I Got Low in Target and All I Came Out With Was Gum... and Some Other Random Groceries.

One moment I'm standing in the shoe aisle at Target, the next I'm on the floor leaning against the racks, wiping away the sweat beading on my forehead. My heart is racing, and I suck in the air around me in quick, shallow breaths.

The lows are back again, and it's been a long time. Too long. My levels? On the other end of the spectrum more than anything these days - translation: not so great lately. The stress of life and of class if really getting to me. I don't (can't) sleep much between everything I have to do. I make time for meals at little 5 minute intervals of free time throughout the day. I can't work out as much as I want to because I'm tired and busy so much of the time. All of these things raise blood sugar, but I'm more blaming myself than anything. I've been lazy, too busy to care.
It's hard - I'm feeling somewhat like a failure again. My mind says, when are you going to get it together, Lacy? 

The last two years may have been a grace period for catching your bearings, but there are no excuses now. You'd better shape up, or you'll regret it in the future. You have no reason to be struggling anymore. You should have this down by now. 

Regret - guilt - I feel it a lot. One of the things I fear most is having complications from Diabetes. And the feeling of failure I know will/would be associated with it. I just want to be healthy. I just want to be healthy and carefree. Is that so much to ask for? (With Diabetes, I think that sometimes the answer is resoundingly yes).

Each time I feel like this, I have to pick myself back up. No wallows of self pity for me - not for long, anyways. Hell, self pity probably raises blood sugar, too. Everything else seems to. Defeat is not allowed. I may shake my head and bite back a retort at myself when the number on the Glucometer is higher than I want it to be, but ultimately I've got to translate that frustration into something useful so that I can make progress and get back on track again. At least I know how that works, even if I can't necessarily seem to understand how getting the elusive in target BG's works.

So when I sat down, shaking, in the middle of Target on the floor, I was kind of glad. I gave myself a mental good job - because I'd upped my insulin dose the last few days, and I was really making a conscientious effort to keep my sugars in range. Less carbs - more insulin - lots of water. If that meant that I had to be low sometimes while I fine-tuned by insulin/carb ratio, so be it. It was progress. As much as I whine about lows and how awful they are - and seriously, they are awful - I realize that sometimes they are a necessary for my illness. Lows tell me if I'm doing something right or wrong, and if something I'm doing needs to be adjusted. It is something that makes me pay attention to my body, which is an undoubtedly good thing. And sometimes I'd almost rather be low than high. I mean, when your low, that's a great excuse to eat ice crea---- I mean, correct and learn from your mistake, of course.

So here's to better treatment - again. Take one million, or something like that. I'll never stop trying. Here's to trying hard - hopefully, minus the lows in the middle of Target though, of course. Lows while grocery shopping make me buy weird things. Somehow I came out of the store with eggs, some really weird flavour of gum, diet soda, and recees pieces. You learn something new every day. I should come with a disclaimer: Warning: Not responsible for any groceries I bring home while shopping low.

20!

It's my birthday. And I made it to 20! 

20 is an odd age. 

On one hand, 20 is an awkward 3-year stretch of uneventful age, where nothing particularly exciting or socially gratifying occurs. I can vote, I can join the army (nvrmd I'm Diabetic and I can't), I can't drink (*giggles inconspicuously*), I can't rent a car and nobody really takes you seriously when you're 18-21 it seems, anyways. 

But at the same time, 20 is a pretty special age to turn. 20 marks the end of my teenage years, and with that I suppose a whole decade of crazy, tumultuous, emotional and mental turmoil - woah, being a teenager was (is, I still have a few minutes) pretty crazy. I don't expect 20 to bring any less emotional/mental turmoil, and I'm certain I'll experience greater challenges in the next decade, but it's still nice to feel as though, in this moment, my slate is wiped clean.

20, the start of my third decade, is probably one of the most important decades in anyone's life. In my life. I'll finish school, start a career, maybe if I'm not busy being a free spirit settle down, I work with kids all the time so really I'd rather not think about kids... ever... 

Yeah, it'll have a lot of changes. 

Maybe I'll take this new year to think more deeply. (I'm tired, I just wrote deeply more think before I fixed that). Read a new political science book. Change my views on something. Realign my life's direction. And certainly, try harder to manage my Diabetes.

But regardless of what I'll do all year, I'll start with the very first day. As I've learned from many rather lackluster college birthdays in the past, my birthday is just like any other day, really. But I hope to make it truly special this year, by celebrating with a number of odd, eccentric things on a to-do list I crafted over the course of this week. 

I'm going to go to a hotel I'm not staying in and see if I can get away with eating the continental breakfast.

Jump in a swimming pool with my clothes on.

Drop 20 pennies face up anywhere.

Compliment strangers.

Buy a new book.

Get a free firehouse sub. 

Watch the premier of the Walking Dead. 

Stargaze.

Blog. (Check).

And who knows what else? I'll see how the day goes. 

So here's to the start of a new decade, a new set of challenges, new changes, beginnings, tragedies, joys, events. I'm ready as I'll ever be.

You Know... You Can Always Just Ask, Right?

I haven't written in a while. I've been so busy it's hard to find time, and consequentially I feel like part of me has, sadly, been missing. I love writing here, and I am always coming up with new ideas and things to add to my blog in my head. So let me segue back into writing with a short experience I had this morning.
I don't get many free mornings these days. August rolled around, and school started: I was totally, unequivocally unprepared for the intense amount of work and stress that hit me...

Well, needless to say, I was happy to sleep in this morning. I had work later that afternoon a short 30 minutes away instead of my typical 2-hour commute to Atlanta for princess-ing; with that in mind I rolled out of bed at 10:20, made coffee, cleaned, got ready and generally piddled around. Josh and I went out to breakfast. We went to J. Christophers, which always makes me think of our trip to Savannah now, and brings up many fond memories.
The wait for our food was excruciatingly long as the place was packed, but as it arrived I did the usual and diligently counted my carbs:

2 slices of wheat toast (about 30 carbs)
Grits (about 30 carbs, we aren't ever exact here, Diabetes, you imprecise science, you)

So about 60 carbs. I stretched over to the top of the chair and placed my left arm propped up so that I could get a good angle. Out of the corner of my eye peers a girl about 7 or 8, I'm guessing, maybe a little older. She has turned and is watching me extremely intensely as I jab the needle into my arm, slowly push down the button, and sit and wait while the insulin goes in for the obligatory 10 seconds. I pretend I don't notice. I look around. I look back at her.

That little girl is giving me the stare down! I laugh at Josh. "I saw too," he said. I am amused, not upset. It's not even a big deal, but being stared at is sometimes weird. (I say sometimes because when you're dressed as s princess in public, or a clown, x amount of times you get desensitized to such things.) It made me feel... older. Different. I am almost 20, and I know more about bolusing, carb counting and beta cells than most people will ever know in their life. I know my stuff. I forget some people don't, and that sometimes it must be weird to look through someone else's eyes and see what I do.

I prick my ears up as the little girl turns back around. I watch her and her father out of the corner of my eyes still, and see his gaze directed at me. I smile a knowing smile at him, the "yes I just gave a shot in front of your daughter and probably confused her" smile that perhaps only Diabetics know. Hey, you get special perks when you're part of the club.
"Daddy, she just gave herself a shot. Why?"

Note: Trying to be subtle about it only makes it worse. Yes, I can hear you when you whisper excitedly/accusingly about some weird Diabetes thing I just did.

I hear her Dad trying to explain it in clips and pieces. I am tempted to turn around and simply tell her that I have Diabetes and say, "You know... You can always just ask, right?", but I try to put myself in her shoes. I wouldn't have asked either. Probably, just whispered excitedly and confusedly. Well, at least I know why I do what I do, right? I pay a hefty price for the knowledge, but it's all part of life, I suppose.

Josh and I get up, and leave the restaurant - I'm Diabetic, and that's alright. People stare. Ask questions. Avoid eye contact. Wonder curiously. I'm still me, just plus a chronic disease. Let them stare. It's always less embarrassing than walking into a gas station dressed as a mermaid.

....... always.