Full Heart.

It's been a long day of work, I'm exhausted, and I just have to brag on Kris Mason a little bit.There's nothing I wouldn't do to help Kris, but today he went above and beyond in helping me. Kris helped me get ready for my events this morning, helped me pack my car in the rain and organize balloons, drove me to my first party, helped me in and helped me get unpacked. When he got back to help me pack when my first party was over, he not only helped me back to my car, but he had gotten me barbeque for lunch, donuts from this amazing donut place he'd been wanting me to try, and glucose tabs, in case I got low. He drove me without complaint to my next event. It was still raining, and Kris stopped at a yellow light. We were running a little behind, and I caught myself being upset that he had stopped when he could have gone.
"If it was just me, I would have." He said. "But there's nothing more important to me than making sure you're safe."
And being upset was silly, just like that. How can you ague with that logic?

My next event was very busy, and face after face I painted while it was very hard to get through the line with the darkening skies and the rain. Kris stepped in and even though he only knew how to twist two different types of balloons, he twisted balloons for all of the kids in the line as they waited, and made up designs just off the top of his head - even though he's only ever had 15 minutes of practice here and there at balloons, ever.
I handed him my tip jar at the end of the event, but he passed it back and drove me home.
I couldn't have done it without him.

Guys, I tend to talk about Kris a lot. But I can't help it. He makes it impossible not to. And until meeting him, I've never met a man more wonderful, more one of a kind, more special, than him, I'm a firm believer that no love is the same, but Kris makes me feel as if I only felt half of what love is supposed to be before. He's so kind it brings me to tears sometimes just thinking about it. I've never met someone so genuinely good for me. Someone that makes me realize how much in the past I've only been settling. It's so genuinely wonderful to be in a relationship where we are both just mutually good for each other. And one that makes me realize: I don't have to settle. I've spent a long time chasing the wrong people, enough so that I see so clearly what a difference it makes when you're with the right person. And when you are, you chase each other, you strive to love each other, every day, just for the sake of doing so. No needless drama, no silly miscommunication: we're not perfect, but we always communicate, we listen, and we care. And that makes all the difference. For the first time in my life, I'm consistently joyful: for the first time in my life, the scars and height that marred me from my past for so long have no power over me, They are gone, and it's the easiest thing I've ever had to do, to watch them go without a second thought.
My heart is so full, and I'm so happy. God has blessed me beyond measure, and I'm finally at one of those beautiful points in life where you see how everything that was supposed to fit together, finally has.

Mindfulness and Diabetes

Tuesday at lunch some of my friends snagged me to go to some free program they were having at Mercer called "tea time and meditation". While it turned out that spending 10 minutes analyzing raisins to better our mindfulness was a little bit comical, it did get me thinking about how mindfulness really is important to the quality of how you live your life. I don't know about you, but I myself have been very bad about mindfulness for a very, very long time. College was a literal blur and so was high school. I am proud of where I am at, but when I look back on my life for years and years I see one long string of goings-on and going-to's, of this, that and the other. Of rushing. Of worrying about the next thing. Each moment was an opportunity to prepare for another. Study and do hw on all of my breaks so I can work. Scarf down my food in 5 minutes to make my schedule fit from class to class. Rush from school to gymnastics, answer clients' emails on my free time while chatting with friends, and on, and on, and on. I am the literal queen of multitasking. It's wonderful and awful at the same time. Have I changed? It's hard to say.

But I think some of the best progress that I've made in truly learning to be mindful started when I began dating Kris. Kris is very anti-stress for me. He can calm me down in any situation, talk us through it, and lead us through prayer. He's really just wonderful at comforting me in general. But more than that, I feel like my relationship is different in that I want to be mindful with him. It means a lot of things. I want to focus on and enjoy every minute I have with him. And more than that even, I respect him. I respect him and by extension I want to give him all of my attention. This doesn't mean I can't work on homework or study or practice on him and thus give up spending quality time together. In fact, more than not I'm always doing one of those three things when we're together, because that's just the nature of school. A lot of it means being conscientious. It means listening when he speaks - truly listening, not just hearing. It means contributing to our conversation. It means being excited to tell him about my day and to hear about his. It means respecting his point of view, and embracing his opinions. Importantly for me also, it means putting down my phone and focusing less on social media. I think as I get older and I keep growing more, I realize that using my time to participate in useless Debates is not the best use of my time when I could be doing something meaningful. That my life exists outside of a screen - most importantly, it exists all around me, and if I spend too much time staring at a screen, that I'll miss a lot of important things.
By extension, this mindfulness - or striving to be - has helped with my Diabetes a lot. The whole dating with Diabetes is a blog post for another time, but while I'm not perfect still - I've been under a lot less stress. Stress increases your blood sugar, it's no secret. But by taking time to relax, enjoy my time, and let myself be calm - to try and take time for me not because I necessarily have more time, but making an effort to make the time I do have quality time - it helps me to focus on my numbers and has even helped my sugars become easier to manage.

This is definitely a work in progress for me, But, I think it is important, Diabetes or no, to embrace the things that are positive in your life and not take them for granted. To be mindful about them and take time to enjoy these things. Taking time out and really focusing on making your moments good ones might be one of the most healthy things you can do for yourself.

Old Diabetic Lacy and Now.

It's September, and I've been getting into the swing of my second year of physical therapy school. I was looking over my blog today, trying to find some inspiration to write something, and started looking across old drafts of posts I never published. It's weird to me, thinking back and realizing it's been 4 years and 5 months since becoming part of the very exclusive Diabetes Club. I live a pretty comfortable life right now. I still have insulin in the fridge, and although it's dwindling, I know it will be ok. I can even go see my Nurse Practitioner at school to write me prescriptions for insulin, which saves a little money, when I start to need it. I can get 100 test strips (albeit for the cheap meter) for $16 on amazon, and I still think that I've only gone through 4 or 5 boxes of needles and only a box or two of lancets since being diagnosed (seriously, I know it's bad but I never change those things). So I'm feeling pretty good. My Diabetes has seemed pretty tame with a comfortable 35 g of Lantus everyday to keep me from having to use as much Humalog to cover carbs and corrections, and my exercising more has helped keep my levels in check, too, so right now I'm coasting pretty easy. In fact, sometimes I even relax and don't think much about my Diabetes, which is nice. Except when I'm low. Then I still hate my body. But I look back at how far I've come, and I think I've made good progress in coping. Which is why I'm posting an old draft I never published back from years ago. To remember that though this disease is hard as ever, I've come a long way. Enjoy.

                                                                  

Diabetes is a largely invisible disease.

People see us and assume that because we look okay, because we appear to function normally, that Diabetes is not that big of a deal.

Diabetes gets downplayed because it is not cancer, it is not AIDS, it is not something you can often visibly see or tangibly touch. 

You could look at us and think, 'Hey, they look normal. Diabetes is not that bad." 

And if you do think those things, then you've got it all wrong.

Our struggles more often than not go on in silence. In the solitude of our rooms, in our beds at night, in our minds throughout the day, in the screen of a glucose meter.

We are largely silent sufferers, millions connected by the likeness that we share: The likeness of a single, life-changing disease.

Perhaps your view of Diabetes would be different if you saw what I see.

If you lived in my life, if you walked in my shoes.

If you felt the prick of a needle on your skin, or the weakness of low blood sugar, or the soreness on the tips of your fingers from all of the blood tests.

You don't see

The tears you cry in the hospital room, the ones you waited to cry until you were all alone. Because you wanted people to think that you were strong.

The discouragement you feel when your blood sugars are not where you know that they should be.

The guilt that even the simple act of eating a banana or half a sandwich, much less a caramel frappuccino or a piece of cake, can bring on.

The heartbreak you feel when your hopes and dreams go out the window when you learn of your diagnosis; When, suddenly, all of your plans must now be re-calculated, re-drawn, according to Diabetes and the limits it imposes. Which, regardless of what others might say, it does impose.

The worry you feel about the future, about the complications, about if you will lose your vision or need a kidney transplant, if you will ever be able to have kids, if you will ever live to be 100, or 70, or be alive when you wake up in the morning.
The ever-present desperate longing, the need deep inside, for a cure.
The calculator inside your head that carefully counts and then re-counts the carbs in every meal you are about to eat.
The potent, synthetic, bandaid-y plastic smell of insulin five times a day that you grow sick of.
The drastic difference between the bills and the amount of money you have to pay them.
The exhaustion of knowing that if there is never a cure, this will be your life until the day that you die.


Diabetes does not take a break. It does not call in sick for work, it does not go on vacations or take time off. If I am a safe, Diabetes is the 24-hour security guard.
And it is exhausting.
Diabetes doesn't wait for you, it doesn't ask you how you feel.
It shows no mercy, it has a cruel sense of humour.
It possesses biting sarcasm, it writes all of its own rules.
As much as Doctors claim to understand Diabetes, I often feel like there is so little known about it.

I don't know why, out of the millions, I was the one with the faulty immune system, with the faulty coding in my genes, why I was the ticking time bomb.
Doctor's can't tell me.
I don't know, if I ever choose to have children, whether or not they will have diabetes too.
No one can say. No one can predict.
I don't know why sometimes, even when I do everything right, my blood sugars will still zig zag up and down like a child's scribbles.
Diabetes is an imprecise science.
And I don't know if, even with all my hope, there will ever be a cure, a way to end this disease.

But I will never give up.
No matter what they say.
I will always have hope for a cure.
Until my dying day.
I may live with it now,
But I will never stop believing
That I will not die with diabetes.

You don't see what I see, most of you don't.
But we need our cure, too.
We need it for ourselves,
For the ones we love.
For our families, our friends, for the people we see on the streets.
For the millions of us who fight this disease every day.

How Swing Dancing Changed My Life.

It's been almost one year since I started to pick up swing dancing in Atlanta, and little did I know last fall just the depth of the impact that swing would have on my life.

My first class at Georgia Tech was a nightmare. Up until then, my only experience with dancing was ballet in 2nd grade, some gymnastics dance routine, the sad excuse for dancing in the clubs I did sometimes, and of course, my princess specialties, the chicken dance and freeze dance. 

I wasn't exactly a dancer. 

So as I struggled to even keep time to a simple six count, stumbling my feet and letting my partner spin me, I felt very discouraged that September night. 

But I decided to go back, because I was determined to learn.

I discovered Hot Jam, Atlanta's weekly East Coast Swing event held at a little cabin in Buckhead every Monday at 8:30. I went religiously with my friends Robert and Chelsea, doing my best to keep time and not trip as I shyly sat in the corner waiting for someone to offer me a dance because I was too shy to ask at the time. 

I didn't know it at the time, but right down the road from me, someone else was going to start swing dancing just a few months later. 

So I kept at it. I went as long as school would allow me, but I did end up skipping a lot of Monday's due to my schedule. I took a hiatus after October and didn't come back until the big dance in December. I had started to grow more confident, but there were only a few people that I was really comfortable dancing with. Still, I tried my hardest, and I'd made some improvements. And I never missed a tech dance - they were the best. Filled with hundreds of people in Georgia Tech's ballroom at the end of every month, it was always the best swing event every four weeks brought me. 

I took a break for Winter - I went home to Florida. In January, I found myself back there, and this time, I was deeply invested into learning how to dance. I started attending not only Monday classes, but every dance event I could get my hand on. Swing on Thursday's at Callenwolde - Zouk on Wednesdays - Contra on Friday's - and any swing event at Firefly or the Solarium in Decatur I could find on Facebook. I danced all the time, even with my swing friends as we hung out at home. And I got so much better. My confidence grew. I actually felt good at dancing. I felt free - I felt alive. It was a respite from Grad School's rigorous work, which made me feel as though I lived in a prison sometimes. Stifled and sad. Dance was different. Dance made life fun and colorful. I could even start dancing in the clubs with confidence because I learned how to keep a beat. I made a channel just for swing music on Youtube to practice at home on my study breaks. And I felt like learning to dance was one of the best decisions I had ever made.

The months passed by, and my dancing journey continued, even when I wasn't applying myself to classes as well as I should. That spring semester turned out to be a terrible struggle for me because I wasn't working hard enough. I had to cut back a little just to bring my grades around, which I'm not proud of. But I did it, and I changed, and I made it through. And now I know how to strike a good balance between school and fun. 

It wasn't until I started Summer classes and was able to wind down from a grueling semester that I made it back to swing dancing, and that is when my life suddenly fell into place.

It was a hot Summer night, and a live band was playing at Hot Jam. I had gotten into my favourite dress and put my hair up since it was a fancy dance occasion. I arrived to Hot Jam, confident as ever, asking my friends to dance (because I was comfortable with dancing now) and twirling fearlessly and joyfully across the floor. I had been doing this for all of 20 minutes when I walked over to the water fountain for a short break and a drink, and that's when I stumbled across a man in a red plaid shirt. He had a tattoo on his arm and a tattoo of a cross on his chest. I had thought I'd cut him off to get to the water fountain, and I felt bad. So I offered him a dance - and Kris Mason accepted. 

I quickly learned that Kris was new to dancing. This was only his second time here, and I hadn't been at Hot Jam the week before. I taught him what I knew, although I'll admit I'm not the best teacher at Swing. Being a follow is a lot different than being a lead.

We danced, and then I went and danced with some other people. Later I went outside because I was low and started eating my nasty Glucose tabs to try and feel better. (Getting low happened a lot when I danced, but it was a cost I considered worth it). 

Kris came out and sat with me. We started talking, and I was surprised with how easy it was to talk to him. 

We found ourselves on a first date to get coffee, and then we walked through a graveyard (we share a mutual love of strolling through cemeteries). 

And one starry night, we found ourselves exchanging our long, sad, happy, tumultuous stories. 

I hadn't been looking for anything. Kris was passionate about coffee, and was making a career in it in Atlanta. He played guitar and wrote stories and songs and liked to read. He liked Chvrches. He liked to go on adventures like me. Kris wasn't what I thought my "type" was at all. But I was proven wrong. He showed me something different than anything I'd ever had, and being with him was as easy and as natural as breathing. We just got each other. He understood me, and I understood him. He showed me what a truly good, Godly, healthy relationship looks like. And he's the most kindhearted person I've ever met. Kris will come over early even before I have to go to school just to cook me breakfast and make me coffee. He'll play me guitar songs until I fall asleep as he looks at me, eyes sparkling. He took me to the Jackson Street Bridge, our favourite place in Atlanta, one starry night, telling me to close my eyes as he picked me up and carried me there. "Open your eyes," he said, as he gently set me down, showing me a sight of the city lights that took my breath away. Kris read every single book I had and then some on Diabetes just to learn everything he needed to know to take care of me. Sometimes I think he can manage it better than I can. He does everything he can just to make me smile. We go to Church and worship together. We sing songs together in the car. Kris works all week, but every Saturday he's off, he'll drive me to my princess parties just to give me a chance to study and some good company on the way there. He'll come visit me at school just to surprise me when I get out of classes, iced coffee for me in hand. He'll cook dinner for me at home just to let me study and have some company. He will stay up with me until midnight just to let me practice my Physical Therapy class competency skills on him to give me the best chance of passing that I can. Kris is just genuinely good for me. He brightens my outlook on life and keeps me focused on school while giving me more joy than I've ever had, no matter what good or bad things are going on extraneously. 

And he's the best friend I've ever had. 

No, a year ago, this is not what I imagined swing dance would do for my life. Give me a passion I love more than anything and give me a person whom I love more than anything. But it did, and that's amazing, isn't it? It's incredible how life works out. I never expected it.

But I am so glad for it.

First of Fall.

As the first sliver of fall has begun to hint itself in the early September air, I let the breeze ruffle my hair as I count the years. Fall always makes me feel nostalgic.

It's been over four years since I moved to Georgia. This place has always been many things to me. It was my first place I ever moved to when I moved away from home. It's where Wesleyan is. It's where I got into my first car accident. It's where I got my first apartment. It's where I found new places, and slowly but surely learned how to make a place feel familiar. It's where I started my first business. Where I started Grad school. Where I learned to swing dance.

Most importantly though, Georgia has become home. Not because my family is there - not because my childhood friends are there or my childhood school - not because of all my old haunts - but because I worked hard to make it that way.
Coming up to Georgia as a teenager, I used to feel like Georgia was my respite. It was my home away from home, but it was also a place where I went to get away from Florida life. From work. From school. From the world I lived in. Over the last years, I have watched as my life has transitioned gradually. My responsibility has shifted from my old home - Florida - to Georgia, as I began school, started a business, made relationships.
My professor asked us yesterday if we would be able to move back home in a heartbeat. Drop everything, and just go. Could you? Could I?

The answer is no. I couldn't. I've built my life here now. My life here is hard, and sometimes it's a burden. But there's also a sort of comfort in the responsibility and work. There's a comfort in making things happen. Checking things off a list.
Florida is where I go as the respite now. Georgia, Atlanta, is my life.

I think back at my Macon roots and all of the time I spent there getting to know myself. Macon has been voted as one of the worst places to live in the country recently! But I think a lot of people that live there understand where I'm coming from when I say it was really just home to me, with its good and its bad and its crime and sketchy parts of town but its beautiful parts too. I loved the view of Rose Hill cemetary across the Ocmulgee River. And the first site of Macon, its glimmering lights as I approach it northbound at the start of the 475 bypass. I loved Tatnall Square Park and Mercer and Wesleyan's towering brick buildings. I loved Taste and See, the specialty coffee shop downtown, and the beautiful catholic cathedral I used to go pray at (even if I'm not Catholic), and I loved the librayr perhaps more than anything. Macon is charming it many ways. Just don't go to the bad parts. To me it had been home all of the past few years, and it had been a good home. I think of the friends I made and the battles I fought. My first time buying groceries for my dorm. The first day of cold air on October 1st, 2011 - and I wore flip flops and winter clothes because I didn't have any winter shoes. I remember my first entertainment gig - balloon twisting at Eagle's Landing country club in Stockbridge. I remember late-night visits to Joe's, sipping coffee across from Mercer as I studied for Anatomy and Physiology, O-Chem, and Physics for Wesleyan. I remember Libris the library cat at Wesleyan's library. My first work study job in admissions at Wesleyan, shyly being introduced to the staff and fumbling my way around.
It was never my childhood home, but it was something perhaps even more important - my adulthood home.

As I am thinking of all of these things, I can't help but feel a sense of old. I'm not - I'm only 21 - but I've lived a lot of life for 21 years, and my journey away from home started so long ago that I feel as though I was just a kid back then. You never think at the time about how you'll look back and gawk about how far away your life from back then seems. But as you get older, you see it happen more and more. See the gaps in your knowledge, the stupid, impulsive things you did, feel as though you were stumbling in the dark in comparison to how much more insight you have now.
In many ways, I was just a kid. I was just beginning my battles with Diabetes - I was messy, overzealous about getting my prescriptions, worried and unsure of what to do. I was sad. I felt like the world was a little out to get me. How did I handle it in class? What if I got low during an exam? There was so much that I didn't know. So much more I know now (and so much I'm aware that I still don't know). I can't believe it's gone by so quickly.

Now I'm here in the 1st of my last 2 academic semesters of Mercer before going to clinic. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it, even though a slew of competencies, exams and projects face me before I go. In just a year and a half, if all goes well, I'll have my Doctorate degree. I just take it a day at a time. Slow and steady.

It's almost my 22nd birthday, and I left for Georgia when I was 17. As the air grows colder and the days until I get another year older become closer, I am thinking of all these things. The ebb and flow of life. The good, the bad, the challenges. I'm calmer about things now. I'm more sure of what I want. I go to bed earlier. I guess I'm getting older, even though it's not something I notice while it's happening. It's crazy, isn't it? This blog is literally a testimony to these last few years of my life, and growing into an adult.
I'm glad I have that testimony, too. It's how you learn. Just so much as it's for people to read, my writing is for me, too, to look back and see how life has changed.

And to look back and see how I've changed so much, too.