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.

The Big Deal

I am sure that you will see a lot of 9/11 posts today. Mine is one of them. Everyone has their own unique perspective, their take on the experiences that change them.

10 years ago, I was sitting in Mrs. Taylor's 3rd grade class at my second row desk. I was diligently working on a spelling assignment, occupied with getting it done. A student suddenly appeared in the doorway from the other classroom. "Turn on the TV," she said. "An airplane just hit the twin towers!" 

Everyone around me was in shock. The TV was turned on and we watched with our little eyes as a building far away billowed smoke out from its side. But I did not understand. I did not know what the World Trade Center was, or where it was, or how somebody could have managed to run their airplane into its side. I had never heard of terrorists, or Islamic extremists, or Al Qaeda. I did not know that there were people in the world today that would kill for the sake of their religion. I was young, I was sheltered, I was innocent and unknowing of the world that lied beyond my own small and protected one. 

And I said, 

"What's the big deal?" 

Because, back then, I did not know.

Today I remember, and I mourn with the rest. I stand at the flagpole with my hand across my heart, tears in my eyes as I think of all the fragile lives shattered by the events of that day. My heart feels for them, bleeds for them, cries for them. I feel for their pain and suffering and count myself one among the many that will never forget. It has been 10 years - 10 long years for the American citizens, for our soldiers, for America. 10 long years of news reports of violence, bombings, and death mixed, with always, fear. It has been 10 long years for any person to grow up in.

But back then, I did not know. I did not understand what had happened, or why, or how it would affect the world throughout the next decade. Now I remember that day, and all that it meant for our country. But also I remember that little girl 10 years ago, and sometimes, I wish that I could have protected her. That she never had to grow up and learn of all the terrible things that happen in the world, or live amidst a distant yet ever-present war. But she did, and 9/11 changed her life, just as it changed everyone's. Our lives will never be the same. All of us, with our own unique stories of what happened that day and how it impacted our lives, will never forget.