Last night I checked my blood sugar before going to bed, and it was 90.
Normally, this is a little low, and in the past I would have eaten something so as to not sleep below 130. However, it was midnight, I had a final in the morning, and I was tired. I didn't care, quite frankly.
Diabetes is a pain sometimes, and you just don't want to deal. So I went to sleep.
Going to sleep itself was difficult, but when I did, I woke up in a drenching sweat at 2 a.m. and immediately knew what it meant.
low.low.low.dangerous. My body hummed. Sweat dripped down my face and made the bedsheets damp and my hair was wet. It beaded at the curve of my back. Holy mother of God, this was a bad one. The depth of how incapacitating it was floored me. I stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light, knowing I needed to - go downstairs to get something, right?
In my delirium, I couldn't remember that I always kept a granola bar in my nightstand.
The good tasting ones are downstairs.... my sleepy, low self mumbled. If I'm going to be low and I"m hungry, I might as well eat something good.
Instead I stumbled back to the bed, laid on my back and closed by eyes, bathroom light still on. In a second... I mumbled. Will...go down... in a second. When I feel better.
I was so sweaty, so incapacitated, so unutterably weak I felt I might fall down the stairs and not make it at all if I tried to go down now. I'd feel better in a few minutes, right?
In and out of sleep I fell for about 10 minutes, until I came back to consciousness again. I didn't feel any better, I was still shaking, and my mind shifted back into the right state that it was supposed to be in.
Ugh, God, what am I doing? I sat up slowly. I can't wait to treat, I'm just going to get more low. And there's a granola bar in my purse. Why would I think I need to go downstairs?
Just feeling myself, I estimated that I was so low - almost the lowest I've ever been - that I was probably in the high 20's/low 30 mgdL's. I felt positively awful. My purse was lying on the floor against my bag, and I rolled over and grabbed it, fishing around until my fingers grasped the granola bar. I unwrapped it, stumbled back to my pillow and ate it laying down. I just laid there then, still feeling completely like shit - low, sweaty, shaky, not in control.
After about 10 or 15 minutes I still felt terrible. I tested. 40 mg/dL.
I sighed and slinked down the stairs, grasping the rail for balance as I made my way into the kitchen. The light above the oven was on, so in the dark, I slid down to the floor, onto the cool wood. I started looking for Peanut Butter and remembered we didn't have any, so I made some homemade popcorn, stumbling around the counter above me for the popcorn oil and kernels, then putting them into a pot and waiting until they were popped - I poured them into a Tupperware and crawled back upstairs, eating the popcorn until I felt ok again. Sleep was shot for the night - final in the morning, whatever, looks like I'd be sleep deprived all week. So much for that.
When Diabetes calls, even in your sleep, it doesn't matter. You answer.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
When You Have Diabetes, It's Not the Only Thing you Fight.
"Hold on a second," I told Dr. Wendland as I grabbed my glucometer from my backpack. We were in open lab, which follows classes every Monday and Thursday and gives us students a chance to practice our PT schools with the help of some of our instructors. I was going over some of my flexibility drills, but in the past few minutes I had started to feel the slight "after-buzz" of dizziness and heat that follow every movement and turn of my head.
44, the screen read. I grabbed my glucose tabs and walked back to the front where Dr. Wendland was lying on the plinth answering questions to someone. When she turned back to me I shook my head. "I'm 44," I told her, as I popped some glucose tabs and tried not to let the low get to me. I could feel that it was a bad one, though, as much as I didn't want to show it. I didn't want to seem like I was wasting Dr. Wendland's time, who was practicing with me. I know I shouldn't feel bad like something about that - but it's the same thing that happens when I get low in line for ordering Chinese and I don't have glucose tabs, or I'm in the middle of leading kids through games during a birthday party.
I don't have time to be low then. Just because I'm low doesn't mean I can ask people to cut in front of the line to order my food. And interrupting games for a bunch of little girls at a party - while Rapunzel stuffs some glucose tabs in her mouth while everyone is watching - simply doesn't look proper. I get frustrated about the timing of my low in times like that, and I almost feel ashamed that I can't hold it together.
Does that sound silly? I know it does, but know this if you don't already:
You'll be hard pressed to find a person with a chronic disease that doesn't have some sort of mental impact associated with their condition. Diabetes is a mental disease just as much as it is physical. It gets to you, and there's nothing you can really do about it.
"You seem to have a lot of ups and downs," Dr. Wendland noted as a sat on the plinth across from her, chewing. I had been around Dr. Wendland another time earlier that semester, and had a 40 - so I could see why she would say that. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it this second time, but my brain was turning to fuzz and I couldn't concentrate from the low when I tried to think of any of the answers to questions she asked me so I figured I should make myself known.
I did my best to explain that I was so worried about coming off hyperglycemic that I tended to try and over-bolus to avoid it. I wanted to get my blood sugars in near perfect order. I put a lot of expectation on myself. I would be lying if all of the excessive talk of Diabetes in class didn't get to me, too. All we ever seemed to talk about was Diabetic complications. Imagine having a disease where everyone either a. makes fun of it everytime they eat sugar and 2. Talks about how extremely complicated these patients turn out to be - foot problems, ulcers, retinopathy, carpal tunnel, neuropathy, decreased sensitivity to hot or cold or finger and foot sensation, numbness and tingling, shortness of breath... the list goes on and on.
I know I have the power to control this disease, and Diabetes is a huge problem in our country today - mostly Type 2. And know that I realize people aren't specifically singling me out in class at all. Type 2 is the Diabetes everyone is talking about. But still, it's something that will inevitably get to you over time, and I realized in that moment trying to explain myself to Dr. Wendland that that's exactly what it had done: gotten to me. I explained my frustration that testing your glucose was like taking a static picture of where you are: unlike using a continual glucose monitor (CGM) which will monitor you 24/7, a glucometer can't tell you patterns or what direction your glucose is going in. So when I tested at 175 in class earlier, I ate a granola bar and counted 6 units of insulin to give myself - 5 units for the 25 g granola bar (1 unit for every 5 grams of carbs) and 1 correction unit to bring myself down to 135, or 30 mg/dL. According to my math that should have been perfect, but I must have been headed down the sugar scale because now I sat almost 100 mg/dL lower than I intended to.
Of course, this is just a regular day to me. Lows suck, and no one wants them. But all Diabetics (T1) know that it happens. Some lows are going to be unavoidable.
I told Dr. Wendland I probably get around 3-4 lows a week, which for me is ok. "I notice them almost all the time - around 95% of the time. On very rare occasions I will test and be low and not notice." Dr. Wendland eyeballed Dr. Taylor, who was standing close by. "It's that 5% I'm worried about!" She kind of laughed. My soul sank a little.
It worries me too, but it's not something that can be avoided.
I then went on to explain that I ate very healthy for the most part - limited alcohol and most processed sugars, starchy carbs. I told them I ended up eating a lot of the same things, because it was just easier to manage my sugar when I already knew what those foods did to me on a regular basis. It sounds ok in living, but I realized it sounded kind of shitty when I explained it out loud. I found a slight pinprick of resentment welling in me for Diabetes again, but I pushed it down. I had to sit down one more time to rest before finishing off practicing flexibility, then I went home for the night.
In hindsight, I felt bad that I couldn't explain myself better. But it's hard to convey the mix of feelings, helplessness, emotions and stubbornness about caring for yourself when you have Diabetes. The fear - the worry - the what's to come? is so real that it almost makes life worse to live than the disease itself. Dr. Taylor's words echoed in my head when I couldn't quite sense the movement of Dr. Wendland's spine raising during one of the flexibility tests - this is the point at which the test should terminate. "How is the feeling in your fingertips?" He'd asked - and I said, slightly shocked that he'd asked it,
"Oh! Well, it's fine - I don't have neuropathy. I just tend to not use enough pressure," which was true. I had been having to train myself to not have such a light touch with people.
I could feel fine. I could. Could I?
I touched the car window as I drove.
Did it feel slightly less cold? Could I not feel temperature as well with my fingertips? Did I type worse and miss keys more because of my fingers? It was too soon to get complications and I managed my Diabetes well enough, right? My A1C has never been as low as I want, but since being diagnosed it hasn't been over 7.5, and that's why I'm continuously striving to make it better and lower.
But it worries me, don't you know? It worries me so much.
The tingles in my feet, my hands when I drive the steering wheel - and the fact that I have to catch my breath a little every time I go up stairs, no matter how fast - or sometimes when I leap out of bed in the middle of the night or morning my heart pounds fast and I get slightly dizzy - my always-cold hands or feet - they worry me. It makes me upset, because I have always treated my body with care and tried so hard to make sure that I manage my sugar well - but the fear is still awful sometimes. Or reading that Diabetes shortens the average lifespan by 5-8 years sometimes. 5-8 years is a long time.
I hate what this disease steals from me and what it gives me in return. The fear that someday this disease will physically limit me because of any complications it does to my body is something ever present, and each day I just fight and fight to try and make sure that doesn't happen.
Maybe it won't, but I was feeling particularly down about it yesterday and even today. No matter how competent I am, or how well people think I manage my Diabetes, the dark side of my disease lurks on the back side of my mind near constantly, haunting me with the scary thoughts of complications and heart disease.
44, the screen read. I grabbed my glucose tabs and walked back to the front where Dr. Wendland was lying on the plinth answering questions to someone. When she turned back to me I shook my head. "I'm 44," I told her, as I popped some glucose tabs and tried not to let the low get to me. I could feel that it was a bad one, though, as much as I didn't want to show it. I didn't want to seem like I was wasting Dr. Wendland's time, who was practicing with me. I know I shouldn't feel bad like something about that - but it's the same thing that happens when I get low in line for ordering Chinese and I don't have glucose tabs, or I'm in the middle of leading kids through games during a birthday party.
I don't have time to be low then. Just because I'm low doesn't mean I can ask people to cut in front of the line to order my food. And interrupting games for a bunch of little girls at a party - while Rapunzel stuffs some glucose tabs in her mouth while everyone is watching - simply doesn't look proper. I get frustrated about the timing of my low in times like that, and I almost feel ashamed that I can't hold it together.
Does that sound silly? I know it does, but know this if you don't already:
You'll be hard pressed to find a person with a chronic disease that doesn't have some sort of mental impact associated with their condition. Diabetes is a mental disease just as much as it is physical. It gets to you, and there's nothing you can really do about it.
"You seem to have a lot of ups and downs," Dr. Wendland noted as a sat on the plinth across from her, chewing. I had been around Dr. Wendland another time earlier that semester, and had a 40 - so I could see why she would say that. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it this second time, but my brain was turning to fuzz and I couldn't concentrate from the low when I tried to think of any of the answers to questions she asked me so I figured I should make myself known.
I did my best to explain that I was so worried about coming off hyperglycemic that I tended to try and over-bolus to avoid it. I wanted to get my blood sugars in near perfect order. I put a lot of expectation on myself. I would be lying if all of the excessive talk of Diabetes in class didn't get to me, too. All we ever seemed to talk about was Diabetic complications. Imagine having a disease where everyone either a. makes fun of it everytime they eat sugar and 2. Talks about how extremely complicated these patients turn out to be - foot problems, ulcers, retinopathy, carpal tunnel, neuropathy, decreased sensitivity to hot or cold or finger and foot sensation, numbness and tingling, shortness of breath... the list goes on and on.
I know I have the power to control this disease, and Diabetes is a huge problem in our country today - mostly Type 2. And know that I realize people aren't specifically singling me out in class at all. Type 2 is the Diabetes everyone is talking about. But still, it's something that will inevitably get to you over time, and I realized in that moment trying to explain myself to Dr. Wendland that that's exactly what it had done: gotten to me. I explained my frustration that testing your glucose was like taking a static picture of where you are: unlike using a continual glucose monitor (CGM) which will monitor you 24/7, a glucometer can't tell you patterns or what direction your glucose is going in. So when I tested at 175 in class earlier, I ate a granola bar and counted 6 units of insulin to give myself - 5 units for the 25 g granola bar (1 unit for every 5 grams of carbs) and 1 correction unit to bring myself down to 135, or 30 mg/dL. According to my math that should have been perfect, but I must have been headed down the sugar scale because now I sat almost 100 mg/dL lower than I intended to.
Of course, this is just a regular day to me. Lows suck, and no one wants them. But all Diabetics (T1) know that it happens. Some lows are going to be unavoidable.
I told Dr. Wendland I probably get around 3-4 lows a week, which for me is ok. "I notice them almost all the time - around 95% of the time. On very rare occasions I will test and be low and not notice." Dr. Wendland eyeballed Dr. Taylor, who was standing close by. "It's that 5% I'm worried about!" She kind of laughed. My soul sank a little.
It worries me too, but it's not something that can be avoided.
I then went on to explain that I ate very healthy for the most part - limited alcohol and most processed sugars, starchy carbs. I told them I ended up eating a lot of the same things, because it was just easier to manage my sugar when I already knew what those foods did to me on a regular basis. It sounds ok in living, but I realized it sounded kind of shitty when I explained it out loud. I found a slight pinprick of resentment welling in me for Diabetes again, but I pushed it down. I had to sit down one more time to rest before finishing off practicing flexibility, then I went home for the night.
In hindsight, I felt bad that I couldn't explain myself better. But it's hard to convey the mix of feelings, helplessness, emotions and stubbornness about caring for yourself when you have Diabetes. The fear - the worry - the what's to come? is so real that it almost makes life worse to live than the disease itself. Dr. Taylor's words echoed in my head when I couldn't quite sense the movement of Dr. Wendland's spine raising during one of the flexibility tests - this is the point at which the test should terminate. "How is the feeling in your fingertips?" He'd asked - and I said, slightly shocked that he'd asked it,
"Oh! Well, it's fine - I don't have neuropathy. I just tend to not use enough pressure," which was true. I had been having to train myself to not have such a light touch with people.
I could feel fine. I could. Could I?
I touched the car window as I drove.
Did it feel slightly less cold? Could I not feel temperature as well with my fingertips? Did I type worse and miss keys more because of my fingers? It was too soon to get complications and I managed my Diabetes well enough, right? My A1C has never been as low as I want, but since being diagnosed it hasn't been over 7.5, and that's why I'm continuously striving to make it better and lower.
But it worries me, don't you know? It worries me so much.
The tingles in my feet, my hands when I drive the steering wheel - and the fact that I have to catch my breath a little every time I go up stairs, no matter how fast - or sometimes when I leap out of bed in the middle of the night or morning my heart pounds fast and I get slightly dizzy - my always-cold hands or feet - they worry me. It makes me upset, because I have always treated my body with care and tried so hard to make sure that I manage my sugar well - but the fear is still awful sometimes. Or reading that Diabetes shortens the average lifespan by 5-8 years sometimes. 5-8 years is a long time.
I hate what this disease steals from me and what it gives me in return. The fear that someday this disease will physically limit me because of any complications it does to my body is something ever present, and each day I just fight and fight to try and make sure that doesn't happen.
Maybe it won't, but I was feeling particularly down about it yesterday and even today. No matter how competent I am, or how well people think I manage my Diabetes, the dark side of my disease lurks on the back side of my mind near constantly, haunting me with the scary thoughts of complications and heart disease.
We all have our own demons to battle. These are some of mine.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Why, Deep Down, I'm Thankful For Having Diabetes (Despite What a Pain It Is)
It's November, and since it's the month of being thankful, I thought it only appropriate if I wrote this post on why, deep down, I am thankful for Diabetes.
My disclaimer is the same thing I've been spouting since blog day 1: Diabetes is a terrible chronic illness to live with. Every fiber of my pancreas, and being, hates it. Diabetes interrupts my life at the most inconvenient of times - during tests, in the middle of work surrounded by children who all want balloons (at.the.same.time.), during walking when I have run out of snacks.
Worrying about where I'm going to get my insulin or test strips from is stressful. It effects almost every decision in my life. Travel is complicated - so is my future career. Will my career provide insurance? How long can I stay out of the country on a trip could be effected - what if I have an emergency? Will my medication be ok? I have to take into account how certain activities will effect my blood sugar - certain exercises and where I inject. Adjust for changing insulin needs in my body. Count every carbohydrate I eat.
But Diabetes, like it or not, has become an integral part of my life. And trust me, when I say that it is integral, I mean I am certain that everyone that knows me is probably sick of my soapboxes on Diabetes, Diabetes treatment, insurance for Diabetics, exercise with Diabetes, what I don't eat with Diabetes, how T1 is different than T2, new clinical trials, etc., etc., etc.
But if you have a disease ticking alongside your life, present in your mind and in your body as often as you blink, and has become that close a part of you -
That's kind of just what happens.
And I'm thankful, in a way. Because it has changed me. I think twice about things. I focus heavily on my health and the things I put into my body. I have an issue to stand for. Something to fight for. I have hope for a cure. I wear blue on World Diabetes Day. I get to have cool experiences where I meet T1's in public or simply have the satisfaction/excitement of seeing someone with an insulin pump or CGM on their person. I am part of a Diabetes Online Community that lends amazing support to this disease we all fight. I can even relate to T2's, in a way, because I understand how hard it is. I'm not just telling them how important it is to check their sugar - I'm living it. This will help me as a healthcare provider someday.
Diabetes, I still hate you. I hate how you level me and turn me into a weaker version of myself. I hate the times I slump to the floor, sweaty and shaky and low, heart racing. I hate waking up in the night drenched in sweat, or the sickly sweet, dry-mouth feel of a high. Being sleep deprived in the morning from it. I hate thinking twice about you when I go out or before I exercise or giving shots in the car over bumpy roads and the big bruises the insulin shots leave on my skin and the pincushions that my finger pads are.
I hate crying over worrying if I'll have insurance or not, or dealing with the frustrations of Medicaid and trying to get coverage and trying to get fair coverage that might actually cover my medications.
I hate doing and being stressed about all of this in addition to all of the other things I am stressed in life about.
I hate feeling as though my life is lived in a glass box and I am trapped. Everyone can see me but they don't know what it's like to have the wall of an invisible chronic illness separating my life experience from theirs, or how quietly, hellishly frustrating it is. T1 Diabetes is a personal hell from which you can never escape - you either live with it, or you die from it.
And that's a solemn thing.
Diabetes turns us all into fighters. Not even because we want to be, but suddenly, we are thrust into a world where we have to be. We fight for ourselves, because no matter how sick your body is telling you you are, you want to spend your days fighting it, telling it it's not so that you don't become sicker. You want to live life just as much to the fullest as everyone else living without a chronic illness. You don't want to be cheated of that life just because you got the short end of the genetic chromosome/environmental factor/whatever causes T1 Diabetes stick.
We fight hard, and we fight relentlessly, because Diabetes takes no break. If you take a break, your body will only suffer more - and the results can be there in mere minutes, hours. It only takes one skipped or forgotten insulin dose to send your sugar skyrocketing, or one forgotten insulin pen to ruin all your plans, or one bruise on your leg or abdomen to make you self conscious about wearing a swimsuit.
We don't become fighters because we want to be, but eventually Diabetes makes you a stronger fighter than you ever were before. You become stronger than you ever thought possible. You push your limits.Even when you are weak, even when this disease tries to break you, everyone that wakes up every morning, day after day with a chronic disease - with any illness or chronic disease - is making a choice to give it their all. We don't do it for recognition, most of us don't get recognition at all. We just do what we do because we share a common thing: a love for life, and a thankfulness for it that transcends the difficulties and pushes us forward. I believe that anyone that has to fight this disease has at least a whisper of that common thing within them.
And me? I'm thankful for that opportunity to be a fighter. I am an advocate, an educator, a self-made expert on this disease. I am one of the mere few that has the burden of fighting it, but I stand for something bigger than myself for doing so.
My disclaimer is the same thing I've been spouting since blog day 1: Diabetes is a terrible chronic illness to live with. Every fiber of my pancreas, and being, hates it. Diabetes interrupts my life at the most inconvenient of times - during tests, in the middle of work surrounded by children who all want balloons (at.the.same.time.), during walking when I have run out of snacks.
Worrying about where I'm going to get my insulin or test strips from is stressful. It effects almost every decision in my life. Travel is complicated - so is my future career. Will my career provide insurance? How long can I stay out of the country on a trip could be effected - what if I have an emergency? Will my medication be ok? I have to take into account how certain activities will effect my blood sugar - certain exercises and where I inject. Adjust for changing insulin needs in my body. Count every carbohydrate I eat.
But Diabetes, like it or not, has become an integral part of my life. And trust me, when I say that it is integral, I mean I am certain that everyone that knows me is probably sick of my soapboxes on Diabetes, Diabetes treatment, insurance for Diabetics, exercise with Diabetes, what I don't eat with Diabetes, how T1 is different than T2, new clinical trials, etc., etc., etc.
But if you have a disease ticking alongside your life, present in your mind and in your body as often as you blink, and has become that close a part of you -
That's kind of just what happens.
And I'm thankful, in a way. Because it has changed me. I think twice about things. I focus heavily on my health and the things I put into my body. I have an issue to stand for. Something to fight for. I have hope for a cure. I wear blue on World Diabetes Day. I get to have cool experiences where I meet T1's in public or simply have the satisfaction/excitement of seeing someone with an insulin pump or CGM on their person. I am part of a Diabetes Online Community that lends amazing support to this disease we all fight. I can even relate to T2's, in a way, because I understand how hard it is. I'm not just telling them how important it is to check their sugar - I'm living it. This will help me as a healthcare provider someday.
Diabetes, I still hate you. I hate how you level me and turn me into a weaker version of myself. I hate the times I slump to the floor, sweaty and shaky and low, heart racing. I hate waking up in the night drenched in sweat, or the sickly sweet, dry-mouth feel of a high. Being sleep deprived in the morning from it. I hate thinking twice about you when I go out or before I exercise or giving shots in the car over bumpy roads and the big bruises the insulin shots leave on my skin and the pincushions that my finger pads are.
I hate crying over worrying if I'll have insurance or not, or dealing with the frustrations of Medicaid and trying to get coverage and trying to get fair coverage that might actually cover my medications.
I hate doing and being stressed about all of this in addition to all of the other things I am stressed in life about.
I hate feeling as though my life is lived in a glass box and I am trapped. Everyone can see me but they don't know what it's like to have the wall of an invisible chronic illness separating my life experience from theirs, or how quietly, hellishly frustrating it is. T1 Diabetes is a personal hell from which you can never escape - you either live with it, or you die from it.
And that's a solemn thing.
Diabetes turns us all into fighters. Not even because we want to be, but suddenly, we are thrust into a world where we have to be. We fight for ourselves, because no matter how sick your body is telling you you are, you want to spend your days fighting it, telling it it's not so that you don't become sicker. You want to live life just as much to the fullest as everyone else living without a chronic illness. You don't want to be cheated of that life just because you got the short end of the genetic chromosome/environmental factor/whatever causes T1 Diabetes stick.
We fight hard, and we fight relentlessly, because Diabetes takes no break. If you take a break, your body will only suffer more - and the results can be there in mere minutes, hours. It only takes one skipped or forgotten insulin dose to send your sugar skyrocketing, or one forgotten insulin pen to ruin all your plans, or one bruise on your leg or abdomen to make you self conscious about wearing a swimsuit.
We don't become fighters because we want to be, but eventually Diabetes makes you a stronger fighter than you ever were before. You become stronger than you ever thought possible. You push your limits.Even when you are weak, even when this disease tries to break you, everyone that wakes up every morning, day after day with a chronic disease - with any illness or chronic disease - is making a choice to give it their all. We don't do it for recognition, most of us don't get recognition at all. We just do what we do because we share a common thing: a love for life, and a thankfulness for it that transcends the difficulties and pushes us forward. I believe that anyone that has to fight this disease has at least a whisper of that common thing within them.
And me? I'm thankful for that opportunity to be a fighter. I am an advocate, an educator, a self-made expert on this disease. I am one of the mere few that has the burden of fighting it, but I stand for something bigger than myself for doing so.
And wow, isn't that something to be excited for and truly thankful about.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
I Can't Do This On My Own (And I Don't Have To).
Work, school, Medication, Bills, Type 1 Diabetes.
I have a lot of stuff to do...
and generally, if I am to give myself credit, I'd say that I'm pretty good at being an independent, self-sufficient, semi-competent adult.
I'm 21 now - I enjoy a drink after a long day. Sometimes, I can't get my blood glucose quite right. Or I turn up the music real loud in my car and sing as tears fall down my face because I'm so overwhelmed by the sheer much-ness of it all. I make a lot of mistakes. My search for "find the most efficient way possible" leads me to cut corners or be sloppy sometimes. Most of the time I feel like a mess - but I can get things done, and I guess that's what matters.
My life isn't the hardest or the worst life you will ever hear about. But, I have a lot to handle, and have handled a lot from a young age.
And I feel proud. I have accomplished a lot for my age. I feel I could have done more, but I look back at my accomplishments - graduating highschool with my Associates Degree, managing a business in college with my mother's guidance, starting a decently sized mutual fund at 19, getting into PT school at 20. Overcoming all of the obstacles and challenges and emotional turmoils I have been through. I've done it, I've triumphed, and I've pressed on. I see what I want from life and I go after it, and I will always do this, so long as I have fight in me left to give.
But if I was really to step back and tell you what the crux of it all was, my triumphs and successes and the things I have overcome really wouldn't be anything that has to do with me.
Because I didn't do all of this. I couldn't have done any of it on my own. From a young age, my mother guided me and taught me to work hard to achieve my goals. She pushed me past my limits, challenging me to succeed when I was simply resigned to settle for failure. She never let me do that. My mother showed me drive, passion and excellence in everything that I do. My mother has a will of steel, and she taught me to live the same. She doesn't settle - she sets out and she succeeds or she fails trying. And even then, if it doesn't work out, she's already planning out the next steps of what needs to be done. My mother didn't baby me. My family hasn't always been able to help me the most financially, but what she did do was teach me something harder but infinitely more important, and that is how to be self-sufficient. She taught me a skill (entertaining at parties) and with it I have done better than I ever would have done had she simply paid the way for me. I learned how to make something from very little - and with that skill, I know that I will always be okay. We have our ups and downs, but my mother is the most amazing woman I know.
I couldn't have made it into PT School without help. Naive, arrogant me applied to only two schools last year - and in light of other candidates applying to the extremely competitive programs, I was good, but I wasn't the best. When I messed up my application to Mercer and had not even an interview to show for 3 years of striving to get into this program, I resigned myself to the fact that I just wasn't going to grad school this year. My chances of getting into UCF were slim. I walked into work at Wesleyan one day and my boss Mary Anne sent me to her supervisor Steve, the VP of Admissions at Wesleyan. I knew Steve fairly well - I'd worked in the same office for 3 years now. Steve wrote a letter tot he VP at Mercer, who wrote a letter to the supervisor of the PT program at Mercer. Magically, when I had been told there was no hope of obtaining an interview - it was too late after I had failed to properly submit my application - I received a letter inviting me to the last interview a week from then.
I made a huge mistake and maybe I didn't even deserve to get into PT school - but with the help of others, it happened, and here I am almost a year later.
I can think of so many other times when I couldn't have made it through - or wouldn't have wanted to - without others pulling me through. When I got Diabetes, my friends and family rallied around me and supported me. They visited me in the hospital, wrote on my Facebook wall, gave me positive feedback on my blog. The proverbial question I asked in the hospital then went from "Sure I'm alive, but with a disease like Diabetes is this life even worth living?" to, "Why would I ever let Diabetes stop me from living my one life to the best and fullest?". When I got in my car accident last year, my family helped me get back on my feet (albeit it was a rocky experience). My friends gave me rides, encouraged me and sent me uplifting messages. My friends and family and complete strangers reinforce, build me up and uplift me at so many twists and turns, and without them life would be truly black and white. The people that I love and the people that love me make life so worth it. I am so grateful for all of the kindnesses I have ever received, because without those big and little things, truly, I'd be nothing.
And truly, I am thankful to God, because most importantly - thanks to him I will never have to do this thing called life on my own. If I were to examine my actions, my mistakes and flaws and be solely reliant on myself then to get me through the day to day of life - I'd just as soon give up. I am inadequate, incompetent, not strong enough, not capable enough on my own to do this. But with the backing of others - and with the fact that God is my father and he promises us strength and hope in him - I know that God will never put more on my plate than I can handle. God created me with all the skills and the capacity to obtain skills through my life experiences, that I will never have to worry! Yes, even though he tells us not to be anxious, I will have my days and my moments where I am still overwhelmed, anxious, worried.
But the important thing is that I always know there is a light at the tunnel. And even in my darkest moments - in my despair, in my worry, in my overwhelmed times - the people I love and that love me are there, and God is there -
That makes all the difference, because never will I have to walk this journey called life alone.
And that's the important thing for me to remember, because although I will say that one my my best characteristics is drive and resiliency,
I remember that I fight not only for myself,
But for you guys, too. You make my life worth the fight. Strangers, and loved ones alike - living life with fellow human beings, who all struggle like myself - is both a comfort and a source of empowerment in and of itself. Thankful I am.
I remember that I fight not only for myself,
But for you guys, too. You make my life worth the fight. Strangers, and loved ones alike - living life with fellow human beings, who all struggle like myself - is both a comfort and a source of empowerment in and of itself. Thankful I am.
Happy Guy Fawkes Day, all -
- Lacy.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Can't See the Stars.
I can't see the stars anymore.
It occurred to me as I was driving through downtown one evening. The glimmer and beauty of the lights surrounded me again, filling my heart with hope and reaffirming me that all in this world was ok, was going to be ok - no matter what.
Faith is a lot like that, I guess. I can't see it, but I know it's there. Even when I can see the stars - outside of the city - the day comes eventually. It takes them away. But still, I know that they are there.
My life has relied on a lot of faith since starting school here. Faith that it's all worth it. Faith that I'll make it through. And lots, lots of faith in God. If you asked me whether I had changed since beginning Graduate School at Mercer, I would reel a little bit. Because the difference shocks even me, despite that I am the same person. I don't feel the same. My life consists of waking up, going to class, studying almost all of the time, getting lunch prepared, occasionally taking a break, and going to sleep to do it all over again. On the weekends - I work. I have to make specific time for "regular daily activities" such as laundry and vacuuming. It's all a numbers game, as to how much time I want to take away from my studies - how much can I afford to take?
When I'm out with friends, I talk about PT. When I look at magazines of clothes, suddenly I don't only see dresses - shirts - I see muscles, acromion processes and forearm tendons. I make PT jokes. My Facebook consists of posts about a. school and b. work, usually. I ask my friends to let me practice Manual Muscle Testing on them. I wear my little orange and black Mercer jacket proudly. PT is what I have that is mine - to hold and to show and to work for as proof of the life that I have worked hard so much of my life for. PT isn't my whole life, but it's undoubtedly a huge portion of it, and that will inevitably change a person. It has become the filter through which I see life.
And life, in the meantime, I realize does not stop for PT school. I'm tired? Too bad... I have two personal days out of the semester and today I am not using one of them. Diabetes? Still a pain - still have to deal. Have to wake up and go to school. I can either chose to get enough sleep and stress about studying later, or get some studying done and be super tired in the morning. I don't want to study? I have to put in more hours... have to pass my anatomy exam. Personal life? It's not nonexistent, as my focus on PT might have you think. It happens all around me, waxes and wanes, makes me happy and makes me sad. And no matter what, I have to live to through it all. Keep pushing forward, push past, push on - life doesn't stop, and neither must I.
I must live in a world where I can't see the stars anymore. I know they are there, but the city lights have taken their place. And everything is still the same, but it's all quite different, because of this fact. I am thankful, nonetheless. I have faith that they will light my way through this journey I have chosen to take. Those lights are beautiful all the same.
It occurred to me as I was driving through downtown one evening. The glimmer and beauty of the lights surrounded me again, filling my heart with hope and reaffirming me that all in this world was ok, was going to be ok - no matter what.
Faith is a lot like that, I guess. I can't see it, but I know it's there. Even when I can see the stars - outside of the city - the day comes eventually. It takes them away. But still, I know that they are there.
My life has relied on a lot of faith since starting school here. Faith that it's all worth it. Faith that I'll make it through. And lots, lots of faith in God. If you asked me whether I had changed since beginning Graduate School at Mercer, I would reel a little bit. Because the difference shocks even me, despite that I am the same person. I don't feel the same. My life consists of waking up, going to class, studying almost all of the time, getting lunch prepared, occasionally taking a break, and going to sleep to do it all over again. On the weekends - I work. I have to make specific time for "regular daily activities" such as laundry and vacuuming. It's all a numbers game, as to how much time I want to take away from my studies - how much can I afford to take?
When I'm out with friends, I talk about PT. When I look at magazines of clothes, suddenly I don't only see dresses - shirts - I see muscles, acromion processes and forearm tendons. I make PT jokes. My Facebook consists of posts about a. school and b. work, usually. I ask my friends to let me practice Manual Muscle Testing on them. I wear my little orange and black Mercer jacket proudly. PT is what I have that is mine - to hold and to show and to work for as proof of the life that I have worked hard so much of my life for. PT isn't my whole life, but it's undoubtedly a huge portion of it, and that will inevitably change a person. It has become the filter through which I see life.
And life, in the meantime, I realize does not stop for PT school. I'm tired? Too bad... I have two personal days out of the semester and today I am not using one of them. Diabetes? Still a pain - still have to deal. Have to wake up and go to school. I can either chose to get enough sleep and stress about studying later, or get some studying done and be super tired in the morning. I don't want to study? I have to put in more hours... have to pass my anatomy exam. Personal life? It's not nonexistent, as my focus on PT might have you think. It happens all around me, waxes and wanes, makes me happy and makes me sad. And no matter what, I have to live to through it all. Keep pushing forward, push past, push on - life doesn't stop, and neither must I.
I must live in a world where I can't see the stars anymore. I know they are there, but the city lights have taken their place. And everything is still the same, but it's all quite different, because of this fact. I am thankful, nonetheless. I have faith that they will light my way through this journey I have chosen to take. Those lights are beautiful all the same.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
21!
The now-annual list of weird things to do for my birthday is up!
- jump into the swimming pool before school with all my clothes on (if the pool isn't covered)
- if pool is covered, find a plan B.
- wake up in time to buy coffee before school.
- wear a nice dress.
- go to the park.
- buy a new music album.
- buy a used book at the bookstore down the street.
- buy this awesome beer.
- take a walk around the school at lunch time (since I can't get out of class). Also, do handstands in the grass.
- call someone I haven't talked to in a while.
- stargaze.
- (like last year) drop 21 pennies randomly everywhere.
- compliment a stranger.
Making my birthday awesome to set it apart from every other day - one random thing at a time!
- jump into the swimming pool before school with all my clothes on (if the pool isn't covered)
- if pool is covered, find a plan B.
- wake up in time to buy coffee before school.
- wear a nice dress.
- go to the park.
- buy a new music album.
- buy a used book at the bookstore down the street.
- buy this awesome beer.
- take a walk around the school at lunch time (since I can't get out of class). Also, do handstands in the grass.
- call someone I haven't talked to in a while.
- stargaze.
- (like last year) drop 21 pennies randomly everywhere.
- compliment a stranger.
Making my birthday awesome to set it apart from every other day - one random thing at a time!
Thursday, October 2, 2014
"If Worse Comes to Worse, I Mean, We'll Just Pay For It."
Those were the words I uttered to the nurse my last day in the hospital after my diagnosis.
Before I left, I was told that I would not be allowed to leave unless I left with medication. The problem was, I didn't have health insurance then. I had never thought I would need it. People always ask me, "well won't you be covered under your parent's health insurance?"
But, we always self paid. There wasn't any reason not to - my mom and I were healthy people.
It was a decision out of my control anyways, a decision that my mother or my parents controlled. I didn't care - I wasn't paying for any of my medical expenses anyways, of which there were few. Shots when needed (I hated shots so much), the optometrist, contact lenses. I was picture perfect healthy and hadn't been in the hospital for anything since the day I was born.
Rewind back a couple of years, and the picture of me was this:
All I can think is oblivious. Innocent to all of this nonsense that my world now runs amuck in. Diabetes is what I live, breathe, eat, sleep. Do you know what it's like to go to bed every night and in the back of your mind, remember that there might come the night when.... you don't wake up? See posts on your Diabetes Facebook page about another soul lost - another coma leading to death from hyperglycemia, or a night time low caught too late?
The difference between me and a lot of the people I meet every day is that I am bitterly, lucidly aware of my mortality. Every day. That sounds over dramatic. But as it does, it is true. Don't misinterpret that statement, though. I live by the mantra, "look around the room, around the world. Everyone you see has problems that are as big to them as yours are to you." Diabetes is my problem, it's true - and other people have problems, big and small both. We all have our struggles to deal with. This blog is simply my take on how this particular problem of mine effects my life every day. And what I mean by a more lucid, heavy awareness of my mortality is just the fact that someone like me literally has the power to take their life and hold it in their hands. I hold my life before me, close my eyes and see the fragile thread that it is. It is a beautiful gift that God has bequeathed to me. Extinguished in a second, and yet it is the only absolute that I have ever known, is what I have experienced within the walls of this body I call my own. And every day, I make a decison.
I will treat myself. I won't give myself too much insulin. I'll give myself the right amount -- how I treat myself today will effect myself 2, 5, 20 years down the road through possible complications.
My life now effects everything I will every experience in the future. And when I'm low? Sometimes I sit there, and I look up at the ceiling, I close my eyes, I think - my life kisses the lips of death if I choose not to treat. It's literally that easy to slip away. And the beautiful thing is, that I always will treat myself - there is and never will be any doubt about that. But every time I think this, I am reminded again of just all the reasons of why I do. And life means so much more because of that. I fight not because I have to or ever wanted to, but this fight came to me, and demanded that I face it.
And when people say, "I could never have Diabetes. Oh, I hate needles to much. I'd rather die."
Part of me is upset, because I never wanted this struggle, just like you wouldn't want it.
But the other half wants to take their hand, look them in the eyes, and let the walls I have built around my life fall for just that moment as I say:
"That's the beautiful thing about humans. We never truly realize how strong of fighters that we are until that's what we have to be."
And can I take a moment to call that out in regards to myself? I have a lot of flaws, for a human. More than I care to admit. But despite all of my flaws, if I had to pick one characteristic about me that I found most pure and unpolluted, that I was most proud of, that was my shining feature, it would be this:
My drive. That spark within me, a fire that will never go out. I will never give up. I am resilient. No matter what challenges face me, I may need my moment to cry and rebalance - but I will do what it takes to adjust and overcome. And I always, always will. It's who I am, to the very deepest core of me.
And so the point of all this long, drawn out dialogue was this - let me bring it back around -
I never thought about healthcare until I had to. I looked down on government insurance assistance programs. I had lofty views, and now I'm stuck on the receiving end of a government aide program that I am at the mercy of to give me the medicine I need while I am a student with no insurance coverage. And now, I'm losing that too.
The moment in the hospital - when I told the nurse, "Oh, if worse comes to worse, we'll just pay for the medicine so that I can leave." - That was when Diabetes hit me for the umpteenth time in the face:
This singular fact - Living with Diabetes didn't just suck. Living with Diabetes was very, very expensive, as the nurse sucked in a breath, looked at me and said, "It's not likely, sweetie. That medication is very, very expensive."
And sure thing, long story short, life got complicated fast, with numbers like these:
Hospital stay for the 5 days: $21,000.97 (something like that)
Insulin and supplies for the month: $800.00
Doctor's visit: $75.00
Lab work: $400.00
I now have different motivations, different perspectives on health care than I did before. But I will go into politics later. If you're reading this now, just know this - I am scared. I went to the insulin companies themselves and found out I might qualify for patient assistance programs that provide free insulin to people uninsured like I will be. The problem is - Mercer requires health insurance, and health insurance is either expensive, or has huge copays, or doesn't cover the insulin I need, which makes it even worse, in a sense, and more expensive for me to have insurance than to not. How F***** up is that? The very system that is supposed to "help" me requires me to purchase insurance that I would literally be likely better off without. And so now, I'm back at ground one, and reeling to figure out what to do.
Switch my residency to GA and apply for Medicaid here?
Purchase Mercer's health care policy (which doesn't help my case) and beg the drug companies to still consider my Patient Assistance Program Application? There's another $1800 a year -
Seek insurance elsewhere? If it doesn't cover my insulin, simply depend on what I've saved up for the next few years and buy as needed?
Basically, I realize I'm just going to have to ride out the next couple of years. Three more years, I tell myself. Three years... and maybe I have a shot of finally getting coverage and getting out of this non-insured, or arguably even worse, under-insured nightmare.
I want to cry, but I'm telling myself that God has this covered, and we'll figure it out. I feel alone sometimes, but the kindness and the help of others reminds me that I am not alone, and I'll never have to be. And while I still feel tempted to finish this blog, go sit on a bench in the cool, nostalgic fall weather outside and let the tears of overwhelmed-ness pour down my face, I realize that now is not the time.
Strength is what I need, and strength is what I have. I will fight, like I always have done.
I will make a way.
Before I left, I was told that I would not be allowed to leave unless I left with medication. The problem was, I didn't have health insurance then. I had never thought I would need it. People always ask me, "well won't you be covered under your parent's health insurance?"
But, we always self paid. There wasn't any reason not to - my mom and I were healthy people.
It was a decision out of my control anyways, a decision that my mother or my parents controlled. I didn't care - I wasn't paying for any of my medical expenses anyways, of which there were few. Shots when needed (I hated shots so much), the optometrist, contact lenses. I was picture perfect healthy and hadn't been in the hospital for anything since the day I was born.
Rewind back a couple of years, and the picture of me was this:
All I can think is oblivious. Innocent to all of this nonsense that my world now runs amuck in. Diabetes is what I live, breathe, eat, sleep. Do you know what it's like to go to bed every night and in the back of your mind, remember that there might come the night when.... you don't wake up? See posts on your Diabetes Facebook page about another soul lost - another coma leading to death from hyperglycemia, or a night time low caught too late?
The difference between me and a lot of the people I meet every day is that I am bitterly, lucidly aware of my mortality. Every day. That sounds over dramatic. But as it does, it is true. Don't misinterpret that statement, though. I live by the mantra, "look around the room, around the world. Everyone you see has problems that are as big to them as yours are to you." Diabetes is my problem, it's true - and other people have problems, big and small both. We all have our struggles to deal with. This blog is simply my take on how this particular problem of mine effects my life every day. And what I mean by a more lucid, heavy awareness of my mortality is just the fact that someone like me literally has the power to take their life and hold it in their hands. I hold my life before me, close my eyes and see the fragile thread that it is. It is a beautiful gift that God has bequeathed to me. Extinguished in a second, and yet it is the only absolute that I have ever known, is what I have experienced within the walls of this body I call my own. And every day, I make a decison.
I will treat myself. I won't give myself too much insulin. I'll give myself the right amount -- how I treat myself today will effect myself 2, 5, 20 years down the road through possible complications.
My life now effects everything I will every experience in the future. And when I'm low? Sometimes I sit there, and I look up at the ceiling, I close my eyes, I think - my life kisses the lips of death if I choose not to treat. It's literally that easy to slip away. And the beautiful thing is, that I always will treat myself - there is and never will be any doubt about that. But every time I think this, I am reminded again of just all the reasons of why I do. And life means so much more because of that. I fight not because I have to or ever wanted to, but this fight came to me, and demanded that I face it.
And when people say, "I could never have Diabetes. Oh, I hate needles to much. I'd rather die."
Part of me is upset, because I never wanted this struggle, just like you wouldn't want it.
But the other half wants to take their hand, look them in the eyes, and let the walls I have built around my life fall for just that moment as I say:
"That's the beautiful thing about humans. We never truly realize how strong of fighters that we are until that's what we have to be."
And can I take a moment to call that out in regards to myself? I have a lot of flaws, for a human. More than I care to admit. But despite all of my flaws, if I had to pick one characteristic about me that I found most pure and unpolluted, that I was most proud of, that was my shining feature, it would be this:
My drive. That spark within me, a fire that will never go out. I will never give up. I am resilient. No matter what challenges face me, I may need my moment to cry and rebalance - but I will do what it takes to adjust and overcome. And I always, always will. It's who I am, to the very deepest core of me.
And so the point of all this long, drawn out dialogue was this - let me bring it back around -
I never thought about healthcare until I had to. I looked down on government insurance assistance programs. I had lofty views, and now I'm stuck on the receiving end of a government aide program that I am at the mercy of to give me the medicine I need while I am a student with no insurance coverage. And now, I'm losing that too.
The moment in the hospital - when I told the nurse, "Oh, if worse comes to worse, we'll just pay for the medicine so that I can leave." - That was when Diabetes hit me for the umpteenth time in the face:
This singular fact - Living with Diabetes didn't just suck. Living with Diabetes was very, very expensive, as the nurse sucked in a breath, looked at me and said, "It's not likely, sweetie. That medication is very, very expensive."
And sure thing, long story short, life got complicated fast, with numbers like these:
Hospital stay for the 5 days: $21,000.97 (something like that)
Insulin and supplies for the month: $800.00
Doctor's visit: $75.00
Lab work: $400.00
I now have different motivations, different perspectives on health care than I did before. But I will go into politics later. If you're reading this now, just know this - I am scared. I went to the insulin companies themselves and found out I might qualify for patient assistance programs that provide free insulin to people uninsured like I will be. The problem is - Mercer requires health insurance, and health insurance is either expensive, or has huge copays, or doesn't cover the insulin I need, which makes it even worse, in a sense, and more expensive for me to have insurance than to not. How F***** up is that? The very system that is supposed to "help" me requires me to purchase insurance that I would literally be likely better off without. And so now, I'm back at ground one, and reeling to figure out what to do.
Switch my residency to GA and apply for Medicaid here?
Purchase Mercer's health care policy (which doesn't help my case) and beg the drug companies to still consider my Patient Assistance Program Application? There's another $1800 a year -
Seek insurance elsewhere? If it doesn't cover my insulin, simply depend on what I've saved up for the next few years and buy as needed?
Basically, I realize I'm just going to have to ride out the next couple of years. Three more years, I tell myself. Three years... and maybe I have a shot of finally getting coverage and getting out of this non-insured, or arguably even worse, under-insured nightmare.
I want to cry, but I'm telling myself that God has this covered, and we'll figure it out. I feel alone sometimes, but the kindness and the help of others reminds me that I am not alone, and I'll never have to be. And while I still feel tempted to finish this blog, go sit on a bench in the cool, nostalgic fall weather outside and let the tears of overwhelmed-ness pour down my face, I realize that now is not the time.
Strength is what I need, and strength is what I have. I will fight, like I always have done.
I will make a way.
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