Glucometer and insulin, please!

I was about 30 minutes away from Phenix City and on the way to work this morning when I realized my glucometer was nowhere to be found. I spent a moment rifling through my bags, but had the sinking feeling that I had left it exactly where I had set it down: on Crystal, my former College roommate's, living room floor. I sent Crystal a quick text when I had a moment:

"Left my glucometer and insulin at your place... no time to get it. FML :("

I had to go straight to work, and I was already running behind. I sighed, looking at the yogurt, rice cakes, granola bars and crackers I had packed... all carby.

I don't always feel like I am Diabetic when I am normal and managing things well, but when I forget my meter and insulin, I often like to make the metaphor that it is like driving a car blindfolded. You might have done it thousands of times before, but if you can't see, you're pretty much inevitably headed for trouble - all of that past experience won't help you. In Diabetes, you are nothing without the fundamental tools, and today I had none.

"Ok, be calm," I said. Chances were, I wasn't going to go into a coma and die after only a day of no short acting insulin. I had taken my Lantus last night, and I still had Lantus. I thankfully had put some almonds into my bag, so I at least had some almonds to munch on and get me through the day, although I wouldn't dare eat anything else since it was all carb-laden. It was just too risky. I hated feeling the limitations my illness imposed on me, but there was nothing I could do for it if I wanted to be on time to my face paint gig. I pressed on. Keeping my calm, I gave myself 6 extra units of Lantus, and pulled out 4 water bottles when I got to my gig to drink throughout the day. With lots of water, I should be able to keep any extra sugar out of my system more effectively. Face painting for 5 hours would be good to lower my sugar, too. I don't know why, but working with kids at gigs always lowers my sugar, provided I don't eat any of the birthday cake at parties!

Thankful that I was very adept at noticing highs and lows, I steadfastly painted for the next 5 hours. Thankfully, I was so busy the entire time that I don't think I would have had a chance to eat any of the food I brought, anyways. I munched on some almonds here and there and drank water. Finally, off at 5, I vaguely remembered forgetting to take my glucometer out of my balloon bag from back in March. When I got to my car, I silently prayed it would be there, and as my hands clasped around the familiar camera-sized rectangular bag I pulled it our from amidst the colorful strings of latex. I eagerly sat down into the front seat and tested......

82! I was ecstatic. No highs, I didn't feel miserable or thirsty - I felt great. It had been stressful to go through that situation, especially considering my own oversight had caused the problem, but I felt very proud of myself for keeping my sugar so in check every day. I think I just needed some schedule (which PT school affords) and greater discipline, which school is giving. And when you start to manage your sugars well, it makes it easier to exercise and keep those blood sugars down even more. It's a win win.

Nonetheless, here's hoping I don't forget my meter or insulin any time soon. I much prefer driving cars without a blindfold on, AKA knowledge is power when it comes to Diabetes management, especially. I'll take my glucometer and insulin pen ALL the time, please!

Lows or Cadavers - Pick One.

I approached the door to the lab, took a deep breath, and donned one of the white coats hanging on the rack. I stepped inside, feeling the chill of the air through my scrubs and coat. I started walking over to our table. "Glasses, oh, I forgot glasses," I muttered. I proceeded back to the table, where I exhaled shakily and gave my lab group a nervous glance. I mustered as much toughness as I could.

On the table before us was a large blue bag, and inside of it was our first cadaver.

I listened to our professor intently, but was ever conscious of the blue bag on the table in front of me. I couldn't stop looking around. I was morbidly scared but curious. I had only seen a body once before, and I had a feeling that this would not be similar. "They're not there anymore," I consoled myself. "This is an immense gift to science." I silently thanked the cadaver in my head for their incredible gift. It must take a very selfless person to donate their body to science, I thought. It would not be an easy decision, if you think about it.

Time passed, instructions were given, and then I was in this singular moment before me:
It was time.
My lab group started unzipping the bag.
I took a step back, unsure. And there he - she? was, face down, pale as paper. The cadaver had been old. Maybe it shouldn't, but it made me feel a little better. I think I would have been a lot more sad if it had been young. This way, at least I hope it had lived a full life. A good one.

There was still a bandage on its back. There was a large bruise on the shoulder and a pressure wound on the lower back. I couldn't suppress the morbid need to look around the room at the other cadavers around me. Some were a lot larger. Others were small, and almost looked caved in, withered. They were all face down. The cadaver next to me had a tattoo on his arm. Dr. Fabrizio's cadaver still had her toenails painted pink.

I stared at our cadaver and couldn't take my eyes away. I wasn't feeling as though I would throw up or pass out. No.
Instead, I started to tear up. I felt overcome with emotion.
"You okay?" my lab partners Jason, Robert and Victor asked with raised eyebrows.
I nodded, still teary-eyed, fighting the urge to wipe the moisture pooling in my eyes. The pungent smell of formaldehyde was a good reminder to not do that. But still I started to lift a hand. "Don't touch your face," Jason reminded me. I put my hands down.
"What do you want to name him?" Robert asked me. I shook my head. "I don't know," I replied. "Think about it," he said kindly.
"Well, we're not certain it's a him. It's just... so amazing. It's beautiful. It's such a gift," I say, sniffling. I can't get over it. I stare at the table, I am too hesitant to touch the cadaver yet, I can only watch. I am still scared, full of trepidation. What was the cadaver's story? Why did it choose to donate its body to science?

"We need to name him," Victor said later as Dr. Nelson passed by. "Her," she corrected Victor, as she stopped at our table. We all looked at the cadaver. "It's a her," she said, gesturing her eyes - and we looked at each other kind of embarrassed, as we realized all of the cadavers had shaved heads - not just the males.

"I like the name Julia," Robert said. "I do too." I agreed. And so, with that, we named our cadaver Ms. Julia. The guys started marking with sharpie the areas on the cadaver to cut, taking scapels and beginning. I waited a few minutes still and then, still trying to get over how overwhelmingly amazing, macabre, upsetting, emotional and overall strange this whole situation was, I swallowed and took hold of a scapel.

"Now's as good a time as ever," I told Robert and Victor, as I began to slice.

Later at lunch, I walked upstairs, and my blood sugar was 35 - I could hardly feel it. I had been so hyped up from cadaver lab that I hadn't noticed my low or any of the symptoms, although I started to feel them then, the all-too familiar wave of numbness of my mind and shakiness setting in. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the next few minutes of being out of control of my body.
But it had been an experience, and an amazing one, at that, for the first time in cadaver lab. I was imbued with so much new respect for the human body and for the gift that our cadaver was, as strange a thing as it was to confront dissecting an actual human being.

PT school has been an adventure so far, and there are many more to come.

First Week.

I am exhausted. Exhilarated. Empowered. Overwhelmed. Refreshed. Busy. Joyful.
The first few days of PT school have been a whirlwind. From day 1, we hit the ground running, and I feel as though I have been flooded with a wealth of information. My mind expands to envelop new knowledge every day, and it startles me both at how much there is to learn and what the mind is capable of doing.
It is enough to make me feel like it is too much to handle, but I know that I can achieve getting through graduate school. My typical day involves waking up at 6, getting ready, leaving for 7 at school, getting there early before class at 8. Changing between lab clothes and professional clothes, scrubs and tennis shoes, spending hours in class and tons of extra hours in anatomy lab is all part of daily life now. I assume the responsibility as best I can because I know that it is what I need to do to achieve.

I feel as though I am refining my life to live for others, and this is both a worthwhile task, a great honour and a huge responsibility.
I feel passionate for what I have chosen to do because I am surrounded by so many others who love their career. In the last few days I have learned so much more about Physical Therapy, the human experience, and what it truly means to better life through movement. I have learned about the goals I need to perfect and refine, I have learned how far I have to go and I have set myself to the task as best I can. In the last few days I have learned the power of preparation, calendar usage and I have tightened control of my Diabetes. My sugar has not been over 200 once in 2 days which is a big accomplishment for me, as in the past I would usually slip up at least once a day. I am very proud of this control and feel glad to be in a career that encourages my own wellness as much as it encourages the wellness of others. I feel like Physical Therapy is the perfect reflection of what I aspire to be both for others and for myself. I want to be a role model to my patients and to individuals in general that you can live a healthy, well life in spite  of the many obstacles you will face. You have to assume the task with passion, diligence and patience. Sometimes you will fail, but you always have to try to succeed. If I can do this for myself, I know that I will be able to help inspire others to do so, too.

Just wanted to write something short and sweet for now - let you guys know that I'm alive (haha), I have very little free time and it's back to anatomy studying. But I'll write more this weekend.
Until then!

P.S. I added a poetry section  on the "pages" tab! Do check it out. I'll update with more poems periodically.

Physical Therapy School is Here!

Tomorrow is the first day of physical therapy school, and as much as I would like to proclaim to the world that I am ready and three steps ahead, the *honest* truth is that I am anxious, a little worried and very, very aware of what an exhilarating but weary journey this will be.

Orientation didn't get off to the best start, but I guess that is to be expected when you leave for home at 6... with 7 hours of driving to go. It's ok, think of me as you wish. I totally deserve it. The trip from Orlando to Atlanta was gruesome. I had to take a ton of breaks, stop at a gas station at 2 for a twenty minute nap, and ended up getting in at 3 instead of the 12:50 a.m. arrival time that I should have had. I stumbled home and up the stairs to pass out, setting my alarm for a bright and early 5:40 a.m. Naturally, this meant that I got about... 2 hours of sleep. The alarm went off entirely too soon, and having drilled into my brain that this class was more important than 8 a.m. Physics (which I always managed to oversleep for), I wearily pushed myself out of bed and into the shower, got dressed, got my bag, made a protein shake and was out the door. I wasn't sure what to expect with traffic, so I left about an hour and twenty minutes early. I hit traffic as soon as I got on the interstate, although even with the crazy stop and go, which somehow seemed to still be functional, I arrived at school in 24 minutes, so I had plenty of time.

I had chugged about 2 bottles of water before arriving in an attempt to wake up, and arrived at the Trustees Dining Room at Mercer bright eyed and bushy tailed to meet my fellow PT students and faculty. Likely the last free breakfast of my Graduate career: check. Ice breaker: check. Professor that researches Diabetes: check, and yay. Don't get me wrong, orientation was a really helpful experience, but it was extremely hard to sit for almost 9 straight hours until 5. We had another tour of the campus, had several of the staff and faculty come to brief us on different aspects of the school, talked amongst ourselves, had a couple of lectures, lunch and shared a lot of laughs. I ashamedly started nodding off a couple of times, simply out of pure exhaustion; when I got home, I went for a walk to the local farmer's market to try and get my mind going. I saw "Guardians of the Galaxy" with one of my friends at the Drive-In movie theatre here. I got home, tried to chill out, and did my best to tackle the huge mound of emails from clients that I had completely neglected during my time in Florida and the terrible endocrinologist appointment (more on that later). I folded laundry. There was so much computer work to do that I started falling asleep on the couch. It was 2 a.m. before I stumbled up to bed, and it was much too late for me chastise myself for not going to bed sooner. I was still adjusting from summer and had forgotten I had another early morning.

Thus, the next morning was even worse. I slept in a little later since I knew that it didn't take 1.5 hours to get to class, but 6:20 a.m. still came far too early for my taste. I stumbled out of bed. Sleep deprivation was taking its toll. My face was drained of colour, I looked like a ghost, and my mind felt as though it was operating at about 65%. I felt terrible. I stumbled to Day 2 of orientation, putting on my best face, drank about 3 bottles of water, met with my academic adviser Dr. Fabrizio, and by the time we breaked for lunch at 12, I made my way to the car to drive home since we had 2 hours and I had forgotten a pair of pants for one of the two birthday parties I was working later. I hit traffic, which I was not expecting for the middle of the afternoon, though now I hear Fridays are just bad traffic days. I had enough time to take a 20 minute nap, and for my non-nap inclined self, was startlingly happy about this. I had never passed out sooner in my life I think. I woke up to my alarm going off 20 minutes later, having collapsed face down on the couch. Drool and all, seriously, my level of exhaustion had reached critical levels. I made it on time to the white coat ceremony, while trying to fight dozing off again. I left the white coat ceremony, and by some freak of nature, as I mentioned earlier, had TWO parties to do that evening, back to back. I rushed to the first one, fighting traffic and wrong turns the whole way until I was finally there. I did that party, then rushed to the next one. The party lasted until about 10:30... I stumbled out at 11. My hair drooped. My head  drooped. My eyes were sandbags that wouldn't stay open. I was so tired that as soon as I got on the highway I had to pull off at an exit and rest at a gas station. I locked my doors, but this time I was so tired I slept through my alarm and when I awoke, it was after 1:00 A.M. the lights were dark and it was scarily quiet. I sighed and couldn't believe myself. By some miracle I made it home. I stumbled into bed, all of my more tired that I had ever been.

Saturday I had two parties, but thankfully was able to sleep in until about 8; still tired, but the tiredness wasn't critical as it had been. I was able to relax the rest of the evening, go for a run, make lunch for the week and unwind. Today was even better; I had a relaxing morning and even fit in some studying amongst my ritual weekend chores (vacuuming, tea making, organizing my balloon aprons, paint brush cleaning and remembering that I should wash my sheets). I managed to get it all done, go to a birthday party as the Frozen Queen up in Jasper, get a pretty view of the mountains and stop there for a Walmart shopping trip, since I have yet to find the Walmart in ATL and don't know that if I find it that I'll necessarily like what I see (Atlanta is sketchy enough as it is!)

So this weekend has been good for me, and I learned a very important lesson on the power of sleep. If I keep myself centered and focused, I think I will be fine. I know PT school is going to be hard... but I know that everytime I think of the people I am passionate about helping, that I will remember how worth it this journey will be.

It's here, guys. My dream of being a Physical Therapist is here, and it begins with this single step, this single first day.

Here goes nothing, and here's to getting used to having males in my class again after 3 years at a women's college.
Go Bears! ;)

Graffiti, New Coffee Shops and In-Depth Metaphors Involving Clothing: Just a Typical Sunday in Atlanta

It's an overcast Sunday here in the Southern Apple, and I am spending my last Sunday of true freedom (I can't really count next week since orientation starts Thursday) relaxing as much as I can. When I first came to Atlanta, I worried a little that it would take a long time to actually train my brain into thinking that was home. It's weird - you spend the last 3 years of your life driving up and down the same stretch of interstate, and it doesn't know quite how to respond when you transplant home 70 miles north off the same interstate, in a place you frequent so much for work but have lived so long never staying in, only at few-hour intervals at a time in the past. It's difficult to quite transplant what I mean by that. Every time I go to Macon now, it feels like home, but it's not. Every time I go to Atlanta, it feels like home now also, but it still feels weird, like I'm wearing this beautiful new outfit that I only tried briefly in the store. Now I'm trying it on in my own mirror at home and I'm questioning if I really like it or not. Should I return it? Well, I took the tag off, so now I can't. I'll have to learn to love it.
That was the most in-depth metaphor about clothing, I know. Haha.

The main thing is, Atlanta amazes me every time I step outside my door. I'm all of 10 minutes from downtown, and even in a small radius, there seem to be dozens of EVERYTHING. A dozen coffee shops to try. (I've been to 3 so far and love them all). A dozen krogers. Farmer's markets. Libraries. Don't even get me started on restaraunts. Or parks! Coming from Macon, it amazes me that I was able to amuse myself with the one or two varieties of everything there. Even coming from Orlando, I guess you would think that I should be more used to it, but I have always lived in suburbs away from the city, really. I guess I had never really developed a taste for trying all of the different things in Orlando,  due to my younger age while living there. I seem to have developed this insatiable appetite for exploration of all things new in my college years especially. That, and I naturally think that growing up in orlando made me somewhat immune to the large amount of "everything" there also.
The two cities also just have completely different vibes. Atlanta is VERY different from Orlando. Downtown is bigger. The culture and art here, astonishing. Even the different cultures of the neighborhoods, like East Atlanta and Cabbage town, amazes me. There are subcultures everywhere.

I think that's why I'll like it here. There is something in atlanta for everything, and the fact that everyone expresses themselves so differently makes you feel so welcome to express yourself. Your own style, your own mannerisms. Do your own thing - you are welcome here. I missed in macon the feeling of being able to lose yourself in the big city - how warmly alone you can feel in the crowd, the privacy it affords. You can go through life here surrounded by huge crowds, and yet you are in yohr own little world because everyone else is in theirs. In macon, everyone new everyone. This was novel and new at first, but I'm not so sure now that my city-raised self truly liked this or not.

Despite the overwhelming new-ness that has me reeling still, though, I do feel that I am integrating into city life very well, for a once-city-then-small-town-thrown-into-a-huge-city-alone girl. It's strange, because my transit to Macon was softened due to my knowing a lot of people closely before and while moving there. Here, wesleyan has pulled through for me because I do have some friends and a few from macon here and there, but aside from them and my roommate, this place is truly new and I am more alone here than I've ever been. It is up to me to shape my new life, but I am up for the challenge. I am a woman with many weaknesses, but I am also a woman who knows her strengths. My ability to find contentment in the littlest of things, passion for adventure, ability to be both introverted and extroverted as the need requires and, ultimately, my ability to take everything set before me in stride enable me to start paving the road of my new life brick by shining beautiful brick, and I foresee a long, lovely road will arise from my journey, complete with dozens of beautiful scenic outlooks. It is simply my nature, and so I know that God has prepared me for this newest journey so fully and perfectly that I no longer doubt myself or doubt things for a moment. In fact, I almost feel bad for worrying about this move so much. Why did I ever doubt that God knew exactly how things would work and fall perfectly into place? Why did I doubt that Atlanta wouldn't be the perfect place to call home after all the hints he dropped that it would be, and all the opportunities he gave me with my work traveling to slowly become used to the city? God knew exactly what he was doing, and all of the struggles I have faced up to this point... the struggles even this year alone... and yes, my struggle with Diabetes, have done a beautiful thing:

They have strengthened me, made me aware of my weakness and humanity, and taught me what my strengths are. They have showed me my own unique purpose and callings. Given me passion and a platform to stand on. Taught me lessons in overcoming what felt like, at times, the impossible. Showed me that god pulls us through even the darkest of dark. Showed me how to love live even with the inevitable darkness that colours life and, hell, that life isn't complete without that darkness, just as it needs the light. Behold, I have become this strong, independent, driven, infinitely passionate, art-craving, knowledge-thirsty, humanity - loving woman prepared for everything to come, even the challenges I haven't met with yet. And how does Atlanta help? Atlanta is a fresh start, and it also fuels my passion for finding the potential and new experiences that will help me to achieve new heights. I see it everywhere: I see it as I sit in the coffee shop writing this, reading the little quotes stuck on the windows, I see it on quiet Sunday mornings as I pay bills and answer emails, as I traverse piedmont park, and successfully navigate through the vast bustle of the city.

Potential is everywhere, and I have never felt it so strongly. And truly, when the world is at my fingertips and I'm so very aware of it... what is to stop me now?

Today, I am thankful for my strength, and simply thankful for life. I'm thankful for the lessons Diabetes has taught me, the sketchy alleyways of the city, and birthday parties I do in trailers in the middle of pecan groves (more on that later), I'm thankful for the towering skyscrapers, good coffee, wearing skirts for no reason, and for good music. How can one person be so overjoyed and filled with love for everything that is life, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful?

It's all so beautiful to me, and the ability to see that beauty in everything is what I am thankful for the most.

P.s. and I'm thankful because I FINALLY successfully parallel parked! (Don't make fun of me, it's not required on the FL driving test).

Atlanta.

Well, after all the years, all the countless blog posts, all the anticipation, the worry -
The unkown is here, and it's not what I expected in the least.

It's better.

Atlanta is different. It was going to be, and I knew it from the moment that I pulled onto my new street at my new home, as "my sweet summer" by the Dirty Heads played and I pushed my sunglasses back to get a better look.
The pace of the city: faster. No more slow, sickly sweet southern moseying to be found here. The good old southern boys are gone, no place for huge trucks in a city that makes my small nissan versa feel too big on its narrow streets.
Things are open all the time.  Coffee shops don't have summer hours. The city doesn't sleep. The graffiti rivals museum art on some building walls.

This city captivates and perplexes me. It enveloped me, like a dream embraces the sleeping mind - wholly and completely,  with no memory of how it did so in the first place. It just came to be, and in that moment, became my new reality. I can see the city skyscrapers as I walk near my home, and as I quietly and calmly learn to adapt to driving and walking these new streets, I think now of how incredibly lucky I am.

I think of how I ever worried that Atlanta would be anything other than the greatest adventure of  my life thus far. I think of how much I love this overwhelming yet empowering change of pace,  surge of life, and different culture that I have found myself a part of. I am perplexed at how content I was with Macon when, compared to glittering Atlanta, Macon is but a dot on a map! If not for the people, Macon feels stifling now, too small, almost boxed in. Atlanta is a river rushing by, and Macon is but a quietly, slowly moving pool to its side.

I feel fulfilled, empowered, I feel full of potential and life. I feel whole, like a small piece of me that was missing fell into place. I feel happier than I remember in a long time. Every day brings truly new experiences, new places, new excitement. New faces, fresh air, room to breathe in this fabulously rough, earthly, grungy, sparkling, overwhelming, fast paced, crowded city. To know that this place lies at my fingertips every single day that I wake is the most incredibly exhilarating feeling of my life. In this immense city, there is a place for me, and I fit in like the missing word of a crossword puzzle: in a maze, but perfectly where I am supposed to be.

I walk places. I am inspired. I have written more poems in a week than I have in the past year. I feel challenged, but in control.

And I feel utterly, completely,  and wholly that I am right where I am supposed to be.