-of-choice

- Improving my face painting skills!

Yeah, yeah, I realize that I'll be slammed with basically the same thing over again tenfold once I reach college (well, re-reach - it sucks graduating college now only to be re-demoted to freshman again come this Fall), but I figure that this is indeed a situation that calls for a celebratory blog post-in-lieu-of-finals studying (aka what I should be doing at this moment).

So, it's almost time to celebrate.

Let's just get through with these pesky finals first...

You Know You're Diabetic When...

Here's a little bit of diabetic Monday-humour to hopefully get your week started off with a smile or two. Don't despair. Friday will be here again before you know it.

You know you're diabetic when...

You say that you feel “high” in public and then wonder why people around you give you weird looks.

You can have a debate about the best and worse glucose tab flavors, and take it seriously.

You are abnormally good at multiplying by 15 (Thankyou, carb counting!)

You think that diet soda is normal and regular soda tastes completely disgusting.

You have a year's worth of Crystal Light stashed away in your closet.

Just hearing the word “dessert” makes your blood sugar rise.

Any restaurant bragging about it’s amazing “pasta & pizza” is your definition of a Torture Chamber.

A really great day for you is defined as “90-120″ — which means nothing to most people you know.

Eating a piece of fruit is a REALLY BIG DEAL in your life.

Your often get the feeling that your life is like one big science experiment.

You find teeny tiny blood stains on lots of your shirts, and near jacket pockets.

Blood-glucose testing becomes a fun sort of game to see where your blood sugars are at.

You’re parents ask how you’re doing and you tell them your blood sugar.

You have test strips all over you purse, car, and bedroom.

You think it’s funny seeing the look on people’s faces when you give an injection in public restroom.

Seeing the initials "BS" makes you think of "Blood Sugar" and using the term doesn't get you in trouble.

You use being low as an excuse when you do something dumb, but get extremely offended if you're in a bad mood and someone tells you to test your sugar.

You know what the terms diabetic ketoacidosis, glucagon, basal/bolus, and endocrinologist mean.

You know the amount of carbohydrates in basically every food known to man.

You have a favorite flavor of glucose tabs (and you know what they are).

You notice a friend’s been drinking a lot and you automatically assume they must be an undiagnosed diabetic.

You get incredibly tired of having to explain to people 'no I don't have the same thing as you're 800 pound grandma...' (especially if you're type 1).

Instead of butter in the butter compartment of your refrigerator, there's insulin.

You can chug a bottle of water REALLY fast.

You cut yourself on something and use it as an opportunity to test your blood sugar.

You stare at a child eating an ice cream cone and try to work out how much that would raise your BG levels.

When you calculate the carb intake of everyone else’s meal... then they say they don't eat much and wonder why they are overweight.

You’re in a restaurant and you’re the only one not devouring the basket of dinner rolls.

You cross your fingers while doing your morning test because you fell for that late night craving the day before.

You can guess your blood sugar based on how vigorously mosquitoes are attacking you.

Goodnight, Don’t Let the Hypoglycemia Bite

In case the title of this post is less than self explanatory, let me begin by saying UGH. Last night was awful, let me repeat, AWFUL.

The going out to celebrate my sister’s birthday was wonderful, fantastic, awesome and fun.

We met at Red Lobster and I greeted Jennifer, my older sister, Matt, my awesome techy brother-in-law, Caroline, and Christopher, my adorable niece and nephew. Caroline was staring in rapture at the lobsters, crying, “Lobsters! I want to eat the lobsters!” And Christopher was asking when he could play Angry Birds again on Jen’s iPhone. I just love kids. It was too funny. We made our way to the table. I had a card and a bouquet of daisies in hand for Jennifer and one humorous waiter stopped and asked, “Flowers? For me?” “Just for you,” I told him, grinning ear-to-ear.

We sat down, and a very charismatic waiter came over, gave us menus and asked us what we’d like to drink. Jen and I both ordered un-sweet tea (yay! I wasn’t alone!) And we looked over the menus. I was pretty free to eat any of the fish I wanted; turns out both of us had done our research looking over the nutrition facts on the menu online and most of the fish dishes had no more than 10 carbs. Lobster had the least, but, well, that was a little out of a poor high school/college student’s price range. Either way I was happy, though, because this even left me room for croutons in my salad and a cheddar biscuit! (Be excited. This is exciting for me.)

I decided on the broiled flounder (10 carbs) with broccoli for my side, and it came with a Caesar salad – I just had them put the dressing on the side. Everyone ordered and Matt presented Jennifer with a present (He’d given her several all day, decorated the house, and made a pancake breakfast for her too; how sweet is that!) Jennifer had wanted a new laptop for her birthday but since that wasn’t affordable at the time (Don’t worry, I will win the lottery someday and get new laptops for all of us) Matt got her a new hard drive, bigger memory and all the new components to basically re-do Jennifer’s laptop and make it better and brand new! I told Matt I needed one of him to follow me at all times, because I am completely technically un-savvy and he is probably better with computers than anyone I know.

Our food came, I gave my insulin shot no problem, and we talked lots. We had the waiter take a picture of all of us and three waiters even came over and sang to Jennifer for her birthday! Overall, it was a great night, and tonight we are celebrating some more, so with all of the tempting birthday cake and ice cream, I am going to have to exercise some serious carb-smart choices and self-control. Can you say “Practice makes perfect”, anyone? (That’s my official cover-up excuse).

However, when I got home, I remembered I had yet to take my Lantus (long-acting insulin) shot. That was no big deal; I could take it now. I prepped the insulin pen (called a “pen” because it literally looks like a pen, at least I assume that’s why) and stabbed myself in my spot-of-choice. I pressed the button. Nothing happened. Usually how the pens work is you dial in the amount of insulin (measured in units) that you want to give yourself, inject the pen into your skin, and then press the button at the top of the pen, which goes down as you press and the insulin is being injected into you. Well, the button wouldn’t go down. It was as if it was jammed.

I’d heard needles can get jammed sometimes, so I removed the needle, took it off, replaced it with a new one, and somewhat half-heartedly had to RE-inject myself. But the same problem occurred. Either I was holding it wrong or pressing the button wrong, or… I don’t know. I managed to get all of the insulin in and the button pressed down all the way, but I noticed quite a great deal of insulin left at the surface of my skin and I knew I probably hadn’t gotten all the units I needed. So I gave myself some more, just in case, but the button still seemed to be having issues and I noticed still quite a bit of insulin on the surface of my skin.

Well this isn’t really a problem when you are using Novolog, the fast-acting insulin. After all, as I have said, Novolog is completely done working after about 2 hours, so if you inject it wrong, just keep an eye on your blood sugars and two hours later you can do a virtual do-over of any mistakes you’ve made.

Lantus is a different story. Lantus lasts 24 hours and if I mess up my dose, my blood sugars could be all over the place for the entire day. This meant that I had to test my blood sugar even more than usual and keep a special eye on it for the entire 24 hours that the messed-up dose lasted. This meant that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight because going to bed with wacked-out blood sugars can be a very dangerous thing to do. So I set my phone alarm for 2am, 4am, and 6am and had my bedtime snack. I tested my blood sugar before bed and it was 124, not bad but a little on the low side. Diabetics are prone to extreme blood sugar lows in their sleep and usually you want a bedtime level of 130 before going to sleep at night. But I turned out the lights and tried to sleep anyways. I found I couldn’t go to sleep. I was worried I hadn’t gotten enough Lantus so my blood sugar would be too high. But I tested my blood sugar at around midnight and instead found it was only 79.

Uh-Oh. I might have given myself TOO much Lantus…

Well this was too low for me to go to bed care-free tonight. Anything below 70 is considered a true-low and can get dangerous. If your blood sugar gets too low you can die, just as if it gets too high you can die as well. So I hated to snack so late at night, but my life was more important than my waistline. I went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple (15 carbs), ate it, waited 15 minutes, and tested my blood sugar again. It was up to about 86. That was still too low for comfort. I went back to the kitchen while chomping on a glucose tablet and got a half-full glass of milk and a chocolate rice cake. My poor blood sugars would probably be too high now, but I would rather them be on the high side than the low side before bed. I tested again; 219. High, but I could go to sleep knowing I probably wouldn’t die of hypoglycemia, at least. This is a legitimate, probably over-paranoid fear of mine nowadays. But try putting yourself in the same situation and see how you react. It’s different that way.

My phone alarm went off at 2am and I shook myself awake. I tested my blood sugar again; 415. Oh goodness that was high. If it’s that high I am supposed to give myself an insulin shot. I struggled with this decision because I really wasn’t sure I wanted to bring my blood sugar levels back down again if I had given myself too much Lantus. I was still afraid it might make them too low. But 415 really was very high; in the end I gave myself the insulin shot, and went back to sleep.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart beating fast. I had slept through my 4 a.m. alarm and it was now 4:54 am. I was shaking. My heartbeat echoed in my ears.

My blood sugar was way too low.

Test it right now, the little voice in my head told me.

I tested it: My blood sugar was only 47. I should not have given myself that insulin shot.

I took two of my remaining glucose tablets and ate those. I had left the rice cakes next to my bed just in case of low blood sugars tonight, so I didn’t have to try and walk out to the kitchen while I was low. The dietician had suggested doing that; I was glad I had taken her advice. I ate two rice cakes, but I was still feeling shaky, though well enough to walk to the kitchen. I got a glass of milk again, as well as two small pieces of candy that I still keep stashed away, partly because I can’t bear the thought of never being able to eat candy again and partly for low blood sugar emergencies. Well, this was enough of an emergency for me. There would be no dying on my watch tonight!

My waistline cried *goodbyeeeee* as I munched on my early-morning snacks. But I felt much better. My heart was no longer beating so fast, I was no longer shaking. At 5:27 a.m. I re-tested and my blood sugar was 151. Good. I fell asleep, slept through the 6 a.m. alarm and woke up at 8 a.m. to test my blood sugar for the morning. The results of last night’s hypoglycemic-binging was a very tired Senior suffering from a severe case of Senioritis, a blood sugar of 347 and a whopping 6 units of Novolog before breakfast, but hey, at least I had lived through another night. I gave myself less Novolog because I didn’t want a repeat of last night’s blood sugar, today. I took an early morning bike ride out at the park this morning to fit in my daily exercise and hopefully burn off all of those carbs I ate last night… ugh.

Let’s hope the diabetes-Gods are smiling upon me today and that my insulin pen behaves tonight; PLEASE?!

I'll Take The Diet Coke Instead...

It's been one week since I got out of the hospital.

I've come a long way.

My first day getting out was a trainwreck. After seeing the endocrinologist (for all terms and purposes known as the Diabetes Doctor), getting my finger pricked for the 500th time, establishing a meal plan, and learning the ins and outs of masochism-via-insulin-shots for dummies, mom, Dad and I celebrated and went to our favorite sushi restaurant in town, Fuji Sushi. It's always a bit strange, all of us being together. But it's nice to have the rare occasion of being out with both of my parents and I enjoy the novelty of it.

We sit down, I with my massive bag full of prescription glucose meters, strips, and insulin pens. I grab the nutrition book and flip to the "sushi" section. Dad and I used to come here all the time before I got sick.

The waitress comes over. "Aren't you that girl who used to come in here with her dad?" She asks me. "Yeah..." I said.

"You look different," she remarks.

No duh. I've been in the ICU for the past week, not exactly looking my best.

"I know. I've been in the hospital.." I reply. "She got diabetes." Dad said.

I was an emotional basket case. I promptly burst into inconsolable tears.

The waitress seemed panicked, like she didn't know what to do. "I'm sorry -- I'm sorry!" She cried. "Can I get you a drink?" "I'll-- I'll take-- the Diet Coke." I stumbled out. She took everyone else's orders and shuffled away.

I must have sat there 5 minutes debating whether or not I was going to prick my finger. I finally pricked it, tested my blood sugar, which was on the high side at over 300. I took an insulin pen. I screwed on a needle and held it to my skin, but every time I tried to plunge the needle in, I just froze. My utter and complete terror of needles along with my overly-emotional mental block was making it impossible for me to give myself that shot, which I had spent 15 minutes in the hospital last night gathering the courage to do myself. Which wasn't helping me now, because the more I thought about that, the worse I felt about not being able to do it now, and the more tears poured down my face, blurring my vision and throwing me into further hysterics.

I finally just gave up and had mom give me my two insulin shots.

I spent the rest of the time sniffling and eating my sushi.

It was not a good night.

Last night we went to have dinner with my grandparents, who are in town for the weekend. We went to Bahama Breeze and picked a nice table outside, where the band was playing and the breeze was blowing. People chatted, laughed and ate at tables and waiters darted about. I had my insulin pens, book and blood glucose testing supplies subtly tucked away into my white purse and I looked much more put-together than a week ago. I opened my nutrition book but found out that Bahama Breeze was not in it. I was a little panicked. How many carbs did everything have? The waiter came over. "Unsweet tea," I ordered courageously. I miss sweet tea terribly. I pondered over the menu some more, debating over which had more carbs, the salad or the chicken (If that seems like a stupid thing to wonder, consider that I've seen salads at restaurants that have upwards of 100 carbs - they can be deceiving). I settled on a chicken dish that seemed like a good balance of protein, vegetables and carbs and ordered that. My first glass of iced tea I put two artificial sugars in. Icky. Too chemical-sweet. My second glass I ditched the sugar and just squeezed lemon in. Thanks Coop; what a great tip! It wasn't sweet tea, but, well... it didn't taste completely like un-sweet tea at least, either. It was pretty good, from a diabetic's point of view.

Our food came. I rushed to the bathroom to give myself insulin shots. When at a restaurant, if you are a diabetic, always wait before your meal is in front of you to give yourself an insulin shot if it is the fast-acting kind. I take two kinds of insulin; Lantus, the slow-acting insulin that will last for 24 hours, and Novolog, the fast-acting insulin that will cover me when I eat and that I take before every meal. Novolog starts working in 15 minutes and is finished working after 2 hours, so you want to take it as close to mealtime as possible.

I pick a stall and prepare to give myself insulin shots in the leg. The door doesn't shut all the way; oh well, I figure. A lady accidentally opens the door. "I'm sorry," she says. "Oh, it's fine, I say casually, needle in hand, shorts lifted up. "No big deal."

Goodness, I'd hate to know what she was thinking.

I give myself my shots and casually hurry back to the table. My meal looks like the healthiest thing on the table and I devour it quickly. Over the past week I've built up quite an appetite. I don't know how many carbs are in my meal but I hope my blood sugar will be okay. I wonder if maybe I should have given myself another unit; but my blood sugar had been only 65 before eating and I'd been feeling hypoglycemic. I had taken two glucose tablets (basically pills of sugar that diabetics always carry around in case of low blood sugar) because I get very shaky and weak when my blood sugar is low. I could always tell when my blood sugar was low, even before I became a diabetic. I thought that I simply had hypoglycemia, but now that I think about it, perhaps I should have taken the wacked-out blood sugar as an indication that something else was afoot, and should have gotten tested for blood sugar issues long ago. But no use dwelling in the past. Unfortunately, for some reason I am not yet good at telling when my blood sugar is high. I can't hardly tell at all, and I wonder if I will ever be able to tell - well, before I get sent back to the hospital because it's too high, that is. (Which will hopefully be never).

Overall, it was a good night. I was a bit emotional still about the whole diabetes thing, because I had to do a lot of explaining to my grandparents about giving myself shots before every meal ("Yes, I have to do that for forever") and why I had bruises all over me ("Insulin shots often leave bruises").

And, at 9:30 when I tested again, my blood sugar was 201! I know that is a little on the spikey side, but for eating out that isn't bad considering what my levels have been like lately. So I feel that I am making a bit of progress.

Now I am eating out again tonight - wish me luck?

Fear.

Fear and I are well-acquainted with each other.

There are many things I fear.

I fear spiders. Watching scary movies alone at night. I fear tornadoes. Failure. Car accidents. I fear being alone.

We could spend our whole lives consumed, developed by fear.

We could try and lead safe, secure, scheduled lives, all in hopes of avoiding our worst and deepest fears.

We could avoid jumping all together, never risking the fall that is the potential cost of even the seemingly most simple of things.

But fear won't do.

Fear won't save your life; it will take it from you.

Fear, if you let it envelop you, could take hold of you completely.

What we have to fear is, indeed, fear itself.

I will admit that I am scared, sometimes, ever since I found out that I had this disease.

I read so many stories, hear so many things.

People who go to bed fine and never wake up; their bodies simply give up on them, despite all of the care, despite the precautions and cautious careful monitoring of blood sugar levels.

People whose hearts give out on them, people who pass out because of low blood sugar or go into a coma.

Like I know I very well should have a week and a half ago when my blood sugar levels were over 900 and I was mere inches away from death.

I know there are horror stories like this associated with nearly everything, but it's hard to just ignore them when you are faced with the fact that they ARE still a possibility when you have a health condition like mine.

I am scared I will never live a long life, that I will never be able to manage diabetes, that no matter what I do, it will never be enough.

I am scared that it will beat me, that I will not win.

I am scared that I will never be able to afford insulin or the price it takes to keep me alive.

I am less than 6 months from 18.

I will no longer be a child, but an adult.

This isn't a good thing in the health care industry.

I have bad eyes, my back has been fractured, and I have Type 1 Diabetes.

I have no health insurance, and let's face it, even if I applied for health insurance: what health care company would take me? I would be pooled into the high-risk group and most likely face sky-high premiums simply because I have a disease I never intended to get.

It's not unfair, it's business. If I were a health coverage provider, I wouldn't take me either. Because let's face this: I am a bad investment.

No matter how healthy I may be able to make myself be, I will never be as healthy as the majority of you reading this.

And it terrifies me.

I can't even afford college, let alone the hundreds of dollars a month insulin or doctor's visits will cost.

I've applied for Medicaid, though I have always hated entitlements and preached against them. That tears me up inside and makes me feel more awful than you can imagine, to have to be dependent on the Government like that.

It gives me a sinking feeling in my chest, makes me feel hopeless and lost.

Dear God, I feel like such a hypocrite, talking about how much I hate big government and all that we should provide for ourselves;

Yet if it weren't for Medicaid, I could be dead next month.

Medicaid, which faces cuts now that we are facing sky-high budget deficits.

I don't even know how to feel about cutting it now.

Sometimes I don't even know how I should feel anymore.

My life is now full of fear, full of uncertainty.

I couldn't tell you what I might expect in the weeks, the months, the years to come; I don't even know what to expect tomorrow.

I can only take one thing at a time. I must not let fear grab ahold of me.

I can only commit my fears to God and take comfort in the fact that he will provide for me. I am so scared. I am learning what it truly means to be deprived and helpless and be forced to depend on God.

Somehow, despite my fears, I know that will be enough for me.

Regular Routine.

Good morning, world!

Today is my half-birthday and I am only six months away from being 18!

(Hey, gimme a break here, I needed to have something interesting about today).

I am on here to write a quick blog before working on my homework for the day.

It feels great to be up early.

I woke up at 7 this morning, my cat passed out on the pillow beside me. As soon as I rolled over she took that as an "OH! LACY'S UP! TIME FOR FOOD!"

So, naturally, I had no choice in the matter.

I fed my piggy of a cat (I swear, she has more of an appetite than I do) and made some coffee.

It's such a pretty day out.

(Notice I say this before I've gone outside to feel the lovely Floridian humidity and heat. The day won't seem so pretty then).

I checked my blood sugar - yesterday evening I went to a party and though I was careful to watch my carbs and eat mostly protein (chicken and beef and cheese) I couldn't help but to have a couple of cookies and some cheesesticks. I gave myself a bit more insulin last night to cover it but apparently I didn't give myself enough...

I prick my finger and slide a test strip into the meter. My blood sugar was 413 this morning. "Holy crap!" I resisted the urge to say any bad words and grabbed a towel. Time for a shower.

After getting ready I gave myself my insulin shot, a whole 7 units before breakfast. I will definitely be going on a walk today.

Of course, at this rate, I might need to spend the whole day doing all-out sprints.

I had breakfast and went skimpy on the carbs this morning, and am trying to adjust myself to (shh - almost -) sugar-less coffee. Thankfully the coffee creamer only has 1 carb per serving, so I don't have to skimp on that. I used to drink my coffee all black but all the time I spent up in Georgia gave me quite the sweet tooth. I suppose I should get some artificial sugar but I really abhor the stuff. I just can't make myself believe it tastes natural. I know sugar is not good for you but I really have a hard time believing chemically-made sugar is any better. That is a battle for another day; finding an artificial sugar that I like! Any suggestions, anyone? And does anyone have any suggestions for good tasting sugar-free foods and brands? And what am I going to do about the sweet iced tea dilemma? I LOVE iced tea! If you are reading, please leave some comments! I need all the help I can get here!

Now I am listening to MuteMath and hoping my blood sugar goes down by lunch time. I'll give y'all an update then. Later!

Diabetes-Vanity.

I have never been the kind of girl to roll out of bed, brush my hair, put something on, and be ready to go in 5 minutes.

I feel gross when I don't take a shower in the morning, brush my teeth, and make myself look presentable.

I have always taken pride in appearing neat and well-put together. Rarely will you find a day when I don't smell good and have my hair done at least decently.

I always, always wash my face and take great care to manage my skin.

I like to wear makeup in public, as I think that for women it is professional to do so and shows that you go the little extra mile to look good and take care of what you look like.

I will admit it, because I'm being very honest these days:

I am very vain about my appearance.

Last week when I got into the hospital, it was a bit of a routine-shock to me.

It was the least of my worries, I didn't even think about it -

But I possessed no soap, no skin lotion, no makeup, no blowdryer, not even a hair elastic.

I probably looked terrible, as I was completely unkempt and in the hospital.

But for the first time in a long time, I didn't care.

My first day in the ICU, and my mom brushed my hair and gave me a hairband.

That was a big deal.

The rest of the week I would take a shower with the one kind of soap I was provided, brush my hair, put it in a hairband, and be ready to go.

In a way, it was refreshing.

I enjoyed my week without worrying about my skin, my hair, my makeup, my appearance.

It was like a bit of freedom.

No one expected me to look pretty or even look good, for that matter.

But despite that, it was a boost to my self confidence because it gave me time to remember that appearance doesn't make the person.

That there are so many more important things.

I would stare in the mirror for a few brief seconds at the hospital, looking at a girl I barely recognized.

Fresh-faced, young-looking for her age. Too skinny; at only 99 pounds now, I looked practically emaciated. Bruised from IV's and illness, covered in red-tipped pinpricks. Mousy hair, chapped lips, sad eyes. A blemish on my chin, a scar above my right eyebrow. Band-aids lining both my arms.

Sometimes it takes courage to face who you really look like, who you truly are behind the makeup, the fancy clothes, the confidence you wear like an accessory; only to take it all off at the end of the day.

This was me, at my worst, facing my imperfections.

And it's funny.

I would gladly give up wearing makeup or looking pretty or even caring about my appearance, for the rest of my life, if only I could be healthy again.

It's funny how easily your priorities are realigned.

Nowadays I find the one thing I am particularly vain about is no longer my appearance. I care less about makeup and nice clothes and doing my hair. I care less about following a militarily-precise skin care regimen or that my teeth are two shades less white than I'd like them to be. I see the minuscule laugh lines around my mouth, the creases on my forehead, the lines under my eyes; signs to remind me that I, too, will age someday and lose the beauty of youth that I still possess.

I exercise now, and it is not merely because I want to look nice in a bikini.

It is because I want to live long, be healthy, and control diabetes; NOT let it control me.

No, the one thing I am vain about is my diabetes itself.

Every time I hear someone say I have diabetes or ask me if I have diabetes, I always specify after the word diabetes: Type 1.

Not Type II.

This was not my fault, this was not my lifestyle that caused me to incur this illness. I was born this way. I cannot help it.

I worry about things such as ever getting an insulin pump because of what people might think when I go to beach, or go swimming with a computer attached to my bathing suit. "What the hell is that?" They might ask.

Or what the waiter thinks when I order from the menu, my nutrition book in hand; I can imagine them saying to themselves, "what a snob!"

Or what people think when I now specify: diet or sugar free, please. "She's too young to be worrying about her figure," I imagine them thinking.

I am not free of vanity, and I doubt I ever will be.

So I still try and look nice, well-put together, pretty.

I still try to manage my life as if it were perfectly normal, as if pretending will give me back what I have lost, or at least make me forget.

I try to make people see that I, too, am a normal teenage - almost-adult - girl. That I have the same capabilities as anyone going off to college, that I can manage the same schedule that they can despite the full-time-job-without-pay I now have of managing my Diabetes, Type I.

I am still human, I am still imperfect, I still possess vanity.

But it is incorrect to say I have not changed.

Never again will I take things for granted, never will I forget what a blessing it was once to be able to be normal.

I hope I will live long, I hope I will one day be able to look back on my life and say: "Wow. That was all worth it."

It's going to be hard, it's going to be a struggle.

But I hope that Diabetes will at least teach me how much life really means.

I have Diabetes, but it will not beat me.

It shapes me, it changes me.

But it does not, will not, ever define me.

One Large Milkshake and an Artificial Pancreas, Please.

It's been a week since I ended up in the ICU at Florida Hospital.

Life has changed, and it really isn't the same in any respects.

It is settling into a more normal rhythm for me, though.

This morning I woke up at around 8.

*Whhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

Hi-pitched buzzing filled my ears.

I almost miss the hospital - no mosquitoes. (And I had a big screen TV!)

Sleep impossible, I rolled over, feeling happy and luxurious in the same little day bed I've had since the 4th grade. My comforter was comfy, my pillows were fluffy, and sleep has just felt so GOOD lately - it was nice, even with the insect alarm-clock.

It is at this point that I remember I am diabetic and it is time to test my blood sugar. That always nags at me a little in the morning now - I am a little hesitant to sleep in too late, worried my blood sugar might be off and I'm slowly killing myself with my laziness.

I open my eyes - perfect vision without glasses, again - the doctor said my eyes would be strange for a while and he is definitely right about that.

Well, that was nice. You have no idea how amazing that is to me. I usually cannot even see my hand in front of my face without it being blurry but lately my eyesight is close to - okay, not quite - perfect. Isn't that so... WEIRD?! Unfortunately, I seem to be having a hard time focusing on close-up things - so it's like I've gone from nearsighted to farsighted literally overnight, after suffering from myopia (nearsighted-ness) for eight years. I hope my eyes get back to normal soon (Or better yet, I don't need glasses/contacts anymore!) I'd be perfectly happy with that - tit for tat, you might say, as if gaining back perfect vision might compensate a little for having diabetes now. I wonder if diabetes has always affected my eyesight for the worse or if this is just my body's way of evening out again. Probably the latter. Anyways, for the record, I would rather be nearsighted than farsighted. All this straining is giving me a headache. But I digress.

I get up and pick up the familiar black case with my blood-glucose testing supplies. My room is like a walk-in pharmacy now. Ketostrips, alcohol wipes, lancets, extra blood glucose testers, diabetes textbooks, calorie and nutrition fact books, syringes, needles, glucose tablets, insulin pens, emergency glucagon kit - you name it, I probably have it. I clean my finger with alcohol and make sure my lancet is ready to go - I pick a relatively un-pricked spot on my finger, press the lancet down, hesitate for a second. This is going to hurt. But the longer I wait, the harder it is, so I brace and press - there now, that wasn't so bad. Hardly hurt at all. I squeeze my finger until the blood pinprick pools and then slip a testing strip into the meter. Test. My blood glucose is 107 this morning, nearly perfect. (Normal blood sugar is 80 - 110 for a person without diabetes). That is probably the best it has been in weeks. I felt great, and now I had the blood sugar to prove it. "Mom!" I yelled excitedly. "My blood sugar was only 107 this morning!" It is amazing what manages to please me now.

Ah, the little things.

I take a shower first. This may seem random but this is actually a well-planned strategy. If I take my insulin first, I have to eat, but then I can't take a hot shower for at least 90 minutes because the insulin might not absorb properly. So I take my shower first, get ready, then make my breakfast. I get out the ingredients, counting carbs on the nutrition labels. I plan to start making a list of my favorite Diabetes-friendly foods so I can better control my blood sugar in the future. For now I am still experimenting. This morning I decide on an egg sandwich. I need to be careful and try and eat lean meats when possible, as diabetics are susceptible to heart disease. So I try to get the yolk out and only eat the white; but when I fork out the yolk, there is just about nothing left to eat! That can't be right. I sigh, give up, and just crack another whole egg into the bowl. Screw lean meats, I will eat my egg this morning. I fry it up, toast some bread and plop the egg onto the bread. Ta-da; a yummy sandwich! I prepare to take a bite.

"Oh wait," I remember.

I forgot to take my insulin shot.

I sigh and grab my dose table, alcohol wipe, needle, and insulin pen. Picking a suitable place and swabbing at it with the alcohol, I press the needle to my skin, wince, and pierce it. I press down the button to inject all of my insulin, careful to hold the needle under the skin for at least 10 seconds to make sure I got it all. Yesterday morning I accidentally missed a few drops of insulin and my blood sugar had to high levels to show for it. I am now free to eat my breakfast.

I spend the rest of the morning enjoying myself and playing catch-up on the week of school I've missed. Finals are this month but as stressed as I SHOULD be, the rest of life has taken to the backseat for now as diabetes seems to come first these days. It's funny, I am so much more mellow about things than I used to be. I find I am far less easily irritated, stressed, or upset. I just sort of roll with things now. They don't seem to be as big a deal as they once did.

In a way, it's a blessing - it's like I've matured 10 years in the past one week. I find myself appreciating blunt honesty nowadays rather than beating around the bush like my old, bottle-it-up self used to do. I find I am far more willing to be vulnerable and open up with people about my emotions and my life, whereas before I treated my private life as one big, exclusive secret under lock-and-key. I am thankful for every little thing, from my heart beating another day to my wonderful relationship with my boyfriend, which has felt so fluid and easy and happy these past few days it's really been impossible for me not to be in a good mood. Even my relationships with the rest of the people I live my life close to seem to have improved. I'm easily happy over the little things and brimming with topics to have a conversation with. It's funny and strange how diabetes has warped my perspective and changed who I am - but not in a bad way. I feel as if, even though it is a terrible illness, part of me was always waiting to find out I was diabetic so that I could grow up and learn from it. I am learning and changing and shaping again, hopefully for the better.

I check my blood sugar for lunch. It is over 300. "Ugh." I sigh. And I was doing so well. A little disheartened, I adjust my insulin and give myself a bigger dose to cover my higher blood sugar levels. Lunch is a tuna fish sandwich and an apple. Tuna is a very heart-healthy meat, I've been told, so we will likely see a lot of each other in the years to come.

My mother and I leave for a clown job. I grab my usual face painting supplies and this time, my "diabetes kit", which is a pack I put together holding all of my insulin and necessary testing supplies, nutrition book, and emergency kits. We face paint for three hours on a hot field, where the kids are sweating faster than we can stick the face paint on. The sights and smells of the festival are tempting and I find it is hard for me to look at many of the teens my age on the field, living perfectly healthy, non-diabetic lives. I enviously yet subtlety observe people as, carefree, they enjoy hotdogs and treats of cotton candy and popcorn, things I cannot eat unless I carefully fit them into my eating schedule and check to make sure they do not have too many carbs. I sip my diet coke in quiet and go on painting faces. I am hot and sweaty and sure this will make my blood sugar go down.

When we are done I test my blood sugar and I am right, it is now down to only 85. I am due for something to eat so we stop at Panera. Insulin pen and nutrition book in hand, I peruse the menu to find a meal not too high on carbs and then sigh as I go over to the drinks and get myself some UN-sweet iced tea. I pour in artificial sugar, try it, and make a face. "Gross," I say, dumping the concoction out, and settling for an equally less-satisfying diet pepsi instead.

One of my biggest regrets is not pigging out more before I got diabetes.

Our order comes up, and I excuse myself to the bathroom. I walk into the handicap stall, lock the door behind me, and hitch up my clown costume. Prepping my insulin pen, I pull it out of my pocket and give myself my quick and necessary injection before going back out to the main room. I am getting the hang of insulin shots but I still mourn the ease and simplicity of a normal life.

Truth is, I am terribly jealous of all of you reading this - most of you, hopefully, perfectly healthy individuals. It is hard to watch people be normal and then exhaust myself over making my body pretend to be. And still that is not always good enough. I am prone to kidney failure, heart disease, blindness, feet problems, and many complications if I do not keep my blood sugar in check. I need to start getting my highs and lows in check and stop having my blood sugar bounce all over the place. I do want to live a long and healthy life and I am learning that one of the hardest part about diabetes is not just simply getting used to needles and a strict diet, but doing what is necessary to keep my blood sugar in check as much as I can, at all times. It is very exhausting to manage that through a balance of good eating, correct amounts of insulin, exercise, and yet not overexerting myself. I feel like I am on a scale and I just can't get it balanced - it keeps rocking back and forth, back and forth, and I can't get it to hold steady in between.

So now I have concluded my day and I am craving an entire box of Krispy Kreme Donuts.

No, not just one donut.

The.Entire.Freaking.Box.

Screw calories, screw however pig-like and utterly disgusting it might be, give me a day without diabetes and I would freaking eat the ENTIRE box of donuts simply because I CAN. No joke. I would STUFF MY FACE WITH JUNK FOOD!

So go. Go out there, and go live. Here's my advice: go get something extremely calorie-laden, extremely unhealthy, and go eat it. Go ENJOY it. Right now. Because you never know if you will ever be able to enjoy something like that again. Because, trust me, life-changing things can happen literally in a day's time.

Never take milkshakes for granted.

The Non-Self Help Book for Diabetes

Erica and I deliberated and came up with an idea which will help get my mind off the doom-and-gloom of having diabetes, and focus more on the humorous side of it. I don't like self help books, so my "book" is the opposite; it's basically just a new journal I have started documenting all of my new adventures, like how it is to learn to give yourself insulin shots when your biggest fear IN THE ENTIRE WORLD is needles. These days I need all the ways to rant and rave that I can get, and I figure it will help me to feel better. So I have my book (who knows? maybe I'll publish and become a gazillionare one day, create an artifical pancreas and ka-zam!, no more diabetes for me) - and I have this blog, and both will sort of follow that "non-self-help" theme. So a lot of things I write in my book I will put down here for y'all to read if you are interested - which I don't know if you are, but if you are, I'm honored!

Hey, at least now I have a lot to blog about.

The first chapter of my book is titled,

1.

Diabetes is for Masochists

This is a suitable chapter title. In fact, the term "masochist" is a suitable adjective for Diabetes.

For those of you who were like me just a week ago, allow me to educate you a bit on Type 1 Diabetes. Doctors do not really know why you get it, which kind of frustrates me because I'd sure as hell like to know what I could have NOT done in order to avoid getting Diabetes.

Anyways, moving on. Diabetes Type 1 is basically a disease where your pancreas attacks itself, fails and causes you to stop creating insulin, which is necessary because it allows sugar - food for cells - into the cells. It is not to be confused with Diabetes Type II, which has more to do with genetics and unhealthy lifestyle. You can be perfectly healthy and just "get" diabetes type I, though you usually do when you are younger. There is no cure, and Diabetes Type 1 MUST be treated with Insulin or YOU WILL DIE! Afterall, when a bad pancreas causes insulin production to stop, sugar can't get into your cells, and this is, as you might imagine, very bad.

So, imagine your pancreas has now stopped functioning properly. Let us walk through this experience.

You will notice that you have to drink water about every .012765 seconds and then about 5 seconds later you will have to use the bathroom - what water weight?

You will lose a ton of weight because your cells are basically being starved - a revolutionary diet plan!

Even though you're POSITIVE that you are full, you will still feel like you have plenty of room for that extra slice of pizza or birthday cake - but don't worry, because remember, you're losing weight! Eat whatever you want! Calories don't count!

However, the fun, unfortunately, must come to and end. All of those sleepless nights from having to get up and pee, all of those insane calorie-laden food-eating escapades; no, I am afraid they do not go on forever. You might just end up like me; strapped to a stretcher and whisked away to the ICU.

So now, insulin or death?

"YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT BEFORE I EAT EVERY MEAL?!"

Two nurses corner me on my first day back to consciousness, needles on each side, and jab me. Tears stream down my face. I am usually well put-together but needles ... those hold a very deep-rooted place of hate within me.

You have no need to worry of my ever being a heroin addict, or any kind of drug that involves needles (well, nor any kind of drug, of course).

Because I fear the needle.

Let me say that again.

I HATE NEEDLES!

Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that needles and I did not get along. I dreaded every school shot, cried every time I had to get one, and if I saw anyone as a potential threat to my needle-less life I usually fled the room STAT, even to this day. I abandon all maturity, the blinds come off, and I am a freaking baby when it comes to getting shots.

So imagine my ecstatic joy when I found out I was diabetic.

For Diabetics, eating is quite a process.

1. Diabetics must first test their blood sugar before every meal. This requires a handy device called a lancet, which is basically a fancy word for "sharp object from the stone age required for pricking finger". Seriously. I can download an app for my phone that detects metal, but the best thing they have come up with to test my blood sugar involves a freaking needle? Where is the technology here?

2. Then, depending on my blood sugar level, I give myself a dose of short-acting insulin into an area of fat on my body. This means on my belly, my thighs, my butt, or the back of my arm (how I am supposed to give myself a shot on the back of the arm while pinching fat I have yet to figure out). I have these handy "insulin pens" I set up so I can inject myself. I have to clean the area, then pinch it, then insert the needle. Hold 10 seconds and enjoy the pain. Remove. This injection will cover the amount of insulin I need to digest my meal, because everyone knows that shots before meals are the perfect way to build an appetite!

3. So now I am all ready to eat. YUM! But wait - I can't eat just anything; I must carefully study the nutritional labels first. Previously I really only scanned these labels for the calorie count - yes, I will admit to being quite figure-conscious - but now the important thing to watch here is the carbohydrates. I challenge you to do that at your next meal. Count your carbs. I'm supposed to eat roughly 45 carbs per meal. Items higher than 60 carbs will probably send my blood sugar through the roof... but we have yet to test that on a milkshake yet!

I have eaten my meal. Now I am done with that whole ordeal, until my next meal, where I must do the process over again. So I get a minimum of 4 shots a day plus Blood Glucose tests. I am a walking, living, breathing, overused pincushion. For masochists, this would be a very fun and exciting experience. You get to hurt yourself AT EVERY MEAL!

Unfortunately, I do not have the good favor of having been born with masochistic tendencies. Only diabetic ones. This past week I have had to brave the needle and, let me tell you, if you have seen me (especially after all the weight loss) it is tough to keep finding fat to inject needles into! (This is not to say I want to be fat - come to think of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen a fat Type 1 diabetic).

Rest assured all you masochists and non-masochists out there, there's sure to be more updates on my learning to shoot up later (No - still not a druggie!)

So I hope you've been reasonably entertained enough to want to read more. More later...