Savannah Trip - Part Two!

The next morning, after sleepily crawling downstairs to the continental breakfast, accidentally almost setting the toaster on fire (How was I supposed to know that you can't put a whole bagel in those open faced toasters?!) and knocking over the serving spoons (I blame my clumsiness on the Diabetes) I scurried back to the room and Josh and I got all our day stuff together to go to Tybee Island.

Note to self: DO NOT WAIT UNTIL GETTING TO THE BEACH TO PUT TANNING OIL OR SUNSCREEN ON. The design of your shirt will be seared onto your body if you are fair-skinned.

Joshua and I loaded our bags with towels, drinks, 4 different "in case of low" snacks, suntan oil, and changes of clothes. The drive to Tybee took about 40 minutes and was pretty stop-and-go. There was a lot of traffic, but I had to admit it was pretty picturesque to see the marshes and the gorgeous blue sky - especially after days of rain back in Macon.

When we got to Tybee we were greeted, as my grandma stated quite literally, by "the land of the endless parking meters". We drove for at least an hour trying to find parking, failed, and had to drive about 1-2 miles out to the post office just to find an empty space. On the bright side, we were treated to the tour of local houses and hangouts... on the bad side, gas was $3.30. And we didn't escape the lengthy sojourn to the beach once we parked either... then, the hike began. Part of me thinks the 12 miles hike up the mountain that year at Summer camp was easier. We could only carry the necessities in my purse, and we kept walking, and walking, and walking, trying to tell ourselves that lunch and the beach was "right around the next corner", or the next, the next, the next.... there were no shady trees, no soothing bird tweets, no trickling creeks. Oh no. Pavement, searing sunlight, traffic, and don't forget those parking meters.

Suddenly all of me shook, and I tested, blearily seeing the 36 mg/dL on the screen, peeling away the granola bar wrapper, eating it in about 1.5 bites and stumbling on, leaning on Josh for support. The cognitive thought in my head faded, replaced by zombie-mode. My "beach, beach, beach" chant echoing in my head soon turned into "lunch, lunch, lunch", and it must have been thirty minutes later - but really felt like two hours in "Tybee time" and a miniature downpour - that we finally made it to a restaurant. I told Josh, out of desperation, that I would literally eat at the first restaurant I saw that was at least semi-reputable looking. So we ate there. I don't remember the name, I remember it being overpriced and tiled like my old house back in Sanford, but the food was pretty OK and it did the trick. I didn't feel shaky anymore, probably because I ordered a salad and ended up eating half of Josh's steak fries when I tested and saw that I was still at 50, and we proceeded on towards the beach from there. As soon as we reached the sand we shed our shoes and set out under the pier and to our left in order to find a less overcrowded plot of sand on which to lay our bag.

So far our trip seems like it might have been miserable, but don't get me wrong. The moment my feet touched the sand, it was all totally worth it.

We found a place, which was amazing considering Tybee was the most crowded beach I'd ever seen (I guess in FL we have a lot larger of a choice), and we wasted no time in shedding our shirts and pants and running to the water. The water was incredible! It was warm, and salty, and pure perfection. Back at home it always seemed like the water was too cold (I'm a wimp when it comes to cold water, yeah), but here it was just right. Like, wow. Josh and I laughed and ran and tripped and dove into the waves, swimming out and making a game of leaping over the waves as they charged toward us, threatening to drag us back towards shore and sometimes sending us tumbling underwater and scrambling to hold onto our bottoms. The day passed away while we screamed and paddled and vigilantly watched our bag from the water, and I felt like a little kid again.

When we had swallowed enough salt water to pickle us, we breaked for a good half hour in the sand, digging sandcastles with our bare hands and haphazardly remembering to apply some bit of tanning oil (mistake, mistake, mistake). Halfway before building the pyramid of giza-great moat of China hybrid, we decided to run back into the water and played in the waves more before packing up our things once again and starting the hike back to the car. And an uncomfortable hike it was! I had been spoiled from years of seeing showers to bathe in on the beach docks, and there was not a shower to be found anywhere on Tybee. No lie, Josh and I both would have probably paid for a shower and we were seriously considering foregoing the consequences of using someone's hose in order to avoid the sandy, salt-sticky walk back.
When we were almost there, we stopped in a beach store to enjoy the AC and grab some fresh T-Shirts, and Josh went ahead of me to get the car. I caught glimpse of myself in a mirror and to my not-so-surprised horror saw that I was unevenly sunburned. By that I mean, the mother of all sunburns. As in, I was wearing a crochet top and the design of the crochet was burned into my skin. In short, my skin somewhat resembled a doily. Le sigh. I can't get a pretty tan for the life of me.

We began the long sojourn back, stopping at Sonic for some mega-huge drinks before going back to the hotel, where we freshened up, complained about our sunburns, applied aloe, repeated the word "ouch" a lot, and finally crawled painfully back into the truck, with our tender red skin, to go back into the city and get some dinner. It took forever... we drove around again for an hour looking for parking, as apparently Savannah on a Saturday night was THE place to be. But we got some great views of the city that we had missed Friday. We saw more churches, town squares, Paula Dean's restaurant, theatres...it was stunning to see the eclectic mix of old and new, and the ever-constant thrum of pure life that pulsed like a heartbeat throughout the city. People were everywhere, tourists, locals, dressed-to-the-tee's, photographers, hipsters, rednecks. I loved it all and took in every moment of it.

When we finally did hunt down a spot next to a cozy looking cafe by the intersection of Hull and Bull Street (easy to remember), we walked around for a good while, and couldn't seem to decide where to eat. We actually just ended up eating at the same place we had for lunch the first day because we thought it was so good! I was ravenous - we ate nachos and queso, Josh had another parmesan chimichanga (we aren't creatures of habit at all...), and I had a huge serving of chicken, my fries replaced with veggies. BG had held pretty steady since the beach and I was cruising at around 150, but was careful to give myself plenty of insulin to cover the chips so as to try and not get off track. After dinner, we walked down River Street again, spent some time listening to another one of the 4th of July bands until the bugs ate at us too much, and then journeyed back across Bay Street and onwards to check out the squares we had missed earlier.

It was fantastic --- we looked at booths full of beautiful things for sale, witnessed a proposal in the middle of a streetside concert, and I happily dragged Joshua back into a Candy Shop (conveniently enough they were all over Savannah!) to indulge in a treat of my choosing. I was literally as happy as a kid in a... well, candy store! (What is it about candy that makes people so... happy?) I had such a hard time choosing what I wanted! This was such a treat for me --- I told myself that, for tonight, I could pick anything I wanted, no blood sugar-strings attached. Tonight, I was just Lacy. Not Diabetic Lacy. Just me.

Josh picked a candy apple, and I ended up picking a single piece of Butterfinger Bark. I carried it like a treasure through the streets of Savannah, until we got back to the car. It was drizzling lightly, but instead of being annoying I felt as though the mist added yet another tinge of magic to this magical, magical city. As we drove back to the hotel, I closed my eyes and tried a piece of my candy, which melted on my tongue in the most amazing burst of flavor. The day in the sun, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the joy of today, and even the Butterfinger Bark...

It took me away from life and from the everyday, from the ins and outs, the drags of Diabetes, everything -
Nevermind the insulin pen in my stomach as I dutifully bolused. In that moment, it was Joshua and I, and we weren't sad with troubles, or weighed down from the world, I wasn't Diabetic -

No. We were simply, truly, oh so very, very happy, and it is a memory I will treasure always. 

Diabetes Never Takes a Vacation - Savannah Edition Pt. 1

In May, Josh and I set aside a free weekend over the summer. Free, as in I resisted booking any parties so that we could go on a trip - something neither of us had done in far too long! We juggled for weeks where to go on the designated one-weekend break for the Summer. Being a party entertainer means sacrificing a lot of weekends, and thus I wanted this weekend to be special.
Destin, FL? Helen, GA? Orlando? Atlanta?

Josh and I finally selected Savannah, Georgia as our destination. On Friday morning, the trusty Ford truck (if you're not a Ford fan, hush) was cleaned, loaded with snacks and small bags of luggage, and smelled strongly of cherry from the new air freshener we had placed in it. I gave Forsyth, GA a glance back as we pulled out of the driveway and, as we got onto I-75, we finally began our long-awaited weekend adventure.

I-16 is a really boring drive. Like... really boring. Stretching from Macon to Savannah, I-16 is a flat, desolate, two-lane highway straight east to the coast of Georgia. Savannah lies about 175 miles from Macon and it took about 2.5 hours to get there.

We settled in Pooler, just outside the city limits of Savannah, and once we were ready got back into the car to venture into the heart of the city. Just when we thought we had lost ourselves, a huge bridge loomed right before us, and we were suddenly transported into a place that seemed as though it still belonged in the 18th century. Savannah is the oldest city in Georgia (1733) and I was just in awe at the architecture.... plaster and stucco walls with aged worn brick peeping through. ancient facades and columns, cannons from the 1700's, and these incredible, beautiful little squares scattered like gems at points throughout the city. My first impression of Savannah was... awe.

It took a long time to find a parking spot. We finally parked in a Kroger (like the rebels we are) and stopped to get drinks for the long walk ahead. Neither of us were wearing tennis shoes, but rather sandals, which we would later regret. After leaving Kroger, we basically turned ourselves loose in the city. It is immense - you could explore it for days and not know every nook and cranny that Savannah has to offer. But we did pretty good. We came by an old cemetery very soon, and headed inside. It was there that I stopped and felt my heart pitter-pattering, tested, and came back with a 41. After my relatively steady levels all day so far, I was a little bummed. I ate a granola bar and asked Josh if we could sit on one of the benches a bit while I caught my breath.

After a few minutes we were up and walking again, past the cemetery, through more beautiful squares. When we finally crossed traffic over to Bay Street, Savannah seemed to once again morph into something completely different. We stepped down a set of ancient looking stone steps and picked our way through uneven cobblestone down to River Street. It was huge, it was bustling, it was...incredible. The river sat before us, and shops lined the street in both directions. It was so ancient, so old, and yet so full of life. As if the future had taken residence in the past overnight. There was a festival going on for fourth of july, and an endless assortment of souvenir shops, entertainers and tourists.
First things first, Josh and I booked a ghost tour (which I was not thrilled about!) and then set down River Street, looking through all of the shops and finally finding a place to eat. We were both starving, and glad for the respite from the burning summer heat. Josh ordered a parmesan chimichanga and I a salad. Even though I'd just been low, I didn't want to use too much insulin and figured this would keep me pretty steady. After eating we set out again, searching through more shops, taking pictures and absorbing all the incredible sights. We even ducked into a candy shop where we were greeted by the most amazing smells, and these sweet workers making taffy who threw us both a piece! Neither Josh or I like taffy, but even I had to admit that, fresh off the taffy-making machines, these were awesome. The permeating smell drove us out eventually - me from the madness that surely would have enveloped from not being able to eat so much of the sugar in the store, and Josh from the sickly sweetness. But it was still one of my favorite parts of the trip --- forbidden fruits taste the sweetest, I guess?

We turned ourselves loose in Savannah for the rest of the evening and afternoon. Ghost tours were at 10:40, so we had lots of time to kill. One funny episode happened when we snuck into the River Street Inn, an old, historic and beautiful inn famed for being haunted. Josh and I were looking over the impressive balcony down to the first floor landing, and as I walked away Josh yelped and asked, "did you do that?" I stared at him, puzzled, before he explained that something had just pushed him, hard. I was three feet away from Josh though and definitely had not pushed him! I'm sure it would have been scary if it had happened to me, but, at least from a spectator's perspective, y'know, it was kinda funny. Creepy... but funny. Regardless. Savannah is definitely haunted, y'all.

We checked out the 4th of July concert going on by the River, roamed through antique stores, viewed the parks scattered throughout the city, went into the tourist-ey shops, looked for souvenirs and even saw an old man walking around in booty shorts, which made us bellow in laughter. I even convinced Josh to go back into the candy store get some candy... in case of a low, of course! (I admit it, I was totally obsessed with the Candy Store at that point!)
We walked back through Savannah in search of our car at around 6:00 PM and were pretty sure we had lost ourselves after walking for what seemed like... forever...
As I said earlier, neither of us were wearing tennis shoes, so our feet were killing us, and we ended up asking some man with a British accent how to get back to Kroger. We finally made it, and stumbled inside for some snacks and some much-needed drinks. After spending some quality time in the AC, we drove around Savannah to relocated to a closer (and legal) parking spot before grabbing dinner. We were fortunate to ask a couple of cops about parking to find out that parking meters were all free after 5 and on weekends in Savannah. This made finding a spot a lot easier!

Finally, it was time for the ghost tour, and we climbed into a rickety trolley to be greeted by an eclectic tour guide named Ana. I was scared out of my freaking mind. Ghosts are not my thing! But Ana was fun and told us all kinds of ghost stories before we silenced our cell phones and got off the trolley to check out some creepy warehouse. The tour was fun but I hated this part! I hate being in creepy places, and we had to spend about 30 minutes with little detectors searching for ghosts and hearing the story behind the place. Josh's phone rang while Ana was telling the story, and everyone stopped to stare. Which was weird... because he didn't get a text, call or email, and he had silenced his phone!
We also toured some building called a Chandlery, which was honestly all just theatrics, but the tour was fun and I thought it was a totally memorable part of our vacation! We were pretty wiped after the tour, and decided to end the day after that.

All in all... it was an awesome first day, and my sugars remained pretty steady after the afternoon low. :)

Stay tuned for Part 2!

June 19th 2013, AKAThe Black Sheep of Diabetes Days

Today hasn't been the best Diabetes day.

I woke up a little high, in the 190-220 range, so did my correction dose and ate a healthy breakfast of oatmeal. By lunchtime I was hovering at an acceptable 180, and had a sandwich, grapes and a coke zero for lunch. I bolused for that as well as a little extra to get an even better number. When I pulled the pen out of my skin, I noticed some leakback. "Shoot!" I said. (No pun intended!)

"You alright?" Darrien, my roommate Crystal's brother, asked as he heard me and noticed my anxious face. As a side note, every Tuesday I stay at Crystal's house because I work a gig in Columbus at TGI Friday's on Tuesday's. I face paint and balloon twist, and really enjoy the job, but the trip back to Macon from Columbus is scary in the dark. There are no lights, no cell phone reception; really, there is no civilization at all except for a few little towns here and there. It's 90 miles of backwoods and there is no easy way to get there, so I am very grateful to be able to spend the night in Columbus and go back to Macon in the morning!

"I'm alright," I said. "I'll check again within the hour and make sure I'm OK." I thought about giving myself some extra, but didn't want to make myself low, either.

I ended up checking 45 minutes later. I was expecting something a little high - 200's maybe - but was entirely unprepared for what I saw on the screen. A 545 flashed at me and I did a double take. "What? WHAT?? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???" You've got to be kidding me," I yelled out loud. I could NOT fathom how my sugar had gotten that high. Even if I had leaked back, I had had half a sandwich and some fruit; it didn't seem like there could be an earthly way that I could have gotten that high, and I didn't even feel it. Frustrated, I dialed in a whopping 18 units and stuck myself, trying to wrap my head around the conundrum.

In Roberta, about another 30-40 minutes later, I checked again. 242. At least I was coming down, right?

I checked when I got back to Macon as well, and came in at about 239. Novolog finishes its work about 1.5 hours after injection, and so I gave another 3 units (my correction dose is 1unit/30mgdL), stopped by my room at Wesleyan, changed for the gym, at hopped on the treadmill for an hour.

I was determined; if all that didn't bring my down, it would seem that nothing would.

An hour later after I hop off the treadmill Josh calls, and we meet up and head back to my room. I sit on the bed and start to feel a little shaky. I know I am low, and test to find 52. I grab two mini ice cream sandwiches from the fridge (favorite snack), one for him and one for me, and eat that in order to coax my sugars back up. In the meantime I ride the pitiful wave of Diabetes low blood sugar purgatory, contemplating for the next 15 minutes or so how much I despise Diabetes and ruminate on my continuous annoyance with the disease. 

15 minutes later, I'm ok. Life goes on. Josh and I head to Zaxby's for an early dinner, and we order food and sit at the table to wait. I am trembling and I reach up to wipe a wet strand of hair from my face. I feel irritated. I test again, and come in at 56. I sigh, trying to be "cool", but I feel as though I'm going to keel over if I don't get my food soon. Joshua brings it over when our number is called and he might as well be carrying a treasure chest full of gold in that moment, I am so relieved. I gulp down my food and hope that this nightmarish string of high-low-high-low-lows is over for the day. I'm 70 later on but feel few-ish symptoms, and my nighttime snack cures any symptoms I may feel later on. Thankfully.

I feel better, I'm alive, I'm disappointed in how today's numbers turned out, but I am trying hard and do get a lot of good numbers for the most part. I guess today was just the black sheep of Diabetes days. Tomorrow will be better. I'll try harder. I am frustrated, but have to keep moving on. That's how this disease works. Always keep trying, improving, moving forward. Someday I won't have to. Someday I believe they'll find a cure. Listen to me, two years in and I'm already saying that as if it's something I have to believe in order to keep moving on. Someday...

Details, Details, Details.

I sometimes rue the complications that Diabetes creates for me in life more than the act of dealing with Diabetes itself.
What do I mean by that?
I mean that, in comparison, the act of sticking a needle in my skin 5-10 times a day and testing my blood sugar around the clock is simple in comparison to having to actually obtain the insulin, worry if it will be mailed on time, deal with pharmacies, insurance companies that want nothing to do with me, the new health care bill and how it will effect me, whether my future career will be able to support me medically, trying to schedule endocrinologist appointments in Florida when I only come home 2-3 times a year, the thorny issue of my residency and terms more complicated than they should be such as "Medicaid", "Medically needy", and "Share of Cost".

In other words, one of the biggest hassles of having Diabetes lies in the seemingly little issue of the details.

Dealing with blood glucose numbers suck but trust me, if all I had to do was worry about how to give a couple of shots a day, I'd be golden.

My plan when I moved to Georgia was this: change my address, get a Georgia license and registration, apply to the Georgia Medicaid office and bam: Georgia Medicaid, easy and simple.

Hahahahaahahahahahaaha.

How little I knew.

This plan was way more difficult than I thought it would be..... I realized, upon getting to Georgia, that changing my residency would require me to renounce my Florida Medicaid before applying, leaving me with a potentially 60-day long gap of waiting to see if I apply for Georgia Medicaid. And no one at the Medicaid office seemed to be able to tell me if I would actually qualify for Georgia Medicaid - I'd just have to see, and I turned down, I'd have to switch my license and registration (requiring a trip back to Florida) back again, and re-apply, a difficult process in and of itself. Not to mention the change (and upcharge) in car insurance switching my residency would create.... what a mess. Maybe I'm making it out to be more difficult than it really is, but as someone who lives month to month depending on test strips to show up in the mail, the thought of being unable to get medication for a few months fills me with a sort of vague, cold and unknown fear.

Did I want to go to Georgia State for the Doctorate of Physical Therapy Program? Well, yeah, I did. And I could as a Florida resident, but I'd have to pay out of state. So I've had to switch my grad school plans, which does frustrate me. I wish that I didn't have Diabetes, if only so that switching my residency would be an infinitely more simple matter that I could have addressed in a week, versus months of waiting, with far smaller consequences. I could go pretty much any where I want then, but I feel as though with Diabetes my options are more limited than without. I hate to feel barred, limited. But I guess that's just life.
Instead, I decided to look into an old possibility that I had given up a few months earlier amidst my agonizingly slow grad school decision making process; after juggling about 6 different schools, I finally think that I've settled for a very likely contender, which is Mercer University located in North Atlanta. Mercer is a private university, which means I don't need to pay out of state. Private education does come at a cost, however, which is initially what discouraged me. But after looking at the numbers and weighing the possible costs and benefits, Mercer seems like a good choice for me. I have a high chance of getting at least some financial aid, I already have a successful business (aka form of income) practically run out of the Atlanta area, and I know the area decently well. The prospect of Atlanta is scary to me, but I've taken some time to mull it over in my mind the past few weeks and I'm gradually becoming more comfortable with it.... I think....

Ok, I'm still scared. Truth be told, I've become comfortable with Macon. It's cushy, familiar. I don't want to leave that familiarity behind. I hate uncertainty. But trying to envision Atlanta life in my head (granted I get accepted to Mercer) helps, and hopefully in a year I'll be ready to peel myself away from this town and move on to bigger and better things. To get one step closer to my future career!

It's a dizzying prospect, but if there's anything that life has taught me, it's that we people are more capable of handling things than we think.

A Snack-less Outing.

The sun hangs high in the sky, and birds sing their songs back and forth to each other from the branches above me. I step into the cool arboretum, sighing as if I've returned to a long-lost home. I love the outdoors, but let's face it: I'm pretty lazy. I work out in the AC, but I don't go outdoors much. Joshua laughs at me because I drive to the Wesleyan gym (which is just across the lake). So today, I was really proud of myself that I had decided to take a hike in Wesleyan's Arboretum. I've been there a few times, but did not know the area particularly well. I was not entirely sure what to expect.

Stepping into the arboretum is almost like stepping into another world. Everything surrounding me falls silent; the grating sound of the lawnmower across the hill, the screaming children on the tennis court, the cars of Tucker Road. The path descends and a wooden bridge takes you over the creek, where frogs hurriedly splash into the water upon hearing footsteps.

I walk on, basking in the afternoon sun that falls in fragments between the leafy canopy above me. My footsteps make soft sounds on the dirt path; squirrels play noisily in the leaves, darting up and down trees. It is peaceful.

A flash of color draws my eye downward. A box turtle sits, solitary, before eyeing me and retreating into his shell. I bend down to get a closer look. I decide to pick the poor little guy up, and I walk onward until I reach this absolutely beautiful clearing. I cannot believe Wesleyan has been hiding this place in their backyard this long and I never knew! It seriously looks as though it is straight out of the book Bridge to Terabithia, which brings me back to 3rd grade. A creek runs through the clearing, and the water running over the rocks makes little gurgling noises.

I set the turtle down as I sit on a rock and take my water bottle out of my bag. I realize then that I was in such a rush to get out the door that I had neglected to pack a snack. (Hiking and I have a bad history, don't we?) I check my phone. It is nearly dead. But I shrug, figuring I'll be ok. It is doubtful that I will meet calamity in the Wesleyan woods. I walk on, stopping in the clearing by the cabin to read for a bit with the turtle, who peeps his head out only a few times. Then I pick another path, walk down, and walk on, on, on.

It has been over an hour now. I know where I am, and I know what direction I should be going in to get back to the path, but I realize that I have become very entangled in the path, didn't study the map and it would take so long for me to retrace my steps back that I might as well keep going. After another good 30 minutes of walking, I realize that I, indeed, do not know if I will ever emerge from the woods. I am beginning to worry that I may get low at some point and not be able to call anyone due to my dying cell phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I knew that I should have thought this through better, but the beautiful summer day had beckoned to me.
I trod on and on, still enjoying the hike but acknowledging that I would be enjoying it far more if I knew how far away from the school I was. As far as I was concerned, the path appeared to have no end as it snaked past a slow-moving creek and rose to surround me with thin young pine trees.

Shoot, I think, swatting at a gnat. I am half-lost in the woods, Diabetic with no food, and I have a turtle in my hand. Taking stock of the situation I press onward, certain that if I go in the right direction long enough that I must emerge at some point. It takes me a while, but I finally realize where I am and, with great joy, reach the trail's end out by the MAC. I am relieved as I crouch down to set the turtle back on the ground. The poor guy was probably feeling seasick.
I can feel myself  shaking just the slightest bit, and sweat clings at my back as I struggle up the hill and finally make it back to the apartment.
I know I am low at this point, and when I test back in my room I see that I am 59. I am mad at myself but sigh with relief that I narrowly dodged a bullet. No harm done, but I'll be sure to take more care in the future.

I sure do love the outdoors, but lesson learned: I'll bring not one, but a few, snacks next time!

Playing Make-Believe.

I used to play all sorts of games when I was little. Artist, teacher, archaeologist, detective, journalist - I could go through 3 different careers in the span of a single day.
I played Doctor, too. I used to grab a mechanical pencil, push down the eraser and pull on the lead until it nearly fell out. I'd put it up to my skin then, and push the eraser down, pretending that it was a needle as I watched the lead disappear into what looked to be skin.

Pretending was a lot more fun than the real thing. I'm no Doctor, but then, I play Doctor to myself every day. 
I guess after two years it's sunk in that this will be my life for the long haul. Am I a Diabetes whiz by now? Do I have perfect BG readings all the time? No way. But after this time I do think that I am beginning to get my confidence back - my confidence in myself, that I had lost for so long since my diagnosis. There came to be a constant worry, hanging like a shadow over me. The worry waited, unnoticed at times, until I fell headfirst into the right situation. Suddenly, the questions, the second guessing, would be there again. Hitting me headfirst like a train...

Now that I have Diabetes, will I ever be able to reach my goals?
Can I even be a physical therapist having Diabetes?
Will school and Diabetes be too much to handle?
Can I come to terms with the fact that I am imperfect when it comes to treating myself?

The worry isn't gone. But I feel like I can better confront the questions now.
Having Diabetes makes things more difficult, but I don't have to let it stop me from achieving any of my goals.
Will I get discouraged? Yes.
Have my bad days? Yes.
Wonder for the millionth time why the odds of having this disease fell upon me, when statistically they shouldn't have? All the time.
I've tried for so long to be perfect when it comes to my treatment, but I can't be. I am imperfect, I am flawed, my body is messed up. But everything comes one step at a time. Wake up, test, eat, test. Repeat. Every test, every shot, every Blood Glucose log carries me forward. 

So what if I want to get a Doctorate with Diabetes? It won't stop me.
So what if my job will require being on my feet a lot? I'll adjust my insulin if I get low. 
If I want to hike a mountain? I'll bring snacks. 
Diabetes won't stand still for me, so I won't stand still for Diabetes. 

I'll keep doing what I know how to do - keep on moving forward, setting goals, and achieving them. 

Looking back now, I realize something monumental - Diabetes, for me, was the defining line in my life between childhood and adulthood. Was I mature before my diagnosis? Certainly. (Ok, well, maybe my mom doesn't think so - ha-ha.) But Diabetes gave me something else.... changed my personality, tweaked me in some small but monumental way. 
When I got Diabetes, I think I truly became an adult. I learned things about myself that some people will never get the chance to learn. I learned that I would do what it takes to survive. I learned that I would let nothing get in the way of my goals, that nothing would stop me. That if I keep my chin up and keep pushing through, that I'll surprise even myself with what I can achieve. 

And something else.....
That life isn't perfect. That happiness isn't about perfection, or how few things are going wrong. Happiness is about the little moments; 
The sun in your hair, stolen moments with the one you love, a phone call to home. A walk on a crisp fall day, the smile of a stranger, the laughter of a friend.
Cracks, glimpses, fragments of life between life; this is what happiness is about. Learning to find the joy despite the craziness, the intensity, the anxiousness. Learning to find peace despite the turmoil. 
And to treasure all of it.

Sometimes, I still feel like the little girl playing Doctor. 
Sometimes, I wish it was all make-believe. That I would wake up one morning laughing, saying, "it was all just a dream."
But it's not make-believe any more. And I've made the choice to learn, and to grow, from this experience instead. 
I can never forget my life before; unlike some Diabetics, who have suffered with this disease since toddlers, I remember with a crisp, painful clarity all that my life was and used to be. There is and always will be an ache in my soul for that life.
But though I may look back sometimes, the past will not hold me back.

I will always keep moving forward.

Two.

Today is my two-year anniversary with Type 1 Diabetes. 

Did I celebrate? Cook a special sugar-free treat? Have a party? 

Well, no... today was just like any other day.

But as I checked my blood sugar, gave insulin, counted the carbs, went through the motions that over the last two years have become second thought to me...

One part of me silently mourned for the life that I lost two years ago,

And the other celebrated the woman I have grown to become. 

Here's to another two years, Type 1, and many more years living in spite of you. 

4.3.2011.