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.

Savannah Trip Part 3 - Finis

Sunday. Our last day in Savannah.

Slept in, crept down for breakfast again, did not nearly set the toaster on fire or knock down the serving spoons (but I sheepishly avoided the glares of the lady worker in charge of the continental breakfast), and got ready for the day before Josh and I checked out at 11. Truck packed, we piled back into our seats and ventured into the heart of the city one final time. It was a little heartbreaking, really!

I didn't want to leave.

"So, sweetheart, where are we going?" Josh asked. My head swirled with ideas, and finally one surfaced - "Forsyth Park!" I tweeted back. I was still a little peeved that the lady on the haunted tours had told us that Forsyth Park was where all the Yellow Fever victims were buried, but I still wanted to see the gorgeous stretch of land and felt our Savannah trip to be truly incomplete without it. We arrived, found a super-convenient parking spot, and began our walk hand in hand. The park was indeed beautiful - old oaks canopied the walkways and the park was green, lush and gorgeously landscaped. It was a picturesque day, too - Josh and I took pictures in front of the statues and the big white fountain, explored the amphitheater and a little walled garden, and - my favorite - walked the perimeter of the park so that we could get a glimpse of all of the old, incredible, lovely houses. We gazed at them all longingly, and though I was coming down with an unfortunate head cold at this point and losing my voice, it seemed that I spent every last precious word I could speak on how beautiful each and every house was.

"Baby, oh, look at that one!"
"Oh, isn't it amazing?"
"We could buy that one... it's for sale..."
"Let's own a bed and breakfast in Savannah!"
"That... is the prettiest house I have ever seen."
"Look! Their address says 13 1/2!"

Josh said I was cute.
After Forsyth we crawled back into the car for one last adventure. Josh is really into the card game Magic, and we had seen a card shop called Savannah Comics on Friday that he felt like checking out. So after driving around and getting lost once, we found the tiny shop off Liberty Street, parked (I'd like to take the time to gloat that we did not spend a penny on parking this entire trip - HUGE accomplishment) and walked to the store. When we got there, a young man was sitting on a bench under the store awning. "It's still closed," he said. "But it should be open at one. Sometimes he's late getting here." I didn't pay much attention to the young man, and to bide time we decided to get lunch at a bustling restaurant called J. Christophers. It really seemed like the place to be! It was packed. Josh and I got seating at the front, and what I could taste of my food was good (it's dreadfully hard to taste with a stuffy nose). Blood sugar was OK last I'd checked an hour ago, I'd had an apple then and bolused and so I didn't check for lunch and bolused again. When we'd finished and paid we walked back towards the card store and found it open. We walked inside, looked around, and looked at the back, but didn't see any Magic cards; just comic books mostly. I finally saw some up front and pointed them at to Josh, all the while feeling funny.

Can't be, I thought. Just ate.
But I knew it - I noticed that I was getting better and  better at sensing my body. Both lows and, recently, highs. Like, scary good. It was like a super power. And my meter confirmed it - I was dropping at 60, and madly scolded myself under my breath for not checking at lunch and for bolusing without checking while I was low!
I sighed, frustrated, and walked to the front with Josh. Finding a chair, I melted down into it, fishing a granola bar out of my bag.

"You look so excited to be here," a familiar voice said to me. I looked up to see the face of the young man that had been on the bench earlier, a small grin on his face. He was, apparently, an employee, and he was facing me from the right. I said, my voice monotone due to my being used to explaining my Diabetes to people that didn't know, or didn't care, or both; "I have low blood sugar. I'm Diabetic."

And what happened next completely shocked me. The man turned and I caught a glimpse of his left side. My mouth gaped open, because out of his pants pocket a thin, transparent tube curled and snaked up under his shirt.

"Me too." he said softly. 

I was in awe. I'd never even met another Type 1 Diabetic in the "real world" before. At the endo, yeah, but never at school, or at work, or anywhere... and yet in this tiny card shop in the middle of a big city, that we had walked into by chance, here was a man who knew each and every up and down about what I went through and could name my troubles to the tee. I gazed at him, our eyes locked in understanding before we launched into conversation about what life was like with a pump, or insurance situations, stupid things people said to us, our pet peeves about Diabetes, diagnosis date, number of times in DKA, type of insulin used, etc. 

"Baby! Look! He's Diabetic too," I said, turning to Josh, even happier than I had been back in the candy store. 

"He is too," he man motioned to the man at the counter. "Type 2. Insulin Dependent," the man at the counter said. 

Josh was so happy for me. We talked about the pump for at least a solid 30 minutes, and I truly enjoyed listening to what the young man (he was only a few years older than me) had to say about the pump, as I had never seen one in person and never talked with someone in real life about what it was like. I have to say, skeptical as I am about getting a pump, he definitely gave me a lot to think about. And more than that, I just truly felt as though this Diabetic man was a gift from god himself; one of the best things about this entire trip, in fact, and that's saying a lot. 

Finally it was time to go, and we bid each other goodbye. It struck me as we were leaving the shop that I didn't even know this man's name, but it didn't matter to me and I don't think it mattered to him either. Names or no, we were kindred spirits, and this man gave me a powerful reminder that in my struggle I am never, ever alone. That God uplifts and strengthens us and never gives us more than we can handle. And I was so overcome by happiness again I felt as though I could cry tears of joy. 

"It made me so happy to see how happy meeting him made you," Joshua said, and I smiled at him. "And you?" I asked him. "Are you happy? Did you have a good time on vacation?"

Josh smiled back. "The best," he said. 

We spent the rest of the day braving I-16, and visiting friends in Statesboro. At around 10 PM as we left Statesboro, Joshua kindly drove the whole way back as I dozed on his lap, my cold having gotten the best of me at that point and totally knocking me out. But even the cold couldn't put a damper on my happiness, because I had visited Savannah with the man I love more than anything in the world, swam in the ocean, eaten the best piece of candy I'd ever had, gotten my fill of all the pretty sights my senses could hold, and met a person who understands everything I'm going through.

Who knows? Maybe he'll even read this someday. If not, thank you, either way. I'm so glad I met you, because you lifted a weight off my shoulders that I don't even think I'd realized I had. The weight of having never met someone with my illness, of feeling alone - that feeling isn't completely gone,  but thanks to you, I don't feel so alone at all, not anymore. 

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. 

New Reality

Argh what a hassle. My life is too busy to handle Diabetes. Lately life with my disease has just been... inconvenient.

Last weekend I sat, as a "Blue Princess", at the table, looking at the pizza in front of me and sighed. Someone loaded chips and cookies onto my plate. I smiled politely. The girls and guests would expect me, the princess, to eat. I had not told my customers that I had Diabetes. I very rarely do. My gloves cover my medical ID bracelet - no one ever asks, anyways. So I ate the pizza, and sighed. I worried about my blood sugar untul the party ended - thankfully, working with kids always drives my sugars down, so I was only 142.

With Diabetes, even the little things could - and usually do - become more difficult. Small things you take for granted and don't consider grow suddenly complicated with the weighted burden of (in my opinion) one of the most difficult to manage chronic illnesses there is.

Sometimes I am just so busy that Diabetes should take the backburner - I certainly have no time for it. I'm late for a show and have to drive halfway across Atlanta, while changing from princess Cinderella to a clown, in 45 minutes. But I'm low and I need to eat and I still have to input the right address into the GPS. Did I remember to grab all my paintbrushes from the last show? Hope so...

It's right before a test and I'm rushing across campus, about to make it to the classroom, but suddenly left shaking as I walk into the building. I have to check my blood sugar and make sure to treat it before going in. What if I forgot a snack in my backpack, or ate them already? What about when Physiology Lab runs late, it's 6 'o clock, and I'm low because I've had to skip dinner?

What about when you're at someone's house and they lovingly cook up a nice, delicious, warm batch of... pasta? They serve the plate for you? You can't weigh or measure it to get even a ballpark estimate of the carbs?
What if you suddenly realize you forgot your meter and insulin at home?

It's hectic. Diabetes complicates things, but I suppose that that's the nature of life. It's full of complications, but we move on. Overcome them. It's been nearly a year now --- one year with Diabetes, and it's hard for me to believe. Almost one year ago since I woke up in a hospital room and received news that forever changed my life, that forever changed me. Almost one year since I almost died. Almost one year since I've had a delicious XL 7-11 coke Slurpee.

Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten the disease. In a masochistic way I don't mind it, as it gives me a platform, something to stand up for. I like to talk about it. I like to share my experiences. But mostly I just wish that, one morning, I could wake up and be well again. I miss being healthy. I miss not having to live in Diabetes' constant shadow. I should be in charge of my body, not Diabetes.

But the simple fact is that I'm not. I'm not in charge anymore. I'm in charge of my treatment, sure - but when it comes down to it, I'm just here to try and fix everything that my body now messes up. Diabetes has changed things... a lot.
I don't want to think that I'll forget what it was like to live without my disease, to eat without testing my Blood Sugar, or never feeling the sting of an insulin needle in my skin, or having to worry about what foods will do to my blood sugar. To reminisce about what it would feel like to set the mental calculator aside and, for once, not look at the back of the packaging and see the nutrition label. To never have to keep the count the carbs in my head.
But sometimes I think I am forgetting. That kind of freedom is such a foreign concept to me now. I have dreams of eating a Chick Fil A sandwich and not having to so much as bolus for it. Eating a sandwich is something you take for granted until you suddenly can't do it anymore - not without insulin, anyways.

This life - this disease - has become my new reality for almost a year now, and like it or not, I'm in it for the long haul. My life is full of busy, but my schedule will have to make room for insulin shots, and testing, and lows or highs. But hey - I don't forget to count my blessings. At least I'm alive to complain about it. Because whether I like it or not, managing Diabetes has been, and will always be, better than my other option.

Etiquette Handbook: No One Ever Covered The "Giving Yourself Shots At The Table" Section

School has managed to engulf me once more, so my free time depends on how long I can put off the nagging "You should be doing something school-related" voice in my head. I wanted to blog about the scholarship luncheon two weeks ago, though, because I had this great blog post in my head that just disappeared as soon as I walked into my next Physiology class the following week.

It went like this:

The Scholarship Luncheon is hosted by Wesleyan and gives students with scholarships a chance to meet their specific donors, or "trustees". We all dress fancy, eat what is likely the same food being served in the cafeteria (just on fancier dishes) and get a chance to exercise our etiquette (which, in college, has likely gone sadly unused for quite some time.)

It is 12:06, and the scholarship luncheon starts at 12:30. I routinely check my blood sugar, fighting off the tiny shake of my hand. 62, and likely dropping. I sigh. I've just eaten a snack an hour earlier, and don't have anything left in my backpack. I walk up the steps to Candler Hall and figure I can hold myself together long enough to last until we eat. it can't be that long to wait, right? Inside, I receive my nametag and anxiously walk in my heels over to my assigned table. My stride is calm, as many years of entertaining screaming children in heels (AND a hoopskirt) will do to you. The table is covered in a pretty white tablecloth, with colorful carnations in a vase in the center. A basket of bread rolls, a slice of cheesecake, and cups of ominous looking liquid are set out in front of me. I sit down and take a small sip. Yep, sweet tea.

I stare at the food but know it would be rude to start eating before my donors even got to the table.

I wait a while, until a few more girls I know arrive at my table. Finally, my donor and his wife arrive. I greet them with a smile, standing to shake their hand and thank them for all they've done. We all sit down then, a blanket of awkward silence settling down for just a moment before we strike up a conversation. Mr. Bowen is to my left, and he asks me questions to which I politely answer as we wait for the luncheon to begin. Dean Fowler steps up to the podium, and speaks first. We have opening speeches from a few others before the Wesleyannes (I apologize if I spelled that wrong, Wesleyan people - I'm a Bio major, not a music one - ) began to sing.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The music is lovely, but the low is hovering around me, buzzing, annoying like a mosquito. I feel my head swimming and find my eyes lingering on the cheesecake. If only I could take a bite, I could stop feeling so bad ...

But it would be rude, wouldn't it?

Would it?

I didn't even know.

The songs are finally done, and more speeches resume. Finally, servers bring the food out. I try to wait patiently as I can, when all I want to do is yell to someone, "Please! I'm low and I need food now!" 


When the food does finally get in front of me, I am so low that the fork is shaking in my hand. I don't know what else to do. When I'm low, I get the need to just eat everything in sight. Carbs don't stand a chance. I engulf my food - the bread-crusted chicken and pasta - and leave the cheesecake alone, not wanting to tempt fate. I'm the first one to finish - likely in the whole building - and I look around, embarrassed, as I see others slowly working their way through still half-filled plates.

Well, at least I feel better now.

I exhale, feeling the low wearing off.

"You must have been hungry!" One of the students at my table remarked, staring at my empty plate. "You sure ate that fast!" My cheeks turn pink. "I'm Diabetic... " I try to explain. "I'm low, I can't help it, you see, I get all shaky and --" "Wow, someone must have missed breakfast this morning!" Mr. Bowen laughed. I turned to him, also trying to explain. "I have Diabetes," I say, but he doesn't hear me well. "I was low and I needed to eat..." I sigh and give up trying to explain. I sit, hands in my lap, waiting for everyone to finish.

Meanwhile I stare at my insulin pen, which lies on the table. I'm in a dress, my arms are covered by sleeves, I have on tights, and I don't know where I can give myself insulin. Is it even polite? I take the cap off the needle and try to give myself a shot in the stomach through the dress. It's hard - it's a lot of thick fabric to work through. "Ouch," I mutter to myself, trying to inject myself, but through the dress it just plain hurts. I look around, having no idea where a restroom would be where I could excuse myself. I shake my head, cap the pen, and throw it into my backpack. Guess I would just have to wait.

After a few more speeches, more conversation, and watching everyone else get to devour their cheesecake as I worriedly fret over what the breaded chicken has done to my blood sugar, the event concludes. It is 2:30. I've eaten an hour ago. I get up, setting my napkin on the table, and gather my things. I thank the Bowen's once again for how generous they have been to me and quickly rush out of the building to check my blood sugar. It ends up at 112, almost too good to be true, when I check it at 3:00.

It's been a long ordeal. You think you have Diabetes down, until life throws you curveballs which send you reeling. Forgetting your meter and insulin at Christmas lunch, not realizing it, and come to find out the chocolate covered pretzels have a lot more carbs than you expected. Driving 2 hours to Atlanta to find out that, yes, you've forgotten your meter and insulin again. Being paranoid about every bead of sweat, every slightly more than normal paced heartbeat, or feeling of thirst. Birthday parties where Princess Belle looks ridiculous drenched in sweat but can't start scarfing glucose tabs and rice cakes in the middle of The Chicken Dance in front of onlooking parents.

And formal events. With dresses. In all my etiquette lessons, no one ever covered the "giving yourself shots at the table" section.

(In all my expertise, maybe I should be the first.)

Back Away From The Low-Carb Ice Cream, and Nobody Will Get Hurt

I am misunderstood. 

No, this isn't the angst of the everyday over-dramatic, pity-party of one teenager.

I don't feel unwanted, mistreated or neglected.

I don't feel like the world had done me wrong, and that "no one understands me".

But there is a part of me that many don't understand - my Diabetes. 

There's a lot of things I am not - weak, sick, depressed, angry at life's circumstances.
There's a lot of things I am - healthy, filled with love for life, happy, strong... and frustrated. 

I'm at the point where usually I go into a conversation already expecting someone to make some kind of uneducated comment about my Diabetes.

"You got Diabetes because you didn't take care of yourself."

"It must suck cooking and not being able to eat any of it!"

"Oh right, you can't have any of the Brownies, can you? Sucks for you."
"Ugh, please don't do that right next to me. Can't you go do that in private or something?"

"I can't stand needles. I don't know how you do it."

How do I do it? Umm, how about, what's the alternative? Death? Sound good to you?

You might not have that much respect for your life, but I can guarantee that I have enough for the both of us. And as long as I take each blessed breath that God gives me, that Christ allows me to live yet another day, I will fight for the precious life that I have been given. I refuse to just give up because life handed me something unexpected. My life is harder, sure, the needles hurt me and insulin stings and makes my skin sensitive sometimes. I get bruises whenever I give myself a shot in the arm, my fingertips are nothing but ugly, pinpricked calluses and I'm sick of people staring at me like I'm a heroine addict in a restaurant. I hate counting my carbs, having to guess and worry about the world-spinning, falling-out-from-underneath-me feeling of a low or the hit-by-a-bus feeling of a high. Sure, it sucks, but it would suck a lot less if people could just keep their ignorant comments to themselves.

"Oh, you're one of those health freaks?" A man serving food to me at the mall sneered at me when I made a comment to my father about the chicken being low carb. I stared at him for a second, chewing my lip and pondering how to tell him off. "I have Diabetes," I told him, giving him a glare. "So yeah. I guess you could say I am one of those "health freaks".

"You're actually looking at the nutrition information?" My Zaxby's server asked, laughing at me. Lighten up, one meal isn't going to make you fat!" 

"You're still on insulin? I'm already off that stuff," an older woman tells me in the grocery store. "I control my Diabetes by diet and exercise. If you'd take better care of yourself, you could, too." 

I'm sick of it. I've said it before, no, I don't want pity - I just want people to be educated. If you don't know about my disease, just ask. I'll happily tell you about it. But don't just assume things, don't just say comments to me that are likely to piss me off because you really don't know what you're talking about. 

I know it sounds harsh, but I don't deal with multiple shots a day just for people to tell me I'm not taking good enough care of myself or that I'm not allowed to have a bite of cake. News flash: Sugar won't kill me. Sometimes, though, I think that might be easier - that way I wouldn't have to disprove all the Diabetes police when they come after me, trying to take away my ice cream and chocolate!

It simply feels that no matter how hard you work at controlling your Diabetes, people always seem to find something about your disease to criticize.

If you aren't one of those people - I thank you.
If you are - just go eat your bolus-free milkshake and hush up!

Happy Belated Diabetes Awareness Month!

It's 16 days into November, and I should have written sooner. But of course, I'm a College student and there's lots to do. Here I am, though, and in November I am officially in my element - it's Diabetes Awareness Month. It's funny how last November I would not have even given a thought to Diabetes Awareness Month. I had never heard of it, let alone thought that one day it would mean so much to me. My goal this month? Simply to further my efforts to spread awareness about this disease to as many people as I can. I've said it before, and here I will say it again: I don't want pity. I simply want as many people as possible to understand and educate themselves about, most specifically, Type 1 Diabetes.

Oh, Diabetes. What a life changer it has been. I've come a long way since April 3rd, 2011. Looking on the calendar it doesn't seem so long ago, but these last months have been a lifetime to me. I've gone from needle-terrified to needle-junkie, I don't even blink at the thought of testing my BG, and eating a bowl of pasta or drinking a milkshake are to be considered amongst my greatest accomplishments.

Diabetes... I still hate you. I look back and am proud of myself for living alongside of you, fighting you, not letting you get in the way of my life or my happiness. But I have those bad days, too. I hate when you selfishly put yourself first. I am sad inside when I'm suffering from a low, my entire world crashing down on me, and not a single person even notices. I don't like it when people stereotype me. When waitresses think I'm snobby because I ask for the carb counts of the food. When I take forever to order when eating out, not because I mean to but because I have to find something with a feasible amount of carbs... I miss my freedom. Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and falling asleep sounds so nice - but wait, I forgot my Lantus. I need to check my blood sugar. That means I have to crawl over to the sink and wash my hands. Put a new needle on the insulin pen. Oh, and by the way, when's the last time I changed the lancet? Uhh, October? I'm annoyed by people thinking me odd for eating lots of vegetables when I'm in the dining hall. Truth be told in a way it's because I'm lazy. I don't feel like counting carbs, and I just want something thoughtless and easy, something foolproof that I know won't raise my blood sugar much. I don't want to play Russian Roulette with my Blood Sugars because I don't know how many carbs are in the fried macaroni and cheese or the pizza or the french fries. I don't feel like guessing and then suffering for it later. And the skin on my stomach and arms hurts from pricking it so much.

Sigh.

This November, I will wear blue on Fridays. I will acknowledge the millions of others fighting this fight with me. Diabetes isn't merely just a month on the calendar, though. For those with it, we know that it is year-round, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, every second of our lives. Diabetes affects nearly every single thing that I do, sometimes without my even realizing it now. It becomes habitual to put a snack in my purse, or grab my meter before walking out the door, or plan what I'll eat at my meals ahead of time based on my blood sugars. I'm not used to it... I will never be. I've adjusted to it, though. I've adapted my life around learning to do what's necessary to survive with a life-threatening disease.

Diabetes is my life - I'm crazy about it and I blog about it, talk to others about it and complain about my blood sugars and the stereotypes occasionally. But it's because I'm passionate about it. I have to be. Living with Diabetes, it is essential that you have something to live for. Something to help you perk up, something greater than your disease, something to get you through those bad times and during the good times make you remember why you chose to fight for your life, each and every day. And ironically enough, Diabetes has become a part of that "something to live for" mentality. I am proud to have something to stand for. To be able to stand beside others who fight this same struggle and long with all of our hearts for the very same thing: a cure. Ok, well, in spirit at least. I've still yet to find another Type 1. But the Type 1 Community out there is huge, and has a way of making you feel like a part of something even from a distance. I am a part of something. I fight Diabetes, and one day, maybe, after a cure is found I will be able to say that I am a survivor of Diabetes.

Diabetes is not my whole life - but certainly a part of it. And I will fight, not just this November, but every month of every year. Because that is our goal: that, someday, there will be an end to this, a cure. I have to believe that. I want to grow up and tell my children about the "dark ages" of living with Diabetes, when I had to check my blood sugars five times a day. I want to laugh as I tell them that, yes, I actually had to give myself shots at every meal and sometimes in between! I want it to be one of those things that may have been terrible at the time, but ends up being something I can look back on from a distance and see how much it's helped me grow. I've got to expect the worst and hope for the best - maybe a cure won't ever be found. Maybe, with my luck, the day after I die they'll have found one. I don't know. As badly as I want to be cured, I've come to terms with the possibility it might not happen. I want a cure terribly, but if I never get one? I'll be okay. I'll keep on living, keep on fighting, keep on hoping that someday it will happen. Always. Maybe I'll never be able to say I'm a "survivor" of Diabetes. But I'm not a victim, either. Every day I live with Diabetes I become a survivor. Each and every morning I wake up, I've survived another day. It's not the same as a cure, but still it's no small thing.

Happy Belated Diabetes Awareness Month, everyone - and don't forget to wear blue on Fridays!

From Knight to Pirate... Wait, Are You Sure This Is College?

I think a little bit of the stress is getting to me. I haven't quite felt myself lately, though this week I've been markedly better.

I've come to learn that stress always comes in waves. It's rarely a little bit here, a little but there, but rather it builds up all at once and pummels you at full force. This is how I felt lately. There's been so much on my mind. I apologize if this blog seems like it comes off as a rant, but, well, I suppose it is.

Organic Chemistry stresses me out. I think our professor wants to see us fail. She'll give out practice quizzes before our quiz, make us think we are prepared, then give us a quiz about nothing we've gone over in class. I am doing okay in this class for now but maintaining that "okay" status is going to make me in for a rough 2 months. I want out of this class. With a passing grade. December cannot come soon enough.

Thinking about where to go to Grad School - balancing location with finance - is stressful. You may think it's a little early to be considering this but apparently it's not. Change of plans. Registration for Spring Semester is coming up. My summer counselor at Wesleyan had previously convinced me that graduating in 3 years was a good idea. I would have more time to finish my classes, be less stressed, etc. Wesleyan's organizes its students by a class system that puts every new incoming class into one of 4 different classes. Right now it is Golden Hearts 2015, Purple Knights 2014, Red Pirates 2013, and Green Knights 2012. After the Senior Green Knights graduate this year our next incoming class will be the new Green Knight Class of 2016, next incoming class will be the Pirates of 2017, and so on. So graduating in 3 years made me a Purple Knight. But I looked over the list of classes this week that I need to graduate with my biology major, only to realize that I am easily going to finish my requirements in two years. I love Wesleyan dearly already but there's truly no point in staying, and paying for, another year that I do not need. Academically I will not feel challenged - I'll feel like I'm simply floating along. Financially I don't need to be paying for another unnecessary year when I could put that money towards grad school. I have a goal, and Wesleyan is simply a stepping stone on the way to the big picture. With this said, today I talked with my counselor and decided that I would be a Junior, graduate in 2013, and thus become a "Pirate".

So... I know this is going to be a stressful next year and a half. Being a College Junior slates me for picking out grad schools, applying and taking my GRE this time next year. I need to come up with a game plan, and I have little time to lose. One one side it hardly seems fair that I have just finished working out the stress of getting into Undergrad and now have to worry about the what comes next already. It's exhausting. And I'm scared. Did I just make a huge mistake? How am I going to make the right decision on which school I go to? I want to go to school in Atlanta but is the hefty price I will pay in student loans worth it? How can I make Grad School fit into the rest of my life, my plans outside of school? What is the best choice? What do I do?

The matter of Diabetes as well as In-State Residency really stresses me out. As I said above, I do want to go to Graduate School in Atlanta. It is a good fit for me; my entertainment business is working out really well. Most of my work is in Atlanta and I have to drive there just about every weekend as it is. In over a year I will have formed a clientele base with a job that I can maintain all throughout college. It brings in good money, and since it is only weekends, I do not have to worry about it conflicting too much with school - any other job might very well be out of the question due to the time and academic rigor that Graduate School will prove to be. My two main interests so far are Mercer's Doctorate of Physical Therapy program, which is located in Atlanta, and Georgia State University's. Georgia State University has great prices... for in state students. Mercer is private so I don't pay out of state fees, but, it costs nearly $9000 a semester for a three year program. So is it worth it to pay a high price at Mercer for a good name? After all, GSU tuition is half that. But becoming an in-state resident is complicated as I do not have an actual, non-college, address of my own with which to register to vote, get a license, register a vehicle, etc. And I really don't want to go back to Florida. Nothing against my family or friends who I love, but I literally just left and I don't want to come back quite so soon. To complicate matters is my ever-so-understanding chronic disease. Oh, Diabetes, how you irk me. Medicaid is going to run out on October 13th, 2012 when I turn 19, like it or not. And until I graduate Grad School and get a job that provides me health care finances are going to be a stretch. And though this probably sounds way too dramatic and I know in a few years things will be okay, just getting through College alive... literally... seems way more imposing than taking Physics I and II next year seems now, which basically means I'm scared out of my mind. (Especially if Grad School requires me to have health insurance like Wesleyan does. I could get the College health care, but, it is practically useless to a person with a disease such as myself. Y'know - a person who actually would need to use it to buy unimportant things such as insulin, and see a doctor, and such.) And until then, I still have Florida Medicaid and haven't seen a Dr. since June, making my Diabetes treatment far more difficult than it normally would be. Guessing how much insulin you need and what your insulin-to-carb ratio, while it changes sometimes on a weekly basis, is extremely difficult to do. And those grey zones when I have no Doctor's advice as to what to do insures that my Blood Sugar is suffering for it.

So with all of the stress of life right now... I try to be positive. I am anxious, but on the other side I am so elated to see my dreams play out. I've worked so hard and poured so many long hours into my education. You have no idea all the time I have sacrificed, all of the exhaustion I have put myself through, all of the hard work I have pushed myself to do. I have pushed my limits further than I would have thought possible before I began college back in Junior Year of High School, at 15. And it's been such a difficult journey, but never once has it not felt worth it. Some people may criticize me for perhaps rushing college too much, but I have never let their criticism get to me. I have done what I think is right for me, what I have deigned to be the best decision. It has not necessarily been the easy route, and I am bypassing a lot of experiences because of the choices I have made, but this is where I'm supposed to be. I feel like I am at the right place, at just the right time. God's timing is, after all, so perfect. And to feel so close to my goal of getting my 4-year degree - and moving on to the final step, Graduate School - gives me a rare occasion to feel proud of myself. I was a two-year college graduate at 17, and I am going to finish my four year degree at 19. Many people at my age haven't even graduated High School yet; I'm about to go to Graduate School in just a short amount of time.
There are just so many things to think about, talk about, and pray about right now. These last few days I have been praying and praying and I know that God is with me, helping me. I have prayed for inner peace, respite from my restless mind and that he will make apparent to me where I want to be. Things will work out, and I have the rest of this school year to decide all of the important things and smooth out the details. This all is such a big deal for me. These decisions are going to impact my entire life. It won't be easy, but I always knew that this journey wouldn't be easy. God has created me just capable enough of handling what needs to be done.

I'd Just DIE!

I receive a text from Travis around 1 on Tuesday asking if I want to go to the Braves game that night. Travis is Joshua's best friend and it's not uncommon for them to trade girlfriends with each other for short periods of time. "That would be really fantastic!" I text back. I've never been to a Baseball game before. We make plans for Travis to pick me up at Wesleyan after work. I go to dinner early and have just enough time to eat before Travis texts me he's on his way. Unlike Florida, that means he's about 10 minutes away, max. I put my plates away then rush over to my dorm to grab my stuff - insulin and meter being the most important things, of course. I meet Travis out by the front porch of Hightower and climb into his massive Red Ford. The trip to Atlanta is surprisingly fast; the traffic is especially good for 5pm. I'm excited as I take in all of the new sights and surroundings; "HILLS!" I exclaim happily, as if they are the most wonderful thing in the world. Travis laughed at me but I just thought that they looked so beautiful; they even made the traffic look pretty, one long string of lights moving through the curvature of the land.

We arrive at Turner Field amongst the pre-game rush of pushing crowds and shouting security guards. We make our way across the street to the entrance to the stadium and meet up with Travis' brother and some other people. Travis takes me around the stadium, showing me its odd quirks such as the giant Chick-fil-A cow with the arm that makes chopping motions whenever the Braves score, and the giant chairs situated near the top of the stadium. We go back down to our seats at around 7:10 and the game begins. I have to admit; I'm not a baseball fan, but baseball is so much more exciting to watch when it's in person! I loved the experience of people watching, being part of a crowd, and feeling like a part of the excitement. I loved all of the unique, delicious smells of the food, seeing people on the live cam, and actually being able to take a legit interest in the teams' scores (the Braves only scored one Home Run, sadly.)

I was glad that I had gone, and thankful that Travis had offered to take me. After the game's conclusion we headed back to the truck. Traffic wasn't bad and we made it back to I-75 rather quickly. On the way back my stomach grumbles. It's been since 4:30 that I've eaten anything and it's almost 11PM. "I'm sooo hungry, but, I really shouldn't eat anything because of my blood sugar... hmm." Travis suggests Waffle House, which is never something I can turn down!

After getting back to Zebulon in Macon we sit down at Waffle House. I perused the menu. Pointlessly, I might add - I'd only ever gotten one thing at Waffle House, and that, humbly enough, was a waffle. Both Travis and I request unsweet tea, and I ask for the little artificial sugar packets and whether they have sugar free syrup. The waitress gets me both and I happily sip my tea as we wait for our food to come up. I take out my meter and test my Blood Sugar - 146, better than it's been - and pull out my Novolog for later.

"Do you have Diabetes?" The waitress practically shouted when she returned. I moved to face her. "I do," I said, eying my insulin pen, the scattered Sweet 'n Low sugar packets on the table, and the sugar free syrup sitting inches away. Right. How could you possibly guess? "You're too young to have Diabetes, sweetie!" She tells me disapprovingly. My feathers ruffle. "It's not Type 2..." I say to empty air, as she walks away just then. "Ugh. That annoys me so much," I tell Travis, who is sitting right across from me. He laughs and tells me I shouldn't leave my insulin pen out if I don't want people to make a conversation about it. He's right, but most people never even notice my insulin, let alone make a comment about it. To them it just appears to be an odd-looking pen. Either way, I put the insulin pen away into my purse. I don't care if people comment about my Diabetes. In fact, I usually love talking about it. But it's the ignorant comments that get to me, that common myth in circulation about how all Diabetics got their disease from obesity or unhealthy living.

The waitress comes back over. "I guess Diabetes doesn't discriminate, does it!" She says to me. "Does it, huh?!" My face is the picture of blankness - well, I try to make it so. "Yeah." I say stiffly in reply. She sets down our food - waffle and butter for me, and Travis' order. "I tell you what," she goes on, "If I didn't have to take a pill for my Diabetes, I'd die! I'd just die! If I had to give myself those insulin shots, why, I'd just have to die." "Well, it's not like I really have many other options," I mumble, annoyed. "I know a girl who I work with that has to give herself insulin shots," The waitress says again. "If I couldn't take pills instead, I'd die!" She said, again, and walks away.

The waitress irked me. Call me touchy but I felt like her comments were ignorant if not slightly insulting. One of the first things that people always tell me when I tell them about having to give myself insulin shots each day is, "I could never do that. I'd just die." This just makes me go completely D-Postal sometimes. (See Kerri's blog post for the definition to my new favorite Diabetes-Word!) I feel as if people too often criticize me for my decision to live with Diabetes and my doing what it takes to treat it. As if there aren't so many other things they could criticize a person for, they choose that. More than once people have told me they don't understand why on Earth I'd ever choose to deal with living with Diabetes and its respective downsides. "YOU DON'T GET IT," I want to shout. Why on Earth wouldn't you choose life? Diabetes is a terrible disease to live with, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I hate Diabetes, and I hate what Diabetes does to me. (See previous blog post on Diabetes' and I's tumultuous relationship.) There's not a day goes by that Diabetes doesn't fail to make me feel crappy in some way, whether it's through a particularly debilitating low Blood Sugar, or three in one day, a BG of 436 that leaves me feeling like failure about myself for the rest of the day, the sting of a needle, seeing my supply of highly expensive, life-saving drugs dwindle, remembering that I can't just go drink a flipping milkshake or randomly snack when I want anymore, or just being really darn sick of having a Chronic Disease.

But the end point is, despite how much it completely, inevitably blows to live with Diabetes, it's worth it. Why?

Because I have something greater to live for than myself.


I have a man that loves me, a fantastic family, and a God that has a plan for me that is so special and unique in its own way, whatever it may be. I have beautiful Fall Days, chocolate rice cakes, Waffle House and quiet mornings by the Lake. And maybe that waitress didn't get it. Maybe all of the people that criticize my choice, my recognition of the absolute privilege that life is, don't understand at all. Diabetes isn't worth giving my life for. Diabetes doesn't deserve that satisfaction, that victory. My life is greater than Diabetes, and it always will be.

I wolf down my waffle - I'm super hungry and it's delicious - and Travis finishes his food. We leave, and Travis drops me back off at Wesleyan. "Thanks so much again!" I tell him. I had had a great time that night, and you know what? Diabetes hadn't made it any less wonderful. Not in the least.

Cheating Diabetes

Diabetes is very smart. It always seems to know just when I try to cheat it. I decided to eat a 26 carb oatmeal cream pie as my 15-30 grams of carbs snack? Great, let's just make life difficult for Lacy and throw in a 203 BG. Oh, oh, you wanted ramen noodles for dinner because you're a poor college student? Guess again, Diabetes don't care how poor you are. 255!
Diabetes is also a raging hypocrite. I decided not to Bolus for my shell-less taco salad from QDoba? Come on, that guac had some carbs in it. But my BG is a perfect 92 afterwards. I decided to have a 32 carb apple for snack? Won't even send my BG over 120. A non-bolused for steak dinner with vegetables? It somehow seems to break some sort of unsaid law that my BG would be 82, 2 hours later.

The conclusion I have is thus: Having Type 1 Diabetes is not easy for a College Student. The dilemma is the fact that I have limited funds and thus minimal access to healthy foods. A hamburger is 99 cents, yet a salad on the same menu is $6. Apples and peaches are $1.25 a pound, and yet an entire box of Zebra Cakes is $1.50. So how do I manage my Diabetes well, eating healthy food whilst surviving on a small budget? Well, some of the times, I fail. That is the first thing that I have had to come to terms with. Sometimes, no matter how well I attempt to manage my Diabetes, my blood sugars will not always be what I want them to be.  But this doesn't mean that I'm necessarily set up for failure forever. There is some wiggle room for success in there somewhere. Over the past few months I have compiled a couple of tips to add to my Diabetic Survival Guide.

1.) Minimize snacking with 0 carb drinks.
This is a big one for me. I am a snacker, always have been and always will, and my eating habits can often be compared to that of a small bird. I don't necessarily eat much, but I like to munch on all kinds of things. Cookie Dough, lunch meat, peanut butter, you name it - not much is safe from me in the kitchen, or from on somebody else's plate. I've had an extremely hard time combating my snacking habits ever since getting home from the hospital in April. My solution? Drinks. They are both a great way to stay hydrated and prevent mindless snacking. Soda was one of the easiest things for me to give up since getting Diabetes. I was never much of a soda drinker, and liked to try other, healthier alternatives. Thankfully, this was and is easy because there are many other options open to someone watching to lower their sugar/carb intake. Over the past few months I have become something of a drink connoisseur, perusing the store isles looking for new anti-snack weapons. Amongst my favorites are these:

(As well as plain Diet Coke and Coke Zero products)

This much underrated Diet drink is one of the best and most normal tasting I have tried so far.

This one unfortunately is always very difficult for me to find but it one of my favorites.

So, you see, there are many low carb options available whether you're just tired of plain water or would like to try something new and healthy for a change. These options are relatively inexpensive, last a good while, and are great to both minimize the amount of food you eat *and* help me control my blood sugars even better!

2. Eggs

Perhaps this second tip seems strange to you, its being in a category all its own. However, eggs have become so important to me that I feel as if they deserve their own paragraph dedicated solely to their greatness. Eggs have literally been a Diabetic lifesaver for me. The perfect College staple. Now before you go all Diabetes-Police on me and tell me how bad it is for my cholesterol to eat several eggs a day, hear me out. I am of the belief that just because you eat high cholesterol foods, that doesn't necessarily mean that it is going to make your cholesterol high. Smoking gives me a greater risk of cardiovascular problems than eggs do. Eating a sugary cereal is going to have a worse effect on my blood sugar than nutrient-filled eggs. It's always felt wrong to me to limit the consumption of something so simple, healthy and natural as an egg. In fact, there are few studies that can prove that one or two eggs a day have any negative affect on your cholesterol levels. And why the heck would I go through all the trouble of trying to remove the yolk from the egg and only eat the white? Then I'm left with a pitiful excuse for a meal and practically no egg!
The benefits of eggs are thus: they fit into my budget at $1.67 for a dozen large eggs at Walmart, they are full of protein and other good nutrients, and they keep me full and feeling satisfied longer than other less healthy foods. Furthermore, there are so many options for eating eggs! You can make omelets, boil, scramble or fry them, make an egg sandwich, put them in salad, or eat them with toast covered in cinnamon and truvia. Eggs are the best!

3. Lists

When I make lists, my life falls into place. Lists help me keep my life in order and, if you know Diabetics, you know that our whole life seems to be about creating order out of faulty pancreas-induced chaos. Keeping some kind of structure in my life has always been important to me, but since my diagnosis it has become more important that ever. I keep a planner with a list of daily things to do, monthly engagements, and goals. One of the first items that will go in my dorm is a white board and bulletin board to hang important things and make a list of important priorities. I keep a schedule - either on paper or in my head - of meal times, snack times, insulin/medication times, and of course, class times. I make lists of my favorite meals and snacks in order to feel as if I have more options to choose from when eating, such as:

Tomato Sandwiches

Eggs, of course!

Most any form of sandwich

Chocolate rice cakes. 60 calories and 12 carbs, and great with peanut butter or strawberry cream cheese!

Low Carb and in their own bag, so I don't overeat.

Peanut Butter and Bananas is healthy, delicious and filling. Haven't tried it with bread yet but I bet it'd make a great sandwich!

Only 100 calories and 21 carbs... Josh even agrees these are delicious, despite their being "healthy" foods.

4. The Subtle Art of Exercise 

I have gone through many exercise-healthy phases in my life both before and after being Diabetic, most notably when I used to run 10 laps around the track at the school behind my house every day all Summer long. Conversely I also go through phases of sluggishness when I do not wish to exercise at all. This Summer is one of these such sluggish phases, which has not gone unnoticed by my Blood Sugars. But I can't just be a couch potato all day, even with the insane heat outside as my cover-up excuse. Trips to Walmart, whether to grocery shop or just to gallivant and add items to Joshua and I's wishlists, is a great way to get out of the apartment and lower my blood sugar. Taking Coein the Beagle on walks to explore the area around Statesboro is another great way to fit in some exercise. Laundry, vacuuming, washing dishes, moving furniture and other household chores make the Diabetes Gods smile upon me. Swimming is both a great way to work on my tan and get exercise. So, even if I am not necessarily running on the treadmill, I can still manage to fit some activity in and keep my blood sugars in check.

Keeping a tab on my Diabetes can be tough during the lazy months of Summer. Hopefully, with practice and a list of good habits, I'll be able to succeed... and if not, well, no pressure. Summer's end is right around the corner. 

Taking Time To Stop and Smell The Insulin

"I'm hungry," Joshua leans over and tells me as we lounge on the couch watching television. It's 101 degrees outside and feels like 150, and it's all we can do to escape the heat by not going out into it at all. My stomach growls in agreeance as we sit and ponder our options. I get out my CalorieKing book to count carbs for all of the local food joints, reading out the options available to two poor college students. "Let's see... Arby's isn't too bad on carbs. A regular roast beef sandwich only has 37 carbs," I tell him. "Yeah, but I don't like that guy on the Arby's commericial!" I laugh. "Okay then. There's Sonic, Krystal, Moe's, Taco Bell... Chick Fil A... I add, hopefully - being a homeschooler for several years having rendered me a loyal Chick fil A addict for life. Joshua doesn't share my enthusiasm for Eat More Chikin. Instead he gasps the name of the one place even I hold above Chick Fil A: "Zaxby's!", he exclaims.

We arrive at Zaxby's during what was apparently the entire city of Statesboro's lunch hour; contrary to Orlando, there was only about one of each restaurant in the city, versus multiple ones on the same street as I was used to back home. Thus, the drive-thru and restaurant were packed. We were not deterred, though. We found parking for my truck in the back and weaved our way between drive thru cars to get inside. It smelled wonderful. I usually get the sweet and spicy buffalo wings but opted for a daring change by getting Teryaki buffalo wings instead, and a Diabetic-friendly unsweet tea. The thing that I love about Zaxby's is that, besides the awesome food, there is one fact that stands to make it even better: The buffalo chicken wings have only 8 carbs! In turn, I can indulge in my Zaxby-loving basically as often as I like as long as it is not Birthday Cake Milkshake season, which, alas, it is no longer.

Joshua nabs us a table and I excuse myself to the restroom to wash my hands and test my blood sugar. It is 115 despite my 30-carb, non-bolused for granola bar snack an hour and a half earlier and I smile happily. Zaxby's and great blood sugar? What more could I ask for!

I chug my unsweet iced tea with fervor and sidle over to the drink counter to refill. Our order is called, I grab a heap of napkins for my spill-prone self and a couple for Joshua, and sit down at the table. I eye the new chicken a little speculatively but decide it still looks delicious. The group of two people in front of us Joshua coincidentally recognizes because they often stop by the gas station where he works. Joshua and I are beginning to think that he knows practically everybody in Statesboro due to his job. So far he's met a locksmith who made me a spare key to the apartment, a nice College guy who invited us to the local Church in Statesboro, and several of the cops who frequent the 301 on dark Friday evenings (thus we know all of the speed traps in town). Joshua gets into a coversation with them while I "do my thing" -- My Diabetes thing, that is. I know that I don't necessarily have to bolus for my chicken due to its low carbs, but I decide to be good and give myself a unit to cover myself. By now I don't even think twice about pulling my insulin pen out of my purse and giving myself a shot. I am oblivious to onlookers and what they might think of me. Crack Hoe? No. Heroin addict? Guess again. Just your friendly neighborhood Diabetic, people. I give myself a shot in my arm and wince as it bleeds a little more than I'd like. "Ouch," I remark to Joshua. "It's left a bruise again." It hurt, but this wasn't too unexpected. If I ever bruise from my insulin shots, it's usually on my arm, where there is less fat than on the rest of my body. Yesterday, on the other hand, I accidentally gave myself an insulin shot too fast (despite Joshua's warning me) as I was in a hurry to grab my vanilla ice cream cone from the server at Sonic. Serves me right, I suppose. I now had an unsightly black bruise on my stomach to attest to my impatience. Luckily this bruise was only sore and a shade of lovely light blue; very difficult to notice even despite my failed attempts at tanning my pale, pale skin.

I swipe a french fry from Joshua's plate while he is distracted (I'm a grazer - he expects it by now) and dig into my chicken, which proves to be delicious. Joshua's friend remarks on my insulin shot and Joshua tells him I am Diabetic. Type 1, of course. I love having Joshua around to explain my situation for me when all I want to do is eat my food in peace... not talk about my frustrating illness. The man was very polite and earnest though, and I found that in his case I did not mind. We went on to discuss my troubles with Health Insurance and Medicaid. I also gave the websites of two places where you could buy college textbooks for really cheap to his friend, who was starting at Georgia Southern in the fall. The lady next to us, who worked at the hospital, chimed in about how difficult the health insurance companies could be. And then perhaps the icing on the cake was when an older man with greying hair came up to me. He said, "Excuse me, miss. I couldn't help - well, I couldn't help but notice you giving yourself an injection." I glance at my insulin pen, suddenly remembering how strange it must seem to other people, this glimpse of a world that most do not even ever pause to think about. A shy looking red haired girl comes up next to him. "Are you Diabetic?" He asks. I smile a little sadly and nod. "Type 1." He tells me, "My daughter was just diagnosed with Type 1. In April." I cannot help but mention that I, too, was diagnosed in April. "How old are you?" I inquire, and she tells me she is 13. "I'm 17," I say. "It came late for me," I remark, my eyes reflecting the tiniest fraction of pain. "Still on injections?" I ask her. She nods. I smile and say, "Me too. It's definitely not easy," I tell her, my eyes filled with respect for this young girl who fights with the same monsters and struggles of this disease that I do.

The father and his daughter leave, but I cannot help but feel comforted. She is one of the few Type 1's that I have ever met. I hate the fact that others must suffer with this disease, I really do. If my getting Diabetes has kept some other individual from getting the disease instead, then I will gladly bear this burden all of my life in their place.

But sometimes it's just simply so uplifting to stop and be reminded that in this lifelong fight I am not alone. And once more, in spite of the struggle it has become merely to remain alive each day, I am thankful.



* Note: Insulin smells disgusting, by the way. I highly recommend that you don't actually try and smell it.

I Survived CVS and All I Got Was This Box of Needles

This week I find myself increasingly in wonder over the fact that with all of this stress my blood sugar levels have managed to not fly through the roof. This post is designed to be a well-needed breather from amidst the depths of my hectic last week in Florida.

My pre-moving to-do list is about 5 pages long and about every bit as complicated as it sounds. Truck maintenance, ordering party supplies for work, completing my college shopping list, errands up the yin-yang...

Seriously, when I first got on Summer Break I thought it was about the greatest thing ever to be able to spend the whole day to myself just running around, doing errands instead of doing tests and essays for school. I thought exactly that: "Wow, this is great! No school, no essays, no nothing. It's so nice to just be able to spend a day with myself, running around. OMG I'm a graduate. Life can't get much better than this. I wish that I could do this more often."
Let me just take this paragraph to say that I no longer feel this way and that if I have to spend another day of doing errands that I will most likely take a nosedive off of the closest multistory building I can find, since Florida couldn't be bothered to have some actual mountains.

On top of that, I've come to the marvelous conclusion that when people actually manage to get things done on time, it makes things run oh-so much more smoothly. Conversely, when people do not get things done on time, it  makes things get very messed up and needlessly SEVERAL TIMES MORE COMPLICATED.

Proven:
Last week I went into CVS to get my prescription from my Endo filled. 200 test strips, 100 needles, a package of Ketostix, 100 lancets, 2 Lantus Insulin pens, and 2 Novolog Pens. Simple enough, right? Wrong. Turns out the people at my CVS are "special people".

Enter Lacy into CVS: "Hi, I've never done this before. I'm dropping off a prescription."
Lady glances at me. Smiles harmlessly, giving no indication of the nightmare soon to follow. "Your name?"
I figured I'd spell it out to make it easy, even though my name is not a difficult name to spell.
"L-A-C-Y-B-A-L-L."
Confused look from Pharmacist woman.
"Ball is part of your first name? What's your last?"
Hmm. Lacyball. Nope. Not really feeling it.
I shake my head.
"No, Ball is my last name. Lacy is my first."
"Ok. And your insurance?"
"I don't have insurance. Do you take Medicaid?"
"Of course. Is it an HMO or just straight Medicaid?"
"Just straight Medicaid. Here's the card. Do you know what the Co-Pay is?"
"Umm... I don't know. When do you want to pick this prescription up?" She asks, handing me back my card.
I shrug. CVS is 5 minutes down the street. "That depends. When can I pick this prescription up?"
"Is 2 p.m. ok? I'll call you."
"Sure." I said. I didn't realize it was so fast, and I felt rather pleased. Was it really this easy?"

No. I should have taken a hint when I never received a phone call.

"They won't call you," Mom says. "Just go in and pick it up."
So the next day I head into CVS to pick up my prescription.
"Here's everything, but we're waiting on a confirmation for the Novolog and the Ketostix are on hold."
Okay, no problem. Lovely.
"Thanks," I say. "The Co-Pay is what?" "There is no Co-Pay," The pharmacist says. I felt guilty, letting taxpayers foot the bill for my pricey medications. But I knew I'd contribute to society and not always be a worthless College Student. Someday. So I am pleasantly surprised as I leave CVS.

The next day I go in to check and see if I can get my Novolog. It is, after all, Insulin, and thus essential to life.
The pharmacist greets me. "Hi, are you picking up a prescription?"
"Hopefully. I came in Yesterday. Well, and the day before. Is the Novolog in?"
The pharmacist checks. "Nooo... still in hold."
"Err, okay. So what do I do to get it off hold?"
"Umm, I don't know. We're just waiting for the Doctor to approve it with Medicaid."
"Do you know how long that will take?"
The pharmacist shrugs. "I'm not sure, m'am."

This scenario continues all throughout the week. And all throughout this week. Now I have been to CVS so many times that the pharmacists all greet and address me by name. They ask me when I am going to start working there. I blush as I tell them, "I've been in here so much, you probably think I'm a Druggie!"

But even though I deserve a gold star for perfect attendance, still no luck with the Novolog. I went back to the Endo for my appointment yesterday and we figured out, apparently my HMO (once approved) will cover Novolog, but straight Medicaid won't cover it. It covers Humalog, which is basically the same insulin, just a different brand. Tomato, Tomoto. My Endo comes back into the Doctor's room with a bag full of samples for me to tide me over. I felt like a little kid at Christmas. My mom thinks it's weird that I get excited about new Diabetes supplies, but the other Diabetic Doctor Ladies at the office swear they get the same way. Then she switched my prescription to Humalog pens, and gave me another prescription for 300 pen needles, since, using about 4-5 a day, I go through 100 fast. My new nifty Humalog pen actually looks like a nice, really fancy and expensive pen (accurate enough, seeing as insulin does cost a not-so-small fortune), and it takes refillable pen cartridges instead of being disposable.

So I take my new prescription back to CVS, blushing a little again that I am back for the eleventy-first time this week. The pharmacist reassures me that my prescription will be ready in one hour, and naively I believe that my insulin problem is solved. They also just then take the time to tell me that Medicaid doesn't cover my Novolog. As much as I am flattered that they clearly preferred my company instead, Y'think they could have told me that sooner, before I became BFF's with all the pharmacists?
Time passes. The problem is not solved. An hour later I get a call that CVS needs a prior-authorization for the pen needles because I can only get 100 a month, apparently (hardly enough), and that the Humalog has to be ordered and won't be in until tomorrow. So today I come in, expecting my prescription, and run into yet another problem. Prior-authorization has not been done yet, so no pen needles, and apparently, according to the pharmacist, "Humalog doesn't make penfills anymore. They only have the vials. But that's not a problem because you use the pump, right?" I glance it her. Politely I say (because I've really grown quite fond of this particular pharmacist lady, and I feel we have now worked our way up to casual conversations) "No, I do not use the pump. I have to shoot myself up over 5 times a day. Syringes are very inconvenient. Now I don't think that Humalog discontinued the pen... my Endo just gave me one with several refills yesterday." We both lean over the counter to chat. "Anyways, I think they just discontinued it," The Pharmacist Lady says. "But I'll call the Doctor and then call you back." I look at her speculatively. "I promise," she says, as if reading my mind.

Well, after 5 calls from CVS (some one minute apart), and several calls from my Endo, the prognosis is this: The people at this CVS are special people, The Endo argued that Humalog did not discontinue the pen and refused to believe CVS, CVS argued that Humalog did discontinue the pen and refused to believe the Endo, Humalog did not discontinue the pen prescribed to me, the Humalog Rep had to call up CVS to tell them this, the prior-authorization form did finally go through and is awaiting Tallahassee approval and, well, I'm not quite sure if I'm getting my insulin sometime soon or not. Most likely not before I go to Georgia, so luckily I have enough samples to last me. Seeing as once I get to Georgia I'll have a whole new batch of worries to bother about when I have to apply for Georgia Medicaid, find a new Endo, and transfer all of my prescriptions to a pharmacy there...

And all of this trouble over a bunch of needles!

So that has been my past few days/two weeks at a glance. Stay tuned for more drama, excitement, and insulin as I prepare to bid "Adieu" to Florida and maintain my sanity until then.

Cinco de Countdown

The countdown has begun!

ONE day until I graduate from Community College (with PTK honors!), before graduating from high school. (I'm sorry, I had to brag just a little bit.)
TWO days until I leave for Georgia, finally!
ONE month until I graduate from high school.
TWENTY NINE days until my graduation party.
Little over a MONTH until I move to Georgia!

I'm excited. Today was spent cleaning, packing, and tying up all my loose ends before I take a trip up to Georgia for two weeks. I have a hefty bit of extra stuff to pack and re-check that I've packed what with all of the Diabetes supplies. I need to make sure I have all of my insulin pens, needles, enough test strips to last me until I get back, my meter and one extra meter as back up, lancets and lots of extra lancets, glucose tabs, ketostix, Nutrition Facts Book, Diabetes-friendly snacks (lots of fresh fruit, popcorn, tuna, rice cakes, cucumbers, and Crystal Light), proper refrigeration/cooler for extra insulin... you get the point. I'm not a light traveler, I'm a "better safe than sorry so with that said let's pack up and bring the whole house" kind of person. Heh. Whatever I need to do to take care of myself, right?

In other news, this week has just been one of "those" weeks. Y'know, when everything breaks? A lightning surge from bad storms last month (last month, mind you!) caused the AC, refrigerator, dishwasher, and computers to completely crap out. The power, water, TV, phones, alarm, internet and washing machine already went too, but those were fixed last month and thankfully have caused no more trouble for the time being. So this morning come to find that everything in the fridge spoiled (I had to pack my insulin up and take it to the warehouse to keep it cool, thank goodness for back-up refrigerators in this heat!), we went out to breakfast at this cute little restaurant called Robinson's in downtown Apopka.

The food is cheap as dirt but thankfully the food does not taste like dirt. You get outstanding for what you pay for. Everything is super yummy, and the place has the cute little quaint small-town feel to it. You can just tell that all the people eating there are regular visitors. I perused through the menu and I was delighted to find upon consultation in my nutrition book that pancakes - one of my all-time favorite breakfast foods! - didn't have as many carbs as I thought (much to my surprise!) So, I got coffee, with sugar substitute (I should start remembering to bring Truvia packets with me), two pancakes (with sugar free syrup, of course), with two eggs and sausage. I saved one of the pancakes for later, but it was all delicious! I don't know if it is considered impolite to give yourself an insulin shot at the table but I have never really felt the need to hide it. It's such a bother to have to get up and go to the bathroom to do it sometimes... so I just put my arm up on the booth and gave myself a shot in the arm. There was a man behind me, but I didn't look at his face to see whether or not he was disgusted, sympathetic, or oblivious. I personally find that most people never even notice what is right in front of them, and that's why I do the insulin shots in public. No one ever really even notices.

On the way out my mom sends me back in to put the tip on the table and I walk past a group of 80 year old men at breakfast. Bless them! They said, "Excuse me, miss, but you can't be wearing that in public. You're making us look bad!" I wasn't exactly sure how to respond. I had put on a full-length sun dress this morning because it was just about the only thing I could wear without 1.) being in pain and 2.) showing off my awfully painful, splotchily-sunburnt legs. Yesterday I went to the beach and was SURE to stick a crapload of sunscreen on. However, I missed spots all up the back of my legs. I ended up lying on my stomach on a towel and taking a nap for two hours and when I got home I only then realized the red burns going up and down the lengths of my legs in uneven places. It's terrible! That might be my last trip to the beach before I move to Georgia and it was quite disappointing. What do I need to do to not get sunburnt, wear a parka?

But I digress. It amused me and yet at the same time I was slightly baffled as to whether these old men were simply having fun or if they were hitting on me. I smiled and exchanged a couple of comments with them before I left. What an interesting start to the day!

I was feeling in a crafty mood when I got home, then, and this is the product of my craftiness:

INSULIN PEN KOOZIES!

Oh yes. I went there. 

Insulin shots just got a whole lot more fun. I'm in love.

Can you believe I searched the entire internet and couldn't find anything like these?

There's me being way too excited.

This one up above is for Novolog (my fast-acting insulin).

OMG look! Insulin! (Just what I wanted for Christmas)

And opened, with needle still attached, which is a big no-no so please no one turn me into the Diabetes-Police.

This one is for Lantus (my long-acting insulin).

Curse you, stupid small needles of doom. We meet again. And you're so much less cute when you're naked, without your insulin koozie on.


So yes... as you can tell, I'm just biding my time until graduation Saturday morning and getting antsy and restless about my upcoming roadtrip. I just love a good roadtrip. I love packing my truck, making playlists on my ipod, buying snacks for the trip, cleaning my car, the whole nine yards. The only thing I dislike is paying for the gas and the fact that my truck lacks a CD Player and cruise control. But other than that, it promises to be a fun kick-off to my Summer Break!

Let the "Cinco de Countdown" begin!