Happy Sunday...In April...Absolutely Could Not Think Of A Title

To say it's been forever since I've posted anything is an understatement! Finals and the last few weeks of school have just managed to consume all my time completely. However, Monday is my last final, and then I'll be free for the summer! Can't wait! I'm done with the bulk of my studying now, though, have gleefully removed the dozens of sticky notes from my textbooks, and am in the process of packing up all of my belongings. It feels like a repeat from last year and I can't believe my "first" (third) year of college is nearly over.

My life has been so busy, especially these past 3.5 months, I feel I've scarcely had a chance to breathe. My life has been one perpetual study session, and when I wasn't studying, I felt guilty that I wasn't studying. That, or I was running my business, balancing phone calls with class lectures and driving up to Atlanta on the weekends to go be a princess.

Diabetes has kind of taken the backburner during this time. I think I've hardly had time to think about it! It hasn't really played a particularly large part in my life. It's easy to get caught up in the daily grind - wake up, test my Blood Sugar, go to the dining hall for breakfast. I keep my school ID in my meter case out of convenience. Have a snack before lunch, eat, snack in the afternoon, dinner, and snack before bed. That's a lot of snacks, so thank goodness the 100-calorie (and ironically more low-carb than the sugar free) Klondike bars are usually buy one get one free. I'm kind of happy to report that nothing major has happened. I've had relatively few lows, and with the exception of the 347 last night (yeah... there was baking involved) my sugars have been kept relatively under control.

It feels so different from a year ago, when everything was so new and different to me. I used to carry around my little green JDRF cooler with everything inside - carb counting book, glucagon emergency kit, an entire box of syringes, test strips, lancets, log books, the works. Now I just carry my little meter case with Novolog attached. I don't bring my carb book as often, because I can guess carbs very well on my own now. I remember my first attempt at bolusing based on carb counting - one big, epic disaster in which I ended up giving myself random shots every 15 minutes when I decided to scarf down another large chocolate chip cookie. Yep, I've come far since then. Simple and discreet, I live as normal a life as possible as long as I have those two powerful, lifesaving tools by my side... at all times. Freedom? Maybe not, I think a little sadly. But as close to it as I feel I will ever get.

It's been over a year now - April 3rd was my "Diabetes Anniversary". One year with Diabetes, and life has changed, but I've settled down. Sometimes, I wonder how Diabetes will play into my future. Will it affect how many kids I can have? Will I ever have to choose between affording insulin over something else that I need? Will I ever get health insurance? Will there ever be a cure?

Time flies. I'm a different person than who I was a year ago. More mature (?) (I like to think - or maybe I just feel that possessing a credit card finally gives me "adult" rights). It just makes me wondering, where will I be in another year? Two, when I graduate Wesleyan (changed my mind again - staying two more years. I promise, guys.) Three? Four to five, when I finish grad school? I don't know. It's easy at first glance to think you know where you're going with your future, but then crazy things happen like you get Diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.

So I don't know. But I won't think about it too hard now, or I'll drive myself crazy. For now, I'll settle with a brief summer to-do list:

- Read a book (textbooks don't count)
- Use Rosetta Stone
- Run. At least once.
- SWIM. I haven't been in a pool for AGES.
- Play Sims. (lol. Did I just write that?)
- Get a tan.
- Wash my car. (The last time I washed it, I was in Florida..................a year ago................)
- BLOG MORE! I PROMISE!

I'd say that's about it for now.
So, Happy Sunday all!

I guess I'll attach some narcissistic pictures since I don't take very many of those out of costume these days. :)

Comfort Food

The weekend was wonderful. It was my first weekend off, and I took full advantage of it. The first thing I did: sleep in. What a sweet, blessed word. I went shopping for prom dresses with Joshua's sister Marleigh and her cousin Kelsey, took photos, went on a date out to dinner and to see The Hunger Games with Joshua Kuckuck, laughed so hard I cried, stayed up talking with the girls until 4 AM Saturday, and had a picnic Sunday with Joshua.

But I forgot to do something over the weekend, which was to buy snacks. I happened to be all out, and I'd found myself digging up old candy bars back from Halloween to shove into my purse and backpack just in case I happened to be low.

It made me aware of my vulnerability, all of a sudden.
With my meter, insulin and a snack at hand, I feel confident and in control of my life. I can handle Diabetes - it can't beat me.
But take away just one of those things, and suddenly, surviving Diabetes becomes part of an unwelcome game - one where I never know what to expect.
I found myself slightly afraid. 
I've always been okay, but I've had close calls. Mid-Spanish class lows, or just yesterday, when Joshua and I went on a wonderful date to Indian Springs. We ate Subway, took pictures and had a great hike through the woods, and I figured I'd be fine, but was a little worried because I'd still forgotten that damn snack. I drove all the way back to Forsyth, but when we stepped into the house I felt a slight shake of hand and tested to find that I was at 44. We'd been in the middle of nowhere. What would have happened if we'd waited just a few minutes longer, stayed another hour, unknowing? The consequences could have been disastrous.

Today in Spanish we had out exam, and I still lacked my snack. I hoped, hoped, hoped I wouldn't be low during the Exam but knew that the time my Spanish Class was at was a trouble time for me. Surely enough, as soon as class began I felt the all-too familiar tingle, the shakiness, the weakness come over me. But I was petrified. No Professor would allow a student to just leave the class during a test. I was Diabetic, I argued. Maybe I had an exception. But I hadn't filed any paperwork or anything, hadn't been responsible enough to remember to bring a snack when I should have. It was my fault. Any change I had was in my room, so I'd have to beg for money or ask to go all the way back there, then back to the vending machine, to get a snack. I would interrupt everyone testing in the room. I might get failed on my exam if I chose to leave. I felt trapped, and so I pushed the low down to the bottom of my conscious, as far as it would go, and finished my test, although my concentration eluded me and my my mind was met with fuzziness where Spanish grammar and vocabulary was meant to be.

That afternoon, the first thing I did after class, work and volunteering was go to the store and buy some snacks. Popcorn and granola bars have never filled me with such comfort, security and a feeling of blanketed safety before. The term "comfort food' has taken on a whole new meaning.

Taking Off My Medical ID Bracelet

There is a heart-shaped bracelet that always rests on my left wrist. On the back inscribed in tiny letters, it reads:

Lacy Ball

DM Type 1

Insulin Dep

It is a sentence for me. I don't mind wearing it, it's necessary - but the bracelet is a reminder, a chain placed on me by a disease known as Diabetes Mellitus Type 1.

I know Diabetes on a much more personal basis than just a name, though. There is so much more to a disease than just the name that labels it. The symptoms, the heavy-hearted worry, the finances, the physical, emotional, and psychological effects of it.

The way it alters your life.

I take off my Medical ID bracelet and stare at my empty wrist. Small indents from where the bracelet had rested still marked the area, but it was the first time that I had taken it off for months.

I was surprised about the feelings that arose from staring at the blank skin where metal, turned warm from my skin, had adorned it but a moment ago. The absence brought back memories - memories that aren't even long ago but feel as if they are remnants of a past life.

When I woke up in the hospital bed at 2AM on April 3rd, 2011, I woke up into a life entirely changed from my own. My world had suddenly expanded to twice its normal capacity, and with it came a flurry of new emotions and struggles and experiences that I never, in all of my childhood dreams or plans made on the cusp of adulthood, thought I'd encounter. I remember thinking the only good thing about getting Diagnosed was that I no longer had to pee 3 times an hour.

Since then, never once have I really looked back on what my life had been like before my diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes.

It was,

That was my life then -

- This is my life now.

I've been so busy trying to just adjust and learn how to cope with this illness, looking back is an entirely different and foreign experience to me.

It makes me sad, even now, to think about my old life - like the only thing it ever was, was a dream.

I'll always mourn what I lost. Diabetes has had time to sink in now - I don't pity myself, and I don't burst into tears anymore. I take things one day at a time and don't over think things. I don't think about my next shot 3 hours from now, or how much the lancet hurts when the calluses on my fingertips are too tough for a lighter needle setting. I don't think about the discomfort of blood testing, or the Lantus when it stings me, or the bruises the Novolog leaves behind.

But sometimes I get glimpses of daydreams, fragments of both what my life used to be and what I now can only wish it would one day be again. I think of how carefree life would be without my illness. I think, with a wave of immense sadness at this very moment, how I used to go into a restaurant and order whatever I wanted without thinking twice, or take a bite - or two - or three, what did it matter? - of chocolate cake. How did I ever take that for granted? Why, in all of my prayers, had I neglected to thank God for letting me so much as eat a meal, carefree and healthy?
I remember sunny Summer days with chocolate chip cookies dough ice cream, and late night snacks. I remember all-you-can-eat buffets, ice cold soda, Steak n Shake milkshakes, and happy, lighthearted family dinners that didn't consist of begging waiters to let me have vegetables as a substitute for rice and arguing about this entree or that having too many carbs. I miss being able to not worry about skipping a meal and never getting low. I miss being able to wash a car in the hot sun and not worry about the shaky, heart-pounding feeling sneaking up on me. I miss sleeping without fear of not waking up every night, not just some of them. I miss blemish-less skin and unpricked fingertips.

In short, I miss a lot of things. What an experience it would be to eat some meal, just one meal, without the presence of a glucose meter or insulin pen and the worry...!

Lost in daydreams, dreams, hopes, memories, feelings - time all but stopped and faded away in those few moments.

That's what it was like when I took off my Medical ID bracelet.

But of course, those were daydreams only.

I clasp the bracelet back on my wrist and go on with my day.

Hola, Low, We Meet Again.

It is 10:52, and I've just checked my blood sugar. 113. I smile, happy that I've dosed my insulin right. I'm getting good at this, no?

Spanish class begins, and I sit alert in my seat. Everything is fine at first, as we watch videos and go over drills, preparing for our next test.

Then I feel a little bit dizzy. It is 11:32. My fingertips and toes and then my whole body get a slight tingle. I'm not low, am I? There's no way. Anyways, I can just sit it out. We get out in 18 short minutes and I'm sure I'll be just fine. I sit for a while, confident that I can beat out this low until lunchtime. Besides, if it gets really bad I have a snack right?

Right?

Oh. That's right.

Not right.

In my rush to get to class this morning (having woken up late - again) my mental checklist definitively did have "grab 2 snacks and put them in my backpack" on it. That's great, except I'd forgotten. No worries, I'd thought, getting to my research methods class. At any rate, I'd probably run high all throughout the morning up until lunch.

But apparently I'd been dreadful wrong. The low was getting worse now, becoming hard to ignore. I turned to Crystal who sat next to me, a little bit panicked at this sudden realization. "I'm low and I don't have any sugar," I told her, my voice full of worry. She checked to see if she had anything in her backpack but she didn't. We were watching videos now, and it would be hard to get the attention of Professor Smotherman without disrupting the class. I really didn't want to call attention to myself, or interrupt anything. Sure, it was a medical emergency, but that would be rude and embarrassing. Ugh. My logic.

So I tried once again to ignore the low, meeting each attempt with less and less success. I finally pulled out my meter just to test and see where I was at. The meter flashed back at me: 59. I didn't need a Dexcom to tell me that I was most certainly still falling. I could practically feel it with each and every passing second. I got dizzier, the room span, my breathing grew slow and measured as I tried to control the weakness seeping through my limbs.

This wasn't even the lowest I'd ever been, but I felt worse than I ever had in a very, very long time.
I gave one last effort at waiting it out until I knew that if I stayed in class any longer it might end with somebody sticking a glucagon injection in me. Those needles looked plain nasty, but I figure if I'm ever low enough to need one, I probably won't care.

Note to readers: In case of a severe low, someone please stick me with this.

But getting a glucagon injection wasn't exactly at the top of my to-do list today, or ever. So I gathered up my belongings and quietly walked to the door, pausing by Professor Smotherman, hoping she'd turn around. When she did, I hurriedly said, whispering, "I have low blood sugar. I need to leave early and get something to eat." It wasn't as bad as I pictured it, actually. "Go," she told me, and I made quick work of leaving the room. I did my best to walk in a straight line. They say being low is similar to being intoxicated. I don't know if this is true, as I've only felt one of those sensations before, but I'd be hard-pressed to say that any alcohol drinker has ever felt as bad as I did in that moment. It felt like gravity was weighing down twice its normal pressure on me. My body shook, sweat dripped down my forehead and back. I had to grab hold of the rail to make sure I didn't fall down the stairs. Someone probably should have gone with me, just to make sure I made it to the cafeteria okay, but I managed myself. It was the longest walk of my life. 

I finally made it to the lunchroom, a panting, sweaty mess. I found an empty table, incapable of words at the moment, threw down my stuff, and walked as quickly as I could. Get.food. That was the only thing I was sure I could do at the moment, though making it to the lunch line and back to the table still seemed a pretty daunting task. Once I did, I sat down and scarfed it down as quick as I could. In the newfound heat of the coming early spring, sweat continued to bead down my back. I felt gross and sticky. I felt groggy. My tongue was numb. 

I wanted to cry, full of renewed bitterness towards what this disease had done to me. No person should ever have to feel this way. Not me, not my friends, not my family, not strangers, not other PWOD's, not my enemies. 

But I was okay. It was a close call, but I'd averted the emergency before it was too late. Yes, it was miserable, and yes, it was inconvenient, and I was upset that Diabetes had won out and made me leave Spanish class early. I hated being a shaky, sweaty mess. But I guess at the end of the day what's important is that I'm still here. Diabetes could have taken my life from the get-go, back when I was diagnosed. It very nearly did. But it didn't. And I learned a lesson. Next time, don't forget snacks. Tomorrow, give myself less Novolog for breakfast. If I'm low, don't be afraid to interrupt and leave class. 

It's a learning experience, slowly but surely. With Diabetes, more so than anything else I've ever experienced, knowledge is power. I can't always prevent lows, but next time, what I can do is be more prepared. And that's exactly where I've got the upper hand on Diabetes - so being more prepared is just what I plan to do.

New Reality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diabetic Wishlist

I wish I had a CGM!

These things aren't perfect yet. You still need to check your Blood Sugar with the meter, to make sure the two match up. But lately I've just been thinking how much easier managing my Diabetes would be if I had one.

CGM is short for "continual glucose monitor" and it does just that. You put a sensor into your leg, arm, stomach, or wherever, and the CGM reads your blood sugars continually for as long as the sensor is in (you do have to change it every few days). I really like the concept because the CGM allows you to see trends in Blood Sugar. It gives you that graph you see on the screen - it lets you know where your BG has been, what it's at now, and where it's going. You can look back and see your BG trends throughout the night, or how much it spikes after breakfast. When I test I can't help but think how much I'd like to be able to see whether that 111 is an oncoming low or if my BG really is holding steady.

The only thing that would be better than having one is never needing it in the first place!

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

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

It went like this:

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

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

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

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

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

But it would be rude, wouldn't it?

Would it?

I didn't even know.

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


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

Well, at least I feel better now.

I exhale, feeling the low wearing off.

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

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

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

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

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

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