Danger: Sweet Potato Casserole

This Thanksgiving was a swiftly ticking time bomb, destined to be ominous...!

My very first with Diabetes.

The week did not start out well. Monday after the last day of classes I headed up to Forsyth for Thanksgiving break with the Kuckuck's. Tuesday my Blood Sugar was sort of spiky. I ate mostly protein all day - very few carbs at all. Yet, when I checked my blood sugar at 9PM, my blood sugar was 420. Yes, 420. I hadn't been that high since I was just out of the hospital. I hadn't seen an endo since June, and I was still unsure of what my correction bolus would be. Basically, this meant that I'd been taking wild stabs in the dark at trying to manage my Diabetes, and lately I was on the losing side of a nasty blood sugar battle between my broken pancreas and I. Managing blood sugar does not always have to be this difficult. But this is my first year with this disease, and my insulin needs change often. So every time I seem to find the correct ratio it changes again. The danger of nighttime corrections is that you run the risk of over correction and getting low - especially in my case, when I'm basically having to wildly guess my dosage. My previous correction had been 1 unit for every 100 mg over my blood sugar target was, and since my insulin needs seemed to have doubled over the past month, I doubled what normally would have been 3 to receive my magic number, 6. 

I woke up sweating, and I didn't know why. 2:30 AM. Josh came and checked on me. He forced me to sit up and tested my blood sugar. It was 258. Why was it still so high? I was so frustrated. I started crying into his shoulder. "This----issupposed--to-happen-to-to-to---to people that don't care! I do care! Why is it happening to me? What--did-did---I do--to deserve this?" I blubbered. I woke up the next morning and Josh stood over me as I tested again. 251. Not even a dent in my blood sugar had been made. Usually it would at least go down in my sleep. He called Laurie, who works at an assisted living facility. They reasoned that perhaps I wasn't actually eating enough carbs. I wasn't sure if that had anything to do with it. Either way I poured myself a bowl of cereal into a measuring cup that morning, and then carefully did the same with my milk. I counted all the carbs like the perfect Diabetes poster child I am and bolused 10 minutes beforehand before pouring in the milk and setting down to breakfast. I was confident that my good behavior would warrant fabulous blood sugar.

I ate nothing else the rest of the morning and went to test at noon. 384. What.in.the.hell? I stormed into Josh's room. You said my blood sugar might be bad because I'm not eating enough carbs, but now it's even higher! I started crying again. I was a failure at life. I was going to go blind. My feet were going to fall off. I was going to die. All of the worst possible scenarios rushed through my head as I sobbed huge tears of angry frustration. I hated this disease! I stabbed myself with my Novolog pen and gave myself 8 units. Josh called Laurie again. Josh stuck me in the car and we drove to see Laurie down the street, where I met all of the friendly nurses and tried to seem semi-put together. I doubted I was fooling anybody, and at any rate I still couldn't hold back some of my tears. Everyone comforted me, and one of the nurses checked my temperature and blood pressure, which were both perfectly fine. Everything was fine, really. Except for the fact that my blood sugars were insanely high. I felt like I'd been run over a bus. My mouth was parched, I'd had to pee like 5 times since that morning, and I felt like falling over and going to sleep that very second. In my groggy stupor I was handed a fistful of alcohol swabs and my blood sugar was tested in 15 minute intervals to determine that it was, in fact, going down. So, we could rule out the possibility that my Novolog wasn't working. Laurie bought me a bottle of water and Josh and I drove back home. Josh made me a comfy spot in his bed and ordered me to lie down, dragged some fans into the room to circulate air, covered me in a blanket and got me a bottle of water. I meekly thanked him and he turned on my favorite channel, HGTV. 

We checked again at 2PM. My blood sugar was better, 180. I felt a little more consoled. Josh cut me celery sticks and spread them with peanut butter as I made a giant omelet. 2 units of insulin for the small amount of carbs were given. I was still upset and wary about my blood sugars but felt much improved physically.

The next day was Thanksgiving. Eek! My blood sugar was 151 in the morning which was swell. But, mistakenly, this caused me to let my guard down. For dinner I had only turkey and green beans, with a little bit of sweet potato casserole, but all of the sampling in between had wreaked havoc on me. My blood sugar was 460 at the end of the day. I felt defeated once again as I gave myself 8 units and waited for it to go down.

The next morning, I was better. Woke up at 160. Spikey but... okay. Had low-carb jello for breakfast, bolused 3 units. Today was the start of a new day, a good day where my numbers were picture-perfect and I was the Queen of good blood sugar. Checked my blood sugar at noon. 515. 515?! That was high enough to hospitalized, for God's sake. What was wrong? I angrily gave myself 11 units of insulin and settled down for the long haul, checking my blood sugar all day. It did finally go down and was back to 160 by the start of the evening. 

I texted my mom later. My mom totally freaked out when I told her, and soon my old endo back in Florida was on the phone. He changed up my insulin dosages - 1 unit of Novo for every 7 units of carbs vs. my old ratio of 1:10. I was waking up fine, and my Lantus was kept the same.

So far my blood sugars have held pretty steady with the new ratio; I think it's been just what I needed. I've had to watch over my Diabetes with an iron fist, and it's been rough. My first Thanksgiving with Diabetes got off to a rocky start, and even though I know it's only my first year it's hard not to be hard on myself as I'm adjusting to this new life. I hope that things will get better and that I can reconcile with this disease in time. In a world where every bite and nibble counts, who knew that sweet potato casserole could be so dangerous?

Long Time No See, Low

I wake up sweat-drenched, and everything seems normal for just a second. Christmas carols play softly on the radio. The clock reads 2:32 AM.

2:32 AM? Why am I awake? And why am I sweating so badly?
It's been a long time since I've been woken up in the middle of the night by a low. I've almost forgotten what it feels like. And then it hits me; I'm low, and I startle into consciousness. I shake so badly as I weakly grasp for the meter thankfully lying within arm's reach on the nightstand. I struggle to sit up as I test. My blood sugar is 47. I can hardly find the strength to get up and walk two steps to the minifridge. My movements are about as fluid as maple syrup. By some miracle I had remembered just that evening to buy more snacks in case of lows; otherwise I would have been out, and I don't know what I would have done. I fall back onto the bed with my snack in hand, leaning against the wall to try and support myself as I munch on the snack. I feel awful. My heart pounds. I shake it off, but after the snack I am going to take a while to recuperate still. There is nothing left to do but turn off the light and roll back over to sleep; it takes the least amount of energy.

Sometimes, although rarely, I can ignore Diabetes.
In the peacefulness of slumber, in my dreams, I have no disease.
When I'm laughing, with friends, for brief seconds at a time I can forget and put it in the back of my mind.
Driving down rural country roads, or face painting children, or listening to music. Life, in that second, consists of only those things.
But Diabetes is like the sun and the moon; whether hidden by clouds, by light or darkness, in a windowless room, sometimes unseen; it is, and always will be, still there. It has become such an ever-present part of everyday life that your world is unfathomable without it. I don't want Diabetes to be like that, but it is. It has to be, because I live with and treat this disease every single day of my life, and nearly every choice that I make is overshadowed by the ever-present thought of "how will this effect my Diabetes?"

I'm glad there is a month to raise Diabetes awareness, even if so few people are aware of what the life of a Type 1 means. But sometimes I don't want a month. I don't want to raise awareness. Because that means that I have a disease to raise awareness for. I wish Type 1 Diabetes was more easily treatable, I wish that there was a cure. I don't want to have a disease where I have to give myself shots everyday and feel eternally guilty for eating half a pint of ice cream. I don't want to deal with the nasty smell of insulin, and see test strips of mine lying all over campus. I don't want a disease that can't be cured, a disease that too few people know or care about to donate money to. There are more "important" illnesses, more pressing issues, they say. What about the people whose lives are affected by this disease? Are they, their quality of life, not important enough? Do they not deserve better treatments, more pressing searches for a cure, than someone with a different disease, or a different plight? Are we not as worth it?

Let me tell you something you've probably already figured out if you've kept up with this blog. Once you get Diabetes, there is no going back. Life will never be the same. You age beyond your years because you have to. Every day is a mental and physical fight for your life, to stay happy, stay sane, stay healthy. I don't think about it a lot because I can't afford to think like that, but the quality of life for a Type 1 Diabetic is pretty crappy. We've been treating with insulin since the '20's. Where are all the new innovations, the better treatments to make our lives easier? Sure, we have better needles, insulin pumps, less scary looking lancets, but at the end of the day the treatment is still the same: it lies at the end of a needle in our side. I'm inevitably going to get sick of it. I'm already sick of thinking like this, of thinking that I will never get cured. Of thinking that this will be my life forever. Do you know I've never had a Twinkie? Rarely had fast food? My mother never let us eat processed foods as a child? I had a healthier diet than most people I know ever would? It did nothing to stop me from getting this disease. I don't understand how I can watch people eat all of the fried and fatty, sugary foods in the world and yet I'm the one who got this stupid, misunderstood disease - and then be judged because people think it was my supposed "unhealthy diet" that made me this way.

In short... I'm tired of you, Diabetes.
Please just go away.

Happy Belated Diabetes Awareness Month!

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

Almost-Grown Up

Life goes by in a breeze. I blink, I'm in the third year of College. Exhale, already halfway through the first semester of Wesleyan. Time to pick classes again. A day goes by and I am now 18, finally an adult. I turn around, High School years lay behind me, so distant the memories seem as if they belong to a past life, surely not my own. I'm not old - I'm very young. But all of the things that were once so familiar have changed, and the differences make me feel as if I've been alive a hundred years. People have changed, left my life, gone off in their own direction. Home is no longer the place where I lay my head down at night, but instead now a place where I can only visit precious few times each year. I don't know where I'm going to Grad School, I don't know where I want to live where I grow up, paper towels are a luxury I haven't had since leaving home, and I miss my mom taking me out to go shopping.

I am an "almost-grown up".

I love it; I like feeling responsible, getting errands done, seeing things get accomplished. I like it when people don't treat me like a child, but instead like someone who matters. (Despite the baby face - sigh.) I'm at a time in my life where one part of the day I can act grown-up, and yet act like a complete child on certain occasions...sometimes merely hours later. There's college for you.

But then... sometimes... I don't like it so much. I feel a little homesick for my old life. Sometimes I miss Orlando - while so many times I hated that busy, hectic place, I realize that all my life I had grown used to it. Now the absence seems as strange and apparent as absolute silence. Which is, literally, just what the transition has been like - stepping from a room full of people into a completely quite one. The busy-ness, the rhythm, the life that my hometown possessed - makes so many places seem like ghost towns in comparison. I'm not used to seeing tiny Southern towns, driving down 20-mile highways through the middle of nowhere, not a strip mall in sight. The only place I had ever really experienced something like that before was Live Oak, a little town north of Gainesville where my grandparents live. Orlando was my city, my home, and there is no other place on Earth quite like it. It was familiar, and I miss familiar. I miss being around family and the people I know, going to all the familiar stores and restaurants, being privy to all of the exciting perks and things that only the inhabitants of one of the busiest cities in Florida got to enjoy.

And my, since moving I have aged. It's not necessarily a readily apparent thing - but I notice little changes, differences in the way I act, the way I think. There are things that make me shake my head now - like going to the store and seeing moms and their teen daughters shopping for clothes, and those girls just being so rude to their moms. I know I was like that at some point - I went through that phase - but really? What ever possessed me to do that? It just makes me want to tell them to shape up and stop taking their moms for granted. I was a terribly rude teenager, but I realize how silly that was now. My mom always made sure I had nice clothes, I had good food, that I was taken care of. Heck, she even endured teaching me algebra - a task that no mortal should take lightly. I realize how lucky I was, how patient and caring my mom was all those years, and I just wish I would have acted more grateful to her for everything she'd done for me... not be the moody, smart-butt teenager that I see in almost every store I walk in now.

The bottom line is, being an almost-grown up is hard. It's exhausting. It's worrisome. Trying to make my business work, getting all of my own shows and bookings, fighting for every customer, that's hard. Paying for all of my own things, budgeting carefully, takes self control - and many times I make sacrifices and go without a lot of things, like expensive low-carb ice cream and nice makeup and eating out. Making new friends, finding new places, that's foreign and discouraging at times - I feel as if I'm still trying to find in Macon, in Georgia, a place that feels like Orlando - but I know I'll never find it. And, you know, just by writing that I realize all this time that that's exactly what I have been trying to do - I've been taking pieces of my old life and holding them up against the new, trying to compare the two, trying to find similarities between two entirely different things. I try so hard, but I have to come to terms with the fact that those similarities I search so hard for will never be found. Everything I have ever known has changed, and that means I have to make changes, too. I can't keep searching for remnants of my old life in my new one. That doesn't mean I have to let go of Florida, becoming a complete hermit to my friends and family back home. That's always going to be a part of me that I will embrace with open arms every chance I get. But it does mean I have to also embrace new things, accept that my life from now on will involve more responsibility, and learn from all of the new lessons that life is bound to toss at me.

I know that from this blog I might come off as seeming discontent - this is not the case. I realize that these feelings are normal, that in time I will come to adjust. It's just... learning to be an adult is hard! I love college and finally being close to Joshua and meeting new people and (albeit slowly) becoming more educated. I love knowing that in a few short years, my hard work will pay off, and I will be able to put my college degree to good use. Until then, I guess you could say I have a homework assignment that has nothing to do with college classes -

That is, finding my "new normal".

2 Years! (In Other Words, the Most Original Title Ever)

Well, if you didn't already know from Facebook, I'm reiterating again to say that today Joshua and I celebrate two years together. And what a wonderful two years it has been! Three and a half years of knowing him from hundreds of miles away has not been easy. But despite the distance and whatever the odds against us, I feel that our relationship has never failed to grow. I can marvel now at how perfect God's timing was when he put Joshua in my life - he came just when I needed him most, during some of the most difficult and trying times of my life. Joshua helped me through, showing me hope and light even in seemingly dark times. And, of course, it's not just the hard times in life that Joshua's been there for - it's the best times, too! Countless visits during School Breaks, VSO, Thanksgivings and New Year's kisses will forever be some of the fondest memories that I possess. Joshua and I's relationship is the first and only that I've ever been in, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I couldn't imagine being blessed with anyone more perfect for me than he is. Joshua may be lucky to have a girlfriend who bakes excellent cookies, but I am the truly lucky one! Happy 2-Year Anniversary to the most wonderful man in my life!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wow, You're 18. You're Old Enough To Be Arrested!"

Welp, the title says it all. I am officially 18. Have been for almost a week now. And, in case you were wondering, the title was not made up by me - somebody else congratulated me on being 18, smiled, and promptly notified me that I was now old enough to be arrested. Personally, I was more excited about being able to gamble and have a say in who does not become our next President.

So how was my 18th Birthday? I have to admit, after a string of birthdays in which I turned yet another year older, but never really felt any different, this Birthday broke the norm. I did feel different. The weight of my newly-had responsibilities, the pressure that would now be put on me to be an adult - was very present in my mind on October 13th. At the same time, I felt as if I had woken up older, somehow, more mature - cheesy, I know, but in a country where people do often consider you a child until after you hit the 18th year mark, I think it's only natural to feel this way.

And I felt thankful. I was thankful to have ever gotten the chance to turn 18, to still be alive to celebrate. I think back to that day 6 months ago, back to my diagnosis with Diabetes, and realize how closely I came to never even getting to celebrate another year of life. How easily it all could have been cut short, and the weight of that event in my life, will likely be something I'll be aware of for all of my hopefully many future birthdays to come.

I didn't know what to do on my Birthday. So I woke up, went to breakfast, and followed the same routine I did every Thursday. I went to class. In 3-D Design we were building towers out of a single board of foam core. Whoever built the tallest tower, without any adhesive, got a 100%. I had low expectations for my success. I lack the mathematical skills of a genius to figure out the best possible proportions for base to height. My stand-in X-Acto knife was an impressive looking pocket knife given to me by my grandfather. My measurements were sadly un-uniform. The project frustrated me to no end. But I thought, I experimented, and finally I came up with a simple plan: I made a base, and cut tiny little joints out of the middle of thin pieces of foam core. I fit these joints onto the piece below it, and was just going to keep stacking thin little pieces of foamboard vertical-ways up until the tower would support no more. Glamorous? No. Effective? Highly. Several students were able to build insanely tall towers, but after what seemed like an eternity of battling it out and trying to figure out how to get my tower to support just one more piece of foam board, I had constructed a leaning-tower-of-pisa-like stick that stretched all the way up past the art building ceiling. I had won the tallest tower at over 150 inches and completely surprised myself!

Lunch was next. Several people wished me Happy Birthday, which made me feel special. I logged on to Facebook only to find a major surprise: my father, who is in the billboard business, had just finished constructing the first tri-faced LED Billboard in Florida and had put "Happy Birthday Lacy" on the very front of it! He had posted a picture of it for everyone to see. My mother and him had gotten together and come up with the idea to do it for me. I could not even fathom that someone would do something so incredible for my Birthday. Now, in addition to everyone who was friends with me on Facebook knowing it was my Birthday, basically all of Orlando knew as well! Ha! How amazing was that?

As a Birthday present from Mom, Dad and my family, I was also mailed a Birthday Box filled with low-carb mini chocolate cake, party supplies and a Nook. I had sorely missed not being able to bring my books with me to College, and Wesleyan's Library was more of an academic library... meaning there was little of what I like to call "recreational reading", or easy books just to rest my mind and give it a break from my studies. I was thrilled to get a Nook - I could finally have books again!

I went to sculpture class after lunch and worked on my sculpture. We were sanding our nearly-finished works today. I decided to leave early because I wanted to head over to Forsyth before it got too late. I looked out the window only to find that it had started absolutely pouring. Restless, I was determined not to sit and work on stone birds for another hour. I sat and waited by the door for 15 minutes but after noticing the rain showed no sign whatsoever of slowing, I gulped, tucked my bag within the safety of my arms, and opened the door.

I ran. The rain was biting cold, the wind blowing. Water showered my face, soaked my hair and drenched my jeans and tank top. At first I was truly annoyed. I wanted to look at least somewhat decent on my birthday, not wet like a drowned rat. I ran across the parking lot like mad and slowed to hop onto the grass. I sped up and one of my slippery flip flops went flying. A smile broke out on my face as I bent to retrieve it. And then the other one flew off. I could hold off my giddiness no longer. I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I remembered all of the times in my past when I had run out in the rain with friends, or by myself, and all the fun that I had had. I lifted my face to the sky, silently thanking it for the rain. I ran up the hill, muddying my jeans, but I didn't care. I laughed the whole way back to the dorms. And it had made my Birthday perfect.

I got inside, set my wet jeans aside, and got into some warm, dry clothes. I dried my hair and my face, packed a small bag, and then I drove over to Forysth. Marleigh's Fall Chorus Recital for Mary Persons High was today, and I'd said I'd come see it. Jake and I went together, and it was nice to get a chance to sit and listen to music. After a stressful week it was good to be able to relax. Afterwards we went to Jonah's, one of our biggest Forsyth traditions. Jonah's is a fantastic pizza place - we're biased, but we consider it the best - right in the heart of downtown Forsyth. Jake, who up until last week had worked there, let the people in the back know we were here to celebrate my Birthday. We sat down and ordered pizza rolls and pizza. After a fantastic, completely Way too High-Carb dinner, one of the waiters Jake knew let me pick which slice of cake I wanted. I knew my blood sugar wasn't going to be that happy, but you only turn 18 once. And you bet that I was going to have some cake. Jake didn't really care for sweets so I asked Marleigh to help me decide and share with me. There were so many delicious looking options - chocolate fudge cake, poundcake, carrot - but having never tried a Banana Creme Pie Cheesecake before, that's the one I selected. Then everyone came out and sang to me! Laurie and her friend Donna burst in while they were singing and it felt like a complete party. I was embarrassed and delighted all at the same time with all of the attention. I resolved to have only one bite of my cake but after tasting it I couldn't help myself. It was completely delicious and I tried two more bites. Marleigh and I ate most of it and Jake ate the rest. After some pictures we drove home, dancing in the car to music, and I spent the night in my usually comfy spot on the Living Room couch.

Had it been the most eventful Birthday? No. Did I have a big get together or party? Certainly not. Had I received a lot of gifts? No. I missed my friends, my family, the big, grand parties with the presents and the friends and everyone I had known from High School and before. But I had gotten to spend my Birthday with people I adored, in a place that I loved, and welcome a new and exciting chapter into my life. My 18th Birthday was different, and it was going to take time to accept all of the changes that College had brought. But my life is changing, growing, becoming something new and wonderful. It's been the best 18 years of my life, but I know that the years to come will be equally the best, not for the same reasons, but in their own different way.

So... Happy Birthday to me. And here's hoping I don't get arrested any time soon.