All I Want For Christmas is a Cure for Diabetes!

I know, I know, that's not likely to happen. But dang it. I am so freaking sick of Diabetes today.

The feeling is mutual - Diabetes hates me. While Diabetes' apparent disdain for me seems to be more of a personal issue, my feelings today towards Diabetes are mainly a snowball effect of the events of this weekend. Saturday was WOW! A Day for Macon, Wesleyan's big bi-annual volunteering event. I was placed on the Campus Cleanup team, which I did not mind because I volunteered and was willing to work where they placed me. However, as I saw other girls go off to volunteer for needy children and the elderly, I couldn't help but have a sinking feeling that my volunteering project was a very bad match for me, 1. Because I had rarely done manual labor in my life, and 2. I knew 4 hours outside was just a low blood sugar waiting to happen. But what's a girl to do? It was a beautiful day, the sun had come out after several days of rain, and I was glad that at least my project involved being outside. It was one of those days that would have been a waste to spend indoors.

We first spread out pine straw underneath the trees out by the art building, then pruned them. Then we walked over to the lake and started weeding mimosa and scraping old paint off of the bridge. It was around 11 when I sat down to take a break and started feeling a little shaky. "Are you okay?" Jenna asked. "Be right back. I need to check my blood sugar," I told her. 3 minutes later a 45 stared back at me on the screen. Oh crap, I muttered. It was as if the symptoms had just waiting behind closed doors, waiting for the cue of seeing my BG number on the screen before screaming, "OH HEY. LOOKIE HERE. LOW BLOOD SUGAR" in flashing lights. It felt like death. I stared down at the infinitesimal 4 blood glucose tablets that I had placed in my bag this morning. Why, oh why hadn't I packed more? My blood sugar was dropping rapidly and I realized what a stupid error it had been to give myself Novolog in the arm this morning. One of the obscure rules of Diabetes: If you know you'll be using the body part a lot in the coming hours, don't inject yourself there or the insulin will absorb too quickly and give you low blood sugar. Scraping paint and pulling up stubborn weeds certainly hadn't done me a favor this morning.

I frantically opened the packet of glucose tabs (orange flavored - so not my favorite), and chewed them down. It did little to help though. I shook from the low, overwhelmed by how powerful it was. "I need food," I told our volunteer leader. She looked at me. "Are you alright?" She asked. I swallowed. "My blood sugar is 45." She blinked. "Are you going to be okay? I don't want you to pass out on the way to the cafeteria or anything." I laughed weakly. "I'll be okay," I told her. I think, My thoughts echoed. This low was bad, really bad. "I just need some food. Then I'll come back." "I think you're done," she said. "You did a good job. Didn't she do a good job?" she asked the other girls, who had now gathered around. "But -" I started to say. "I volunteered, I don't want to bail or leave early or --" "I think you're done," she repeated.

I was sick. And I would always be sick. Things weren't the same for me anymore, I remembered. But it wasn't right. I was slacking. Diabetes shouldn't have to be an excuse for me, a reason for my not being able to work as hard as other people. I appreciated her being understanding, I really did. But I was mad at Diabetes for doing this to me. For making things so complicated. 6 months ago I would've been just fine, working the whole 4 hours like everyone else, doing hard work. Nothing to balk at. But the fact that I even had to consider what 4 hours of work would do to my health frustrated me. I just wanted to be carefree about my health like I used to be able to. Be able to take it for granted because I was perfectly fine and there was no reason in the world to think otherwise. Now things are so different. I might talk about Diabetes a lot to people, but honestly, it's just because it plays such a big part in my life now. Like my shadow, it follows me everywhere. And unlike Peter Pan, I cannot lose my shadow. We are stuck for life. Prepare for this next major cliche: Deep down, truth is I really just want to be like every one else. I don't want Diabetes to be an excuse. I want to be able to work as hard and do as much as normal people. I don't want Diabetes to interfere with my life. I don't want Diabetes to be a reason for people to pity me, a reason for people to say or think, "Oh, that poor thing. Take it easy on her." I want people to see me and think, "Wow. Despite her illness, look at all that she has overcome." I don't need easy, but I do wish for normalcy. I don't want pity, I just want people to listen, to understand. That's why I'm writing this blog. I want people to read this and know what it's really like. No misconceptions, no misinformation. Truth. This is life with a chronic illness.

I am in a bad mood today though. My endocrinologist told me once when I was first diagnosed, "Diabetes doesn't have to limit you. Things may be harder for you, but they won't be impossible. You can do anything that a person without Diabetes can." But I don't feel like that right now. I remember envying how put together she seemed, thinking that I could never be like that. Thinking this illness would own me and had destroyed all of my dreams. I don't feel quite that dramatic now after adjusting to my life anew, but I am so tired of this fight and knowing that life will always be this uphill battle, discourages me at times. Life is never easy, but life with Diabetes certainly doesn't help make it any less difficult.

To top it all off, my blood sugars have been absolutely dismal the past few days. It seems my insulin needs have upped themselves again. I resolved to myself at this end of the week, "Enough goofing around, time to step it up with my treatment." Lots of water, low carb foods, Novolog at every meal for even small amounts of carbs. Last night my BG was over 350 where it should not have been. I gave myself Novolog for it right away but woke up at 262. Bolused for breakfast this morning only to find 372 two hours later. With near tears in my eyes I angrily grabbed my insulin pen and stabbed myself in front of everyone in Orgo.

"I'm okay..." I told myself, walking out of class later. And then I broke down on the inside, strings of saddening thoughts filling my mind. "I'm not okay." I said to myself angrily. "I'm sick. How in the hell is that okay? How will that ever be okay? Why do I have to deal with this, why is everything so complicated now?" I kicked the stones on the ground as I rushed angrily back to my dorm, needing to be alone. I ate lunch in silence that afternoon and gave myself 2 units of insulin. I went to Spanish and felt shaky. I emerged with a BG of 55. I ran into the cafeteria diner, grabbed an apple, and ran outside to eat it. I took a bit and spit it out. It was imperfect on the inside, diseased, though you could never tell by looking on the outside.

Just like me.

I ran back in, selected an apple more carefully this time, and collapsed in a shaking, sweaty heap on the sofa outside the Hurdle Cafe. Tears fell down my face as I ate the apple, trying to recover, trying to feel better. I couldn't stand this seesaw, this, "So, will it be a High or Low this time?" Why not just normal? Why was it seemingly always one extreme or the other lately?

Life with a chronic illness is overwhelming on days like this. And it makes me so selfish. I hate to succumb to pity, but sometimes I just get so upset that it's all I can do for the time being. I think, at least with some other diseases, there is hope of a cure. I may die, but there is a chance that I will not, that I will walk away a survivor. But instead I sit here on the sidelines and watch as other, more "popular" illnesses fill the spotlight. I swear, diseases are as bad as the media is sometimes. Everyone cares about the newest, most heartrendingly sad disease stories. Aids, Cancer, Breast Cancer - things that are worth fundraising for, raising awareness for. But what about other, overlooked diseases? Every day in America, 11 people die from Asthma. Diabetes is the fourth leading cause of death in the United States. Rheumatoid arthritis, the most crippling form of arthritis, affects approximately 1.3 million Americans and two to three times more women than men. Over 300,000 children are afflicted with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis before the age of 16. But who cries for them? Far fewer than should. A cure for Type 1 Diabetes is 10, 20, 50 years down the road. There are no survivors of Diabetes, just troopers. It is a game to see how long we can live like this. I am stuck in limbo now, with an illness that I can still stay alive with - but only with a lifetime of treatment that will never truly be a cure. I spend every day yearning for a cure but so afraid to hope in case I end up disappointed. I know that all of this is an impossibly selfish thing to write, to think. I would gladly take Diabetes and be grateful over handful of worse illnesses that other people have. But Diabetes is what I have, and judge me or not, sometimes this is what I cannot help but feel.

Diabetes, Go Away, Come Again Some Other Day

Sigh.

This week has been like walking on a cloud.

Joshua came Sunday, stopping at Wesleyan first to see me. I was so overjoyed to see him. It's difficult to miss him for such long periods of time but after that first hug I always realize immediately just why it's all so completely worth it.

I showed him my dorm and we stayed and talked for a while. Joshua helped me gather all of my belongings for my Cinderella party that afternoon, and we took separate vehicles to Forsyth to see the Kuckuck's. We stayed and talked a while, and then I got ready for my party and everyone else went to see additional family up in Jackson. We planned to meet back up for dinner at Longhorn that evening and I couldn't wait to finish up work. I admired the rural landscape as I drove through a quiet highway towards Gray and Milledgeville. It was an overcast day and the weather was cool and pleasant. The drive was an hour but I enjoyed the quiet time and the adventure it always was to see new places, to explore my beautiful new home. I really have come to love Georgia with all my heart.

The party went well; I passed out several business cards and my face painting was getting really good. I'm so thankful that I've gotten so much business so far and hope that it continues. Afterwards, I drove home, laughing quietly to myself as I reached and drove on Highway 441. 441, or Orange Blossom Trail back home in Florida, ran literally right past my house and I had driven on it nearly every day. I was right down the street from home... well, only by a few hours!

I made it back to Wesleyan, proud that I was learning how to navigate Macon and recognize roads and landmarks even without the aid of a GPS. Learning my way around has been a long process, but I know that I'll manage to do it eventually. I learn something new everyday. I unpack my stuff and heave it back to my dorm room. I get out of my voluminous Cinderella dress and change into nice, normal clothes, then give Joshua a call to see when I should meet them at the restaurant (still can't spell that dang word right!) 30 minutes later I find myself at Longhorn and greet Joshua with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. I've missed him in just the few hours I've been away. The wait is long and I sip diet coke to quell my hunger pains while we wait. We finally sit down and order our food and appetizers. The steak was awesome and I enjoyed talking with everyone again. I love being with my Georgia family, and it was so wonderful to have Joshua next to me and to remember what it's like to feel like a couple again. It's one of the best feelings in the world. My life feels entirely happy, complete. After dinner Joshua walks me back to my truck and we say a long goodbye. The next day is Joshua's birthday I don't want to leave him, but, I decide that I'll come back up to Forsyth for lunch after my O-Chem class ends at 10:50AM before I come back after work study at 5:30PM for his Birthday party. I didn't think that I could wait a whole other day to see him!

This proved to be correct because for the whole morning all I could think about was the very second that O-Chem would end and I would be able to hop in my car and go see Joshua again. The minutes ticked by achingly slow as I waited in class, diligently trying to take notes and pray that I'd pass my first Exam Wednesday, but finally it was 10:50 and I practically raced to the parking lot to hop in my car. I impatiently filled up my gas tank first before setting out on 475 up towards Forsyth. I raced there, hugged Joshua and wished him Happy Birthday. Josh, his brother Jake and I then walked downtown to get lunch. We stopped to get Ice Cream and then went to Jonah's for pizza rolls, both of which were a special, rare treat for my Diabetic self. Despite skipping Spanish for the day the minutes were too quick to race by this time, and hesitantly I left at 2PM to make it back for Work Study, promising to return soon.

Work Study in the admissions office couldn't end quick enough, and finally I was back in my truck driving towards Forsyth. Joshua and his friend Travis were at WalMart when I got back, and I impatiently waited for them to return. More friends came by and we all sat on the back porch until Mamabird had all the girls go into the kitchen to help set up dinner while Jake and the guys grilled burgers and hotdogs out back. I cut lettuce, tomatoes, cooked baked beans and helped set up the table all in a flurry as everyone rushed to get dinner ready. Everything was finally finished - and looked completely delicious - and we helped ourselves to good food, enjoying the company of great people.

When cake time rolled around, we all gathered around and sang Happy Birthday for Joshua as he blew out his candles. Then it was present time - I was so anxious for Josh to open his present! I really hoped that he would like it! He unwrapped presents from family and then got to mine. He opened the card first. "Read it out loud!" Everyone shouted. I blushed and convinced him otherwise, embarrassed to think of anyone except Joshua reading all of the mushy things I had written in the card! Josh then turned to the present and unwrapped it to a chorus of shouts - it was a Keurig! He really seemed to like it, which I was so happy about! I had been so excited the whole time as I had bought it and wrapped it, hoping so much that it would be something that he could enjoy! I ate a slice of cake and ice cream as we sat around the table and continued to talk, all the while my insulin staring at me from across the kitchen, forlorn and unused. I shoved the thought of Diabetes in the back of my head as I happily ate, the taste of cake all the sweeter for not having  to have faced a needle beforehand.

The rest of the week was wonderful as I was able to look forward to seeing Joshua everyday after classes. We watched movies, snuggled, and just enjoyed getting to spend some well-needed time together. My blood sugar had been less than optimal though, and I was disappointed with myself. I had been so caught up with the excitement of seeing Joshua again and being around my Georgia  family that I didn't want to think about Diabetes. I wanted to believe that if I shoved it away into some small, forgotten corner of my mind, that perhaps that would echo into my life. I hate picking the low-carb meals, opting for salad and vegetables, because they are "easy", non-bolus for foods. I hate the needles, which never stop hurting, which sting and bruise my body. I hate the symptoms, the constant seesaw that is my eternal struggle with maintaining my blood sugar. But Diabetes is so real, and I have to step it up again. Taking care of myself should be of utmost importance, no matter how much I get tired of the same Diabetes routine day after day. Taking care of my health is important, just like Joshua is, my family is, my education is. And I will start stepping it up again, gathering the motivation I need to carefully watch my blood sugars again. I don't enjoy it, but this is the price I pay to live. And that price is so worth it. Because, in all honesty, I wouldn't change this past week one bit. It was perfect, just as it was. The needles, the bad blood sugar, everything - I wouldn't trade any of it away. My life will never be perfect, or go the way I want it to. But I would never change anything about my life, either. God is so good, and he continuously graces me with so many blessings and signs of his love. Always. I have a caring, amazing family, a wonderful boyfriend who loves me, I go to a great college, and Jesus Christ is my savior. Life is full of blessings just the way it is, and there is nothing that Diabetes can ever do to change that.

The Big Deal

I am sure that you will see a lot of 9/11 posts today. Mine is one of them. Everyone has their own unique perspective, their take on the experiences that change them.

10 years ago, I was sitting in Mrs. Taylor's 3rd grade class at my second row desk. I was diligently working on a spelling assignment, occupied with getting it done. A student suddenly appeared in the doorway from the other classroom. "Turn on the TV," she said. "An airplane just hit the twin towers!" 

Everyone around me was in shock. The TV was turned on and we watched with our little eyes as a building far away billowed smoke out from its side. But I did not understand. I did not know what the World Trade Center was, or where it was, or how somebody could have managed to run their airplane into its side. I had never heard of terrorists, or Islamic extremists, or Al Qaeda. I did not know that there were people in the world today that would kill for the sake of their religion. I was young, I was sheltered, I was innocent and unknowing of the world that lied beyond my own small and protected one. 

And I said, 

"What's the big deal?" 

Because, back then, I did not know.

Today I remember, and I mourn with the rest. I stand at the flagpole with my hand across my heart, tears in my eyes as I think of all the fragile lives shattered by the events of that day. My heart feels for them, bleeds for them, cries for them. I feel for their pain and suffering and count myself one among the many that will never forget. It has been 10 years - 10 long years for the American citizens, for our soldiers, for America. 10 long years of news reports of violence, bombings, and death mixed, with always, fear. It has been 10 long years for any person to grow up in.

But back then, I did not know. I did not understand what had happened, or why, or how it would affect the world throughout the next decade. Now I remember that day, and all that it meant for our country. But also I remember that little girl 10 years ago, and sometimes, I wish that I could have protected her. That she never had to grow up and learn of all the terrible things that happen in the world, or live amidst a distant yet ever-present war. But she did, and 9/11 changed her life, just as it changed everyone's. Our lives will never be the same. All of us, with our own unique stories of what happened that day and how it impacted our lives, will never forget. 

We Now Interrupt Studying To Bring You This Blog

I've been at College over a week, but it feels like ages. This has been one of the longest weeks of my life! Adjusting is strange. I have been away from home before, but actually being moved out feels entirely different. Nothing can quite describe how strange it is to know that I will probably never live at home again. That era of my life has ended, and thus has begun the rest of my life. And besides the profound, then there's the nitpicky things... Items such as laundry detergent, dryer sheets, snacks and cleaning supplies that I once took for granted I now find myself carefully budgeting for on my shopping list at Walmart. I have to clean the bathroom mirror, wipe down the counters, and haul my laundry down to the basement... and not forget to leave my clothes there, because this isn't my laundry room at home.

My way of life has changed, too. You pick up many little things. Like the fact that the ability to sew in College is a commodity. So is having a vehicle. Get to meals early otherwise there won't be any plates, fruit or plastic cups for tea left. Everything else seems to take precedence before the word "sleep" can even make it into your vocabulary.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed. Wesleyan is academically rigorous, and although I haven't been in classes even a week it feels like I have already plunged neck-deep into 3 months worth of work. I have two years of college experience but Wesleyan is quite unlike Valencia in every way imaginable. The Professors are much more in-depth, and expect so much more, than many of my Professors at Valencia did. Everyone here is so bright and focused that as a student here you feel the need to strive and work the hardest that you can.

My schedule is filled, it is insane. It's not necessarily that I'm taking more classes - I'm actually taking far less than I'm used to this semester - but the way they are spaced, classes all 5 days a week, makes my schedule very tight. Add in work study, study, managing a business, homework, mealtimes, Diabetes, me-time, exercise, balancing friends and relationships, and my excellent time management skills have suddenly been sent reeling.

I am still getting to know people... and adjusting to the concept of doing so. My homeschooling background combined with my shy nature and my time at Valencia as the baby in all my classes had previously culminated in a rather socially isolated lifestyle for me. I kept a group of immeasurably close, tight-knit friends from Smith Prep (My Homeschool-Highschool) and few others. Now I have left my friends behind, the ones who I had grown up with, bonded with, spend years growing comfortable with. I am surrounded by strangers, people I have never met. It is strange to let myself open up, shake off the shyness, and share my life with those I don't know. And I don't quite know what I'm looking for in people. I have made some great friends here at Wesleyan so far, but... I just feel... a little cut off. I talk to a lot of people, but rarely do I feel as if I get the opportunity to talk about myself. Is it selfish to feel that way? I hope not. I feel as if I am bursting at the seams with things to say, but few to listen. Rarely have I ever shared my life with others, but it used to be because I didn't want to. Now I want to, but will others listen? Will I bore them with my thoughts, my worries, my frustrations, my joys, my stories? Would they ever even want to ask questions about me? Sometimes I just wish someone would come up to me, introduce themselves, and ask me how I am. How I really am.

I would tell them about my Diabetes. How difficult it is when so few people can truly understand what having a chronic disease in life - and most particularly in College - is all about. How I carry glucose tabs in my backpack and carefully calculate all the carbs in my food before I eat. How I prefer to eat my carbs rather than drink them, and how sore my fingertips get when I prick them in the same place with the lancet too much. How it sucks to feel like the world is dizzily turning upside down as you suffer from a low while the whole world looks on and thinks that there is nothing wrong. I would show them my Medical ID Bracelet, which rests in its place on my left wrist always. I would tell them about my family back home, about my mother and my father, about life growing up in Florida. Why I chose Wesleyan and why I chose to leave Orlando, Florida behind for the seemingly lackluster in comparison city of Macon, Georgia. I would tell them how I love experiencing the seasons, the joy I get from seeing hills and mountains, the satisfaction of being able to drive somewhere in less than 20 minutes. I would tell them my testimony, my stories, my roots. I would tell them about my best friends, my boyfriend, the people I love. I would tell them my favorite things to do, like sitting in the library with Libris the cat, going on adventures and seeing new places, listening to music, and dancing in the rain. I hope that there will be those who will ask.

Life is different now, more so than it has ever been before. I love it, it is wonderful, and God's work is apparent everywhere. It'll take time to adjust to this new place, but I'm confident that, in time, Wesleyan will begin to feel like home.

On My Toes (Diabetes in College)

Let me start this post off with a self-congratulatory-note of... I am finally all moved in!

The past two days have been rough on me physically, though. I've been doing so much walking, and non-stop activity, that I have had several bouts of hypoglycemia ever since arriving. My insulin needs are certainly much lower, considering the level of activity I'm experiencing in college, and thus until I catch on I need to keep a close eye on my blood sugars.

I first arrived at Wesleyan on Saturday, eager to get into my room and start moving in! I had already picked my dorm in one of the two freshman residence halls on campus (Banks Hall). When I went up to the desk to get my room keys, however, I was told that my keys weren't there yet and that they would be momentarily. After some further conversation I learned that my dorm had been switched to the upperclassman dorm Hightower Hall, because I had too many credits to be allowed to stay in the freshman dorms. I was a little disappointed not to be with the rest of my freshman class, but apparently in the time between then and Summer Orientation, Wesleyan had received my final transcript from VCC and made me a Junior. So, determined to make the best of it, I drove over to the Hightower parking lot and started unloading some of my bins, elated to finally be able to arrange my room and make it my own.

I carried items in, walked out, in, out, heave, push, pull. Suddenly my legs felt weak from underneath me. I ignored it for a while, too occupied to want to pay my attention-demanding Diabetes any mind, but soon it became too much to handle. My head swam through a Diabetic-induced fog and I had broken out in a cold, skin-drenching sweat as my heartbeat raced 200 miles an hour. The world spun around me. I tested my blood sugar as I collapsed on my truck's seat. The meter stared back at me, 35. I was overwhelmed by the low, incapacitated. I breathed heavily as I sat in the heat, scrambling for my glucose tabs, granola bars, fruit cups, whatever little snacks I had left. I shoveled them into my mouth frantically, trying to stave off the low. It took nearly 30 minutes to recover, during which the heat outside as I sat in my truck made little impression on me as I tried to keep calm and gain back my strength. I bit back bitter frustration. Before Diabetes moving in would have never been such a problem...

I took a break for lunch in the cafeteria, and afterwards Donnie and Jake came by to help me unload the heavy stuff. I was so grateful as I was able to sit back and give myself much needed rest. They did in 30 minutes what would have taken me all day to do, which was haul all of the stuff from my truck into my new room. 

The next morning, as I hovered the line between sleep and wakefulness in my bed, my body suddenly sat up with a jerk. I grabbed my meter and tested with shaky hands. 45. I hurried and ate the remainder of my snacks but grew worried about if I happened to have another low. There was no breakfast on Sunday, just brunch at 12. I recovered and then grabbed my car keys, walked outside and then went over to my car. I drove to the Kroger right down the street first, a walk I would have enjoyed if I didn't have to worry about my being so low. I grabbed granola bars, two different packs of rice cakes, and oatmeal creme pies (my secret addiction, shh, don't tell my Diabetes.) I checked out and then drove to Walmart to get cheaper deals on soda, and decided to try Diet Sundrop, which is actually super delicious. I munched chocolate rice cakes on the way back to Wesleyan to appease my growling stomach and returned in just a few short moments to the school. I spied a large group of girls gathered next to Banks Hall (right across from my hall) in their pajamas. Confused, I wondered if there was something on the schedule that I'd missed. I later learned that the girls in the freshman dorm Wortham had woke up to a fire alarm, something I had been very glad to miss!

I hauled in my grocery bags, put the items in the minifridge, and went on with my day. I did not bolus for a SINGLE MEAL that day and yet I was still running on the low side. That evening after all of the events of the day I tested to find an unexpected 46. I hurriedly ate three rice cakes (33 carbs) and waited 15 minutes. I felt even worse, and tested again. 46. The rice cakes hadn't even made a dent in my apparently copacetic blood sugar. I knew perhaps I should wait a little longer but I went to the hall kitchen and popped popcorn (26 carbs), collapsed on the cold linoleum floors and waited in the kitchen as it cooked. I took it back to my room to inhale. The damage afterwards: A BG of 201. But that was better than 46. I gave myself 19 units of Lantus that night instead of 21 to hopefully stave off any more hypos.

But this morning I awoke, shaking, to once again find a BG of 46 (can anyone say "magic number"?), and thanked Christ for rice cakes as I ate more. I sighed. Thankfully, though, 19 units of Lantus has seemed to work just perfect so far, and it might be that all of my insulin needs have returned back to my pre-summer levels. In which case, I'll keep slowly backing off on my insulin until I find the correct balance again. Diabetes is keeping me on my toes this first week of college!

Herbal Incense

Well, 4 months of long and wonderful Summer have culminated down to this: Wesleyan Move-In week.
Being the procrastinator I am, I waited until the week of move-in to get that mandatory physical done for school.

June

Mom: "Have you got that physical done yet?"
Me: "Mom, jeez, it's a small town. I can just walk in any time if I want to."

July

Mom: "So... did you book that physical yet????"
Me: "No. Come on, I still have plenty of time until school starts."

August

Mom: "GET YOUR *ooh shiney* PHYSICAL."
Me: "OKAY"

So finally I booked an appointment 2 weeks ago and then went on my merry way.
Tuesday I drove 12 miles out to Barnesville, GA to go to the Doctor's office. I arrived at a pretty two story Victorian home sitting in the middle of a classically southern downtown. With plenty of time to spare, I filled out my paperwork, and settled down to wait with a new book to read in hand.

"Lacy?" A nurse pokes her head out of the office door.
I turn my head. "So, since you're under 17... I can't give you this physical."
Fire shoots out of my eyes.
"I'm two months away from being 18. I just need someone to sign the paper, and my mother does not have an issue with me getting this physical."
"Well, I'm sorry. Unless she is here with you, I legally cannot do anything for you."
"My mom is in Florida."
"You moved here all by yourself?"
"Well yeah..... I'm going to college this week.... And moving in, unless I can't get this physical, in which case I will not be and that will be a problem."
"The only thing that you could do is get an adult to come with you, and then get your mom on the phone saying that she is authorizing temporary guardianship to them during the duration of your appointment."
Is it just me or does the ENTIRE MEDICAL SYSTEM derive joy from making my life difficult?
I sigh, frustrated. "Alright then... I'll be back."

I step outside and whip out my cell phone in a flash, dialing Laurie Kuckuck's number. The phone dials and she picks up. "Hey mamabird... problem. THE DOCTOR SAID I CAN'T GET MY PHYSICAL AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND---AND--- SHE SAID I NEED AN ADULT TO COME WITH ME OR ELSE I CAN'T GET IT AND---"
"Come pick me up, I'll go with you."
I sigh in relief and tell her I'll be there in a moment. 15 miles later and a pit stop by the house to remove the massive computer sitting in a bin on the passenger seat, I arrive at Heritage Healthcare, pick up the Mamabird and then drive another 12 miles back to Barnesville. Mileage for the day: 45. Not even 10am yet, my hulking V8 truck's gas gauge protests by deciding not to work ... it absolutely refused to stay on "Full".
We arrive back at the Doctor's and thankfully it was rather simple from there. Sign paperwork, get my mom on the phone, and go to the back where I got my physical done. Everything seems to be healthy with me with the exception of my chronic and life-threatening disease. I pay my $30 and am just relieved to have everything over with.

Mamabird and I decide to take a look around Barnesville to check out houses and Gordon College. (No, I've never heard of it, either.) Jake is planning on attending Gordon in the Spring and wants to see about renting a house in the area instead of staying in the dorms.
We are surprisingly successful. Within a few minutes we're on the phone with a man who introduced himself as Dan and directs us to the correct address of his 5 bedroom rental home.
The house doesn't exactly lack curb appeal but the grey duplex certainly wasn't the fully renovated Victorian located on the other side of the street, which maybe made it look a little bit more shabby than it was. However, after viewing the kitchen, the living room with the blue carpet, and the upstairs bedroom with the magenta carpet that the man was renting out for $550 a month, I was pretty convinced that the only redeeming feature of the house was the fact that it was not a cardboard box. However, at least a cardboard box would have smelled like cardboard instead of smelling like old. Yes, old.
Maybe I was just being picky... honestly the house wasn't that bad. Laurie and I were just convinced that the price was entirely too high, as he charged rental per room. We stepped into another crowded room and I glanced down at the coffee table, where I noticed some suspicious looking bags filled with green plants. Is that Marijuana?? I though questioningly. Dan then mentioned that he owned another house in Barnesville which he would rent out for $450 a month. The entire house. Mamabird looked at each other as we drove across the street, following Dan to the next house. "He's renting out the entire house for $450?" Laurie exclaims. "Oh dear God, if he's renting out single rooms for more than that then I'm scared outta my mind to see this house," I retort. We cross the railroad tracks. "Oh this is not good... we've crossed the tracks!" Laurie notes.
For future reference, in case you were wondering, no. The grass is not greener on the other side of the railroad tracks.
We pulled up to a navy blue house. "Is that it?" I asked. "Ugh..." It wasn't a very nice house.
Curveball.
Dan's truck pulls past the navy blue house with the pimped out station wagon in the back, and up to a dinky tan house right behind it.
Laurie and I exchange worried looks.
We step up the cracked concrete steps, and past the painted plywood outdoor walls to the inside. It smells musty.
"I'm in the process of putting new appliances in the kitchen," Dan says.
He shows us the bedrooms, which actually, given the house, were a decent size. I wouldn't take a shower in the bathroom unless it was ripped out, demolished and completely redone though (I've been watching way too much HGTV lately).
"Well... it has potential," Laurie says. Dan laughs. "It that supposed to be a negative comment?" "Well, it's $450 a month. That's that," She tells him. Which was true, considering the price, beggars couldn't really be choosers. "I'd sell you the house for $30000," Dan told her, all the while I was thinking, "Heck, I wouldn't even buy the place for $10000." I could see absolutely no way that that house had absolutely any potential at all.
We checked out Gordon College and drove around looking at all of the pretty Victorian Homes, and finally returned back to Forsyth.

On the way back, Dan called to tell us that if we noticed the plants on the coffee table, no, they were not marijuana, they were, in fact, herbal incense.

When Life Gives You Lancets

Don't you just hate it when the first prick decides to bleed only after you've already pricked a second time??

Oh well, when life gives you lancets, don't just make finger pricks... make smiley faces!

Have a happy Sunday, everyone!