12 Years Ago...

Dear Diabetes,

I was nineteen when we discovered you. I thought I needed glasses because I woke up one day and could no longer see the whiteboard during class. That symptom was obvious, the others were easier to ignore. It didn’t occur to me that the thirst I had wasn’t normal. Gallons of water. A thirst I could never quench.

You tricked me. I had convinced myself I was gaining weight. I was eating EVERYTHING in sight, topping it off with dessert, and still I didn’t feel full. I was starving. Then you wouldn’t let me exercise anymore. I could hardly make it up the four flights of stairs without stopping to catch my breath. I had to give up running because I just didn’t have the energy. Even if I had a full-length mirror I don’t know that I would have seen myself turning into a skeleton. I had dropped 25 pounds with no exercise and eating more food than I ever had before in my life. That just couldn’t be possible.

But then Luke figured you out. After our long drive home from Santa Cruz he looked up all my symptoms in a medical book. The phone rang at 2 am, “Laura, go wake up your parents, I think you have diabetes.” My mom laid in bed with me until I fell asleep that night. I think she was scared to leave me. My sisters cried the next morning when they saw me. You had changed me. I looked sick, really sick.

I don’t remember any tears during the doctors’ appointments. There was the orange the nurse used to show me how to give an injection. I think I poked the orange once and then I had to do it to myself. It wasn’t a choice. You were here to stay. And overnight my life had changed.

At first you intrigued me. This new life full of injections and blood sugars. New gadgets, new rules, numbers, insulin, glucose tabs. Explaining it to everyone. I remember bits and pieces of the rest of that Thanksgiving weekend. Never would eating and celebrating be the same for me.

When I drove away from my parents’ house, back up north to college, I had a knot in my stomach. I hoped I could do it, but I wasn’t sure that I could. You came with a lot of rules. A lot of things to remember, and what if I forgot them? “Never be without your supplies. Be ready for a low blood sugar. Watch what you eat. Don’t forget to test, test, test. Be sure to tell the other students living with you. Don’t be a closet diabetic. You want people to know how to help you if they need to.” The fear started to set in. I felt alone. So scared and so alone. I wasn’t sure how I would do it on my own.

But I did. I had moments of panic. Crying in the shower, or alone in bed as I tried to fall asleep. Sobbing on the phone with my mom, unable to speak because of the choking sobs. The carefree life I had known as a nineteen year-old college student was gone. The fear of going blind, amputations, low blood sugars, kidney failure, and maybe even death was part of what you brought into my life. And I SO badly wanted to have a family one day. I couldn’t bare the thought of you taking that from me.

And so I worked hard at taking care of you. And it paid off. More than you could ever know, it’s paid off.

But you’ve made me work for it, and it never gets easy. Twelve years later, and you still surprise me, frustrate me, scare me, and so often overwhelm me. I wish you would decide to leave or just disappear for a day. I’d settle for just one day.

~Laura

November, D-blog Day, and some Halloween

November. It’s Diabetes Awareness Month, today is D-blog day, November 14th is World Diabetes Day, and this month also happens to be my diaversery (anniversary of my diagnosis).

The month started off bad... hours and hours of back and forth with insurance and the mail-in pharmacy about getting my insulin to me. (After crying to one person, I actually had to threaten that without insulin I would die, so they needed to figure something out.) SO frustrating! Anyway, insulin finally arrived before I ran out of it, fortunately.

It’s during those moments I hate this disease. Crying on the phone, hoping my kids don’t run into the room and see me in tears. Trying to keep it together while inside I feel so helpless, frustrated, scared, and just angry. This isn’t how I want to spend my day or my life, so I try not to let myself stay there for long. But from time to time it is how I feel.

My week with diabetes got better. Sunday Luke, the kids, and I went to the San Diego JDRF walk. We walked with the UCSD Diabetes and Pregnancy Program group which consisted of two other moms with diabetes and my amazing nurse who helped me through all three of my pregnancies. It is just a postitive, hopeful, and uplifting event. And pushing all three of my babies felt like sweet success.

Baby Fingers

I sometimes wonder how my diabetes affects my kids. They will only know a mom who has type 1 diabetes. They recognize the beeps and buzzing from my pump. It is often that all four of us are crowded into the bathroom during an insulin pump change. (It is hard to ask a 5, 3, and 1 year old to give me some privacy. Either they’re in there too, or pounding on the door to be let in.) They don’t even blink at the sight of a needle. “Does it hurt?” They often ask as I poke a new infusion site into my body. “Just for a minute,” I answer them truthfully.

They are wrapped up in this disease. They know it more intimately than anyone else because they are with me, watching me take care of not only their needs 24-7, but the needs of this disease.

The truth is, I probably take more blood sugar tests with a child on my hip than with out. At 11 months I watched in awe as Jake’s little bubbly finger went onto the end of my lancet device. He knew exactly how it worked before he was even a year old.

Bad Diabetic

I’ve been a “bad” diabetic lately. I know I’m not supposed to judge myself and all that, but honestly the other labels seem worse. Bad mom, irresponsible, or just plain stupid.

The other day the kids and I were getting ready to head to the library. I was planning on having a little snack before we left so I took some insulin for the snack. The problem was I got distracted before I could even make it over to the cabinet to get any food. I can’t remember if the kids started arguing or if Jake was crying and needed me, but something happened that distracted me for just long enough. I just continued to get the kids ready. Socks and shoes on, books all gathered and ready to return, I felt kind of organized! Then we loaded up and were on our way. As we were walking into the library I remembered. I had taken insulin, but completely forgot to eat.

My mom, sister, and nieces were all with us. I could feel the low creeping up on me, but told myself I’d just get into the library, let the kids get settled, and grab something from my purse. Bad diabetic moment #2: nothing to eat in my purse. Somehow I had forgotten to replenish my glucose tabs and lifesavers. I hate it when I do that! I just feel stupid. I wasn’t ready to gather everyone up and leave the library because I might get low. The kids were having such a nice time, and I hate letting diabetes and my stupidity ruin a good moment. Maybe the low blood sugar makes me extra irritated at myself and allows me to continue to make poor decisions. Who knows why, but I continued to sit there while the kids played knowing I had taken insulin, not eaten, and was going low.

We finally started to gather up the kids to head out. I was starting to feel sweaty now, and realized it was going to take us a while to get the books gathered up, checked out, and all of us out the door. Too long. Fortunately my mom was there. “Mom, can you see if there’s a vending machine or something?”

“You low?”

“Yup.”

The librarian informed her that they don’t have a vending machine, so she left in search of something. My sister and I checked out the books with the kids, and as we walked out the door my mom appeared with some orange juice.

I quickly felt better, but stupid. These are the moments I hate this disease. When not only does it come close to ruining a perfectly nice outing, but then I have to feel bad about my decisions. My life feels too busy with raising kids, keeping up with all the housework, trying to maintain friendships, help with school, family etc... to squeeze in the diabetes on top of it all. Ugh.

Sorry about the rant, I’m just over it.

Happy 1st Birthday Jake!

Baby Jake is now 1. It’s hard to believe a year has already gone by. Somehow time seems to go by faster with each baby.

The decision to have a third baby was a difficult one. Luke and I wanted three children, but with the diabetes and two c-sections there were risks. I did my research, I asked all of my doctors’ opinions, and after many conversations between me and Luke we decided that adding a third (and final) baby to our family would be worth it.

With diabetes you don’t get to have a “surprise” pregnancy. (Well, it isn’t advised anyway.) There are months of preparations, changes in diabetes management and lifestyle before a woman with diabetes should even start trying to get pregnant. The reason is before most women realize they are pregnant all of the baby’s major organs have already been formed. So, for women with diabetes that means being in “perfect” or almost perfect control even before you know you’re pregnant.

But I had two healthy babies. Why should I push my luck? Could I really manage a three and one year old while also taking such diligent care of my diabetes? What if something happened to me or my baby? Could I live with the consequences? Those were all the questions spinning through my over-analytical brain. But ultimately, the answer was yes. I was willing “risk” it. And I’m so happy I did.

What a sweet baby Jake is. So content. He adores his big brother and sister. Playing with them whenever he gets the chance. He’s just about ready to walk, and I think it won’t be long before he’s running in order to keep up with Aliya and Evan. He’s just a happy, happy boy, and I’m so glad he’s ours! I can't imagine our family with out him.

Bump Thump

I ran over my blood glucose meter the other day. We were on the way to the park and I was backing out of my driveway when I felt a little bump and heard a little thump... (Can you tell we’ve been reading lots of Dr. Seuss books around here?)

When I looked out of my window and saw my little black meter case laying in the driveway I couldn’t help but laugh. Seriously, if I could have just driven away and left it there, I would have. It’s how I’ve been feeling lately about my diabetes. Just run it over, leave it all smashed up, and then just drive away into the sunset (okay, or just down to the park).

I guess it was a wake-up call for me. Somethings got to change. I wasn’t happy with my last hemoglobin A1C results. It was higher than it’s been in years, and I had trained for and run a half marathon. It shouldn’t have been so high. But during my training I’ve been riding the diabetes roller coaster of highs and lows, feeling out of control, frustrated, and like screaming sometimes. I want off. I never did like roller coasters.

It’s time to get serious about taking care of myself again, but it feels overwhelming. I can hardly make it to the pharmacy to pick up test strips, much less plan, weigh, and count carbs for each meal. But I’m trying. The cgm is back on, and buzzing away at me to alert me of highs and lows. I can’t say I like it (often times it feels like I’m trouble-shooting with it more than getting accurate blood sugars), and having one more thing demanding my attention sometimes makes me crazy. But, hey, I’m trying.

I want to believe that I can manage this disease without needing the motivation of pregnancy. But damn, wanting a healthy baby sure was a good motivator to stay on top of things. Putting in all that work felt so much more doable when I was planning a pregnancy or actually pregnant. But now what? How do I keep that motivation when my last baby is about to turn 1? And when all I want to do is run over my meter and laugh about it?

Ready, or not!

Busy, busy busy...

Things have just been busy. Camping, a sick dog, a sick baby, running, and more running...

My half marathon is this Saturday (gulp!). 13.1 miles.

“I can do it,” is what I keep telling myself.

“Half of the race is mental.”

“If I can carry and deliver three babies then I can complete this race.”

These are the thoughts that run through my head as I start to get nervous or doubt my decision to sign up for the race in first place.

But I did do that marathon once upon a time... I won’t say I loved it or even liked it, but I can say I did it. So hopefully my body will let me finish a half.

Hopefully all my new gadgets don’t decide to fail me. A few times my sensor has fallen off mid-run. Nothing like ripping that sucker off or holding it on for the last mile or so of a run. Kills any momentum I had going.

Six years ago, when I ran my marathon, my pump site started to come off (it must be the salty sweat that causes the tape to fail). I was ready to wrap duct tape around my belly in order to hold that thing on so that my pump could continue to deliver insulin for the last 10 miles or so that I still had to run. Fortunately, police officers don’t carry duct tape on them (yes, we stopped and asked a cop along the race course). Eventually we came to a first aid station, and had the bright idea to use medical tape to wrap me up instead of duct tape. Phew, because I can’t imagine what kind of pain it would have been to try and remove duct tape from around my waist. I think ripping a band-aid off can hurt!

But running these distances is kinda like life, and I just can’t plan for everything. (As hard as I may try.) And sometimes I just have to get creative when problems present themselves. Sometimes those are the best moments, right? At least the best memories anyway. Like asking that cop for duck tape to wrap myself up in. Seriously, what was I thinking?

So, on Saturday (ready or not) I’ll hit the pavement and finish 13.1 miles.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve been training.”

“I can do this.”

All hooked up

I got my continuous glucose monitor (cgm) and new pump last week, so I'm officially all hooked up with the latest and greatest in diabetes management. For those of you who don't know, the cgm is essentially a sensor that continuously tracks my blood sugar levels. It is a separate sight from where my pump infuses insulin, so now I have two separate "sites" on my abdomen. (I now really wish I had appreciated my pre-diabetes belly- a tummy without any scar tissue, infusion sites, or sensors attached to it. Hind sight is 20/20.)

When my boxes from mini-med arrived with my new pump and cgm, the kids and Luke were all excited to open them. "Aren't you excited?" Luke asked me. I wish I were. But in all honesty I wish I didn't have to bother with any of it. I wish I didn't have to worry about what my blood sugars were doing every five minutes and how much insulin I need. I wish there was a cure. I wish I was like everyone else, with a blackberry, I-phone, or a pager attached to my hip rather than an insulin pump and cgm.

The good news, insurance paid for the cgm. 100% covered. This is huge considering a little over a year ago I was paying for it out of pocket. (Not a cheap investment!) And more good news, according to my cgm, my blood sugars have been awesome. The bad news, there is some inaccuracy with the technology, and sometimes the number my cgm gives is way off from where my blood sugar actually is. So, there's lots of frustration in the new technology and figuring out how to use it. But I'm trying. I'm giving it all a chance, and hopefully I end up liking it rather than wanting to throw it out the window...

Just in time

I was almost ready to throw in the towel. Call it quits. Give up. You see I'd been trying to keep my blood sugars under control. I'm running, training for a half marathon next month, I check my blood sugar often (usually at least 8 times a day), and I count my carbs, use my bolus wizard on my pump, all of it. Everything the doctors tell me, everything I know I should do after living with diabetes for the past twelve years. But still my blood sugars were just crazy. I even started doing basal rate checks (fasting and checking my blood sugar every two hours). But it felt like no matter what I did, my blood sugars were unpredictable, and unpredictably high. Not my normal post-meal high, or "explainable" highs, but random ones that were in the 300's even a few up into 400. I'd had it. The thought had crossed my mind... why even bother. I work so hard, and still I don't get it. There felt like no explanation. No reason for these high blood sugars and I was tired of trying with no success. Why bother with all of the work when it felt like it wasn’t helping?

Then a package arrived. The kids were excited, who was it for? What was in it? Unfortunately, for me, packages are no longer exciting. It's usually diabetes related supplies and more stuff to clutter up my closet. This time it was a mini-med box. I opened it up ready to find the usual boxes of infusion sets and pump reservoirs, but this time it was just one box of new infusion sets and a letter. I quickly read over the letter...

Medtronic Diabetes is recalling Quick-set infusion sets that have lot numbers starting with the number "8"
These infusion sets are used with MiniMed Paradigm® insulin pumps. This decision was made because we estimate that a small percentage of "Lot 8" Quick-set infusion sets may not work properly.

I ran back to my stash of infusion sets... sure enough. I'd been using lot number 8! I continued reading...

Scenario 2 - Non-Delivery of Insulin

During priming, clogged vents may prevent the reservoir compartment from equalizing air pressure. As a result, the insulin pump may appear to be properly primed when it is not. Once the infusion set is inserted, this could lead to a period of non-delivery of insulin, which can potentially result in a hyperglycemic event following an infusion set change.
Since this occurs closely following an infusion set change, it may be different than the typical high blood sugars that many people experience as part of their routine diabetes management.

That was it! I hadn't been getting any insulin for periods of time because of this clogged vent. Finally an explanation. It wasn't my fault after all. In fact, it was totally out of my control. That's sometimes the trouble. This disease is so much about control, but there is so much out of my control, even when I'm doing my damnedest to manage it all. So, thank you mini-med for making it not my fault. Maybe next time I'll call and ask rather than trying to figure it all out on my own, and hopefully before I decide to just give up.

So I’ve sent back all my “lot 8” infusion sets, and things have been better. Not perfect, they never are, but better. And “managing” all this feels doable again.

Da Bus

I surrender. Apparently VWs are going to be a part of my life. You’d think I’d have figured this out before I married Luke, before the frantic phone call about the $500 bus on Craig’s List. But it wasn’t until the broken-down rusty bus was actually delivered and dropped in our driveway (by a tow truck) that I realized these automobiles are probably going to continue to be a part of my life.

Maybe it all started with my dad. He bought a VW bus to drive out to California for college, and somehow convinced my mom that she should come with him to attend school at UCSD. It was a long drive from St. Louis, Missouri, to La Jolla, California, and along the way they fell in love. So, I suppose it could be argued that maybe I wouldn't even exist if it weren't for that 1970 VW hippie bus. (A little romantic I suppose.)

That bus wouldn't be the last for my parents. When my brother was born, making us a family of six, it was time for a new car that would actually fit all of us. They purchased our VW vanagon. It was the car on which I would later learn to drive. (Let me tell you learning to drive a stick shift red vanagon through town was a bit of a challenge for a brand new driver! It was hard to stay inconspicuous.) As a teenager I would pack that van full of friends and drive to parties, dances, band shows... I still have a special place for that car in my heart.

Then Christmas morning. I was 16, and after all the presents were opened, my dad picked up a small box I hadn’t noticed. It was wrapped up and sitting on top of the mantel. In it was a single key with the VW emblem on it. I went running outside and sitting in the driveway was my 1967 VW bug with a big red bow on it. It was my first car, and I was in love. It had it’s issues, a horn that would get stuck, or just beep if I drove over a bump, but that was all part of the car's personality.

Then Luke also drove a VW bug. His was white, and a year older, but our bugs are tied up in the memories of the beginning of our love story.

Fast-forward to summer after my freshman year at UC Santa Cruz. Luke bought his first VW bus. It was a “project” (to say the least). But after lots of work, the bus ran, and it was cool. (Literally, it was cool. Winter nights up in Santa Cruz driving in the bus with the air that seeped through the old windows and doors... it was cold.) But he loved that car, and okay, I have to admit I kinda liked it too.

So fast forward 10 years and Luke is talking again about his bus and how much he enjoyed it. I should have known it was coming. He had been helping a buddy work on his bus, and had gone to a VW show... and well I should have known it was only a matter of time. But we have three kids (5 and under!), so needless to say, spare time and extra money are things that are hard to come by these days.

But still, when he called to ask me about buying the 1965 bus that didn’t run, and needed “some work,” I was surprised. Honestly, I thought he'd think through it and change his mind. I mean another thing in our garage?! (It's already overflowing with our tent-trailer, strollers, bins of baby clothes, tools everywhere, bikes, outgrown toys, and the laundry, ahh the laundry...) Not to mention the precious time and money this “investment” was going to require. So you can probably imagine my response.

But Luke was excited about it, and had a vision of what the bus "could be." And for some reason I just couldn't say no. So, two days later the bus was dropped off in our driveway. (It has since been moved into our garage, a miracle in itself considering the lack of space in our garage, and the fact that the bus doesn't run and has no brakes.)

But it's growing on me. I see the kids playing in it, Luke studying his owner manuals, his excitement when he talks about it, and for some reason I think it will all work out. Because for whatever reason, VWs seem to keep presenting themselves, and so far they have brought only love and fond memories into my life...


A photo montage of the VWs...


My dad with his bus.

My mom camping during the drive out to California with my dad. (1973)


Me in our family's vanagon getting ready to drive Luke, me, and a group of friends to Luke's senior prom. (1995)


My bug on Christmas morning. I had to drive it over to each of my friends' houses. (1993)




Luke's 1966 bug.



Me and Luke with his first bus. We were 19 and 20, and the photo was taken before Luke left to drive up to UCSC. (This was probably one of the last photos of me before my diagnosis of diabetes that would come two months later.) (1997)



And the newest VW... in all her glory!

Lots to be grateful for...

Things have been crazy...

We took a trip to Children's ER with Evan who is fine, but gave me a good scare. A sore knee that he wouldn't walk on is from a virus he had a few weeks ago (they think). But the doctors were worried about a possible blood infection that could get into his bones. Yikes! Enough to scare me. Anyway, he's fine. Just watching him to be sure the pain doesn't return and he doesn't get any fever and/or redness/swelling on his knee. He had to have 6 x-rays done and a blood draw and he didn't shed a tear. Sweet, sweet boy and so brave for a three year old.

Poor baby Jake was sick with a chest cold. We made two trips to the doctor. He had low oxygen levels, four breathing treatments, antibiotics for an ear infection, and he's finally better. Such a trooper.

Then Aliya who just had sympathy pains for her brothers. I think she just wanted some of the attention, but would complain about her "bad cough" and "hurt leg." No doctor visits necessary, she was cured with some extra lovin' and lots of hugs and kisses.

But still, even with all this, I'm feeling lucky. I have three wonderful kids and amongst the doctor and ER visits we've had some wonderful summer days so far...


Aliya and Evan both started summer school at their preschool. Evan was so excited about going to "Sister's School." He gave us a hug and a kiss and was off to play with all his friends and new toys.


So, I feel blessed. I was reminded today about how lucky I am to have my three healthy kids. Although I don't like to focus on it, having diabetes and being pregnant is a high risk, and the truth is the statistics and stories of women who haven't been as fortunate as me exist. And so today I'll give my kids an extra hug and kiss because I'm lucky to have them.

Some days...

Some days suck.  Like today when my breakfast food arrived and I went to take my insulin and my pump read “NO DELIVERY.”

I packed up my breakfast in a to-go box and after everyone had finished eating I went home to change my pump.

My blood sugar went from 118 to 327 in two hours without any food.

Now here I sit hungry, writing, and waiting for my blood sugar to return to a normal level so that I can eat my cold breakfast.

Some days just suck.

"Diabetics"

(Sorry this post is so long... guess I got a bit carried away with this story.)

The man checking out my groceries stopped to look at my milk and half and half.  He was reading the labels of the nutritional value, and then looked up and turned to me, “Did you know diabetics can’t have milk?”  For a moment I looked at him, looking for a pump, callused finger tips, something to indicate that he himself had diabetes.  Then I chuckled to myself.  Did he somehow know that I had diabetes? Was my pump tubing sticking out?  Why was he telling me this?

“It’s funny you’re telling me that because I have type 1 diabetes.”  I smiled at him, then said, “You mean because of the enzymes in milk that aren’t good for the immune system?”  I was trying to figure out what he was talking about.  Most people haven’t read about the few studies that have linked drinking cow’s milk to the development of autoimmune diseases like diabetes.  I was ready to hear what he had heard, and if he agreed that I shouldn’t be giving my own children milk because of this enzyme.  

“Oh, yeah, but no, I mean because of the sugar in milk.  But diabetics can have half and half because there isn’t any sugar in half and half.”  Oh, boy, here we go.  He is still referring to “people” with diabetes as some kind of strange group... “Diabetics,” what “they” can and can’t have, as if we belong to some kind of other species. (Did he not hear me just tell him that I have diabetes, that I’m diabetic?)  I can’t think of another disease or condition where the people are only referred to by the name of that condition.  Cancerers, AIDSists, Lupusites, it sounds funny, right?  People are cancer survivors, or have cancer, aids, lupus, but they aren’t defined, identified only by their condition.  Why is it that with diabetes, suddenly I’m a “diabetic,” no longer a woman, mother, sister, wife, or friend living with diabetes.  

“Hmmm.”  I pick up the small container of milk and half and half I’ve just purchased.  He’s right, the half and half says 0 grams of sugar.  “Okay, but let’s look at the serving size,” I say.  “You can drink a whole cup of milk and it’s 13 carbs, but the serving for half and half is only two tablespoons. I bet if someone drank a cup of half and half there would be some sugar in it.”  Now I’m thinking, I hope some person isn’t drinking half and half in place of milk thinking it’s “sugar free.”  It’s crazy how misinformed people become.

“Oh, but not carbs, sugar,”  He corrects me.  “But if there was any sugar in the half and half they would have to put it on the label, right?  So there can’t be any sugar in it.”

“Actually carbs are broken down into sugar in your body, so really someone with diabetes should look for carbs, not just sugar.  I’m not sure what the rule is for nutritional labeling, but my guess is that if you made the serving size the same for the half and half, that there would be close to the same amount of sugar as in milk.”

He’s not convinced.  I quietly grab the jelly bellies I’ve purchased while waiting in line and put them into my purse.  I’m secretly hoping he doesn’t ask me about the sugar in the jelly bellies because I don’t think I can explain low blood sugars and why “diabetics” sometimes actually need sugar.  Plus my own blood sugar is low, and I’m becoming a bit irritated at the whole situation.  “Why did I even open my mouth?”  I wonder.  It would have been easier to just have said, “Oh that’s interesting.  I didn’t know diabetics can’t have milk,” and left it at that.

He goes on to tell me that he is going to ask someone at work about the whole sugar in milk thing, and that I can come check back with him next week.  Apparently having lived with diabetes for almost 12 years doesn’t make me an expert on the subject.  

“Same time, same place, next week,” I say and smile at him as I grab my cart full of groceries, and hurry out to my car so that I can open up my jelly bellies and fix my shaky hands and light sweat that is starting on my forehead.

"When I Grow Up"

A few weeks ago Aliya and Evan followed me into the bathroom while I was changing my pump. My children are probably the most informed on the actual nitty-gritty of my diabetes care.  They watch me draw out my insulin, insert new infusion sites, poke my fingers to check my blood sugar, and come with me to the pharmacy to pick up prescriptions. They know the pokes only hurt sometimes, and only for a minute.  They know I sometimes have to check my blood sugar before we leave the house, start eating, or go on a walk. They know I’m coming around the corner when they hear the beeping of my pump.  I sometimes wonder if that beeping of the pump is familiar to them from the moment they’re born. If they recognize those beeps like an infant recognizes family members’ voices.  It’s what they’ve always known.

During this last observation Aliya asked me, “Mommy, when I grow up will I change my pump site too?”  The question hit me hard.  Essentially, she was asking me if she’d have diabetes when she grows up. I smiled and took a deep breath.  How do I answer this one?  My immediate answer is, “Oh God, I hope not.  Everyday I hope not.”  You see the fear is there.  I still panic if one of them wakes up to pee in the middle of the night.  I watch how much they drink during the day and make a mental note if they seem to be drinking more than normal.  I wonder if I will miss the signs.  If I won’t notice the weight loss, the cold that just lingers, the hunger that can’t be filled.  And I wonder how I would raise a child with diabetes.  How will I not feel guilty about the finger pricks, insulin shots, careful carb counting, the life that would never be as it was?

But, I don’t want her to be afraid. I don’t want her to end up with this disease and be scared because of me. At five years old, I’m not ready to have her worried about diabetes.

Another deep breath.  “Hopefully your pancreas won’t ever stop working.”  It seems to do the trick for now.  

I know the day will come that she learns more.  That she worries about my health because I have diabetes.  Everyone knows the complications that can come with this disease, and I’m sure it won’t be long before she understands how those complications might effect her Mommy.  But for now I want to protect her.  I want her to see that even with diabetes her Mommy can accomplish all of her dreams.  And more than anything, I want her to know that she can too, with or without diabetes.

The Trees

We went on a road trip/camping trip/family reunion up in Mendocino County last week.    I have to be honest, I was a bit worried.  The thought of spending two days in the car with the three kiddos didn't sound all that appealing.  Plus my kids aren't great sleepers, so I dreaded the sleepless nights we usually have on vacation.  Traveling with kids is work, and camping with kids is lots of work.  But the trip was amazing.

Driving into our campsite, through the majestic redwood trees made me realize the two day drive was worth it.  Waking up to the silence under those trees made me forget about the diaper that failed to do its job in the car, the wake-ups that happened every three hours throughout the night, and the crazy blood sugars that happen when I'm trapped in a car for hours.  There just isn't anything like the trees.  And camping under their canopy was rejuvenating.  

We were there to also participate in a dedication of a grove of redwoods to my Uncle Tony, Uncle "Tow-tow" as we used to call him.  Standing on the soft floor of fallen leaves and ferns, and having spent the past three days among the redwoods, I realized why he must have loved the trees so much.  They are calming to the soul, and often his soul was so troubled.  So, I wonder now if these trees must have been therapeutic for him.  If they touched him or helped him in a way that his loved ones sometimes couldn't. There isn't anything like the redwood trees.  They are humbling; so strong, stable, and still. They seem to be wise.  Almost spiritual in a way that can only be felt while standing amongst them.  And so, I too, like Tony, love the trees and miss them now that I'm home.

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What if...

(Sorry if this is a repeat for some of you. I originally wrote this a while back for my www.diabetessisters.org blog.)

Do you ever play that “what-if” game in your head?  What if I hadn’t gone on that high school surf trip where I began to fall in love with the man who turned out to be my future husband?  What if I hadn’t taught next door to the other new teacher who is now one of my best friends?  Most of the time this little game ends with me being reminded that everything seems to happen for a reason.  But then sometimes I wonder, what if I didn’t have diabetes… 

I guess it’s similar to the “why me” question.  It’s easy to go down that road of what ifs… maybe I could have had complication-free pregnancies and deliveries of my babies.  Life would be nice without shots, infusion sets, finger sticks, visits to the endocrinologist, eye doctor, dentist, or perinatoligist.  I wouldn’t have to worry about my kids inheriting this disease, or the possibility of something happening to me because of diabetes.  Or to just be able to eat a big pizza dinner (my favorite) with a scoop of ice cream afterward and not have to wake up with a blood sugar of 300 at 3 am.

But then I have to stop myself because some other thoughts enter my head.  The truth is that just maybe my life without diabetes might not be as sweet as it is.  Without diabetes I don’t think I’d know my body as well as I do. The food my family and I eat probably wouldn’t be so healthy because I’ve learned so much about a well-balanced diet (not just for people with diabetes, but for everyone!).  I know I wouldn’t have met some of the amazing friends I have who also live with diabetes.  My life would be missing some phenomenal women!  I’m pretty sure I never would have trained for and run a marathon, and I don’t know that exercise would be such an important aspect of my life.  Ironically, I wonder if I am in fact healthier because of this disease!

 But lately, most scary is to think that I may not have my three beautiful children.  I was motivated to have my kids sooner rather than later because of my diabetes.  I figured the less time diabetes had to take its toll on me, my organs, my eyes, before getting pregnant, the better.  So I sometimes wonder if I may have ended up teaching longer, if I may have put off having children and not ended up with the three angels I have.

I often joke with my husband that maybe our kids are sweeter because of my diabetes.  They did grow for 9 months in my overly sugary body.  Maybe that extra sugar seeped into their personalities.  (Okay, I know that didn’t happen, but I do think they are a little more understanding at times.)  They’ve had to learn at a young age that they may need to help mommy if my blood sugar gets low.  They understand that sometimes they can’t have a juice box, candy, or snack because mommy needs it.  They are patient for their age.  Waiting in the car while I check my blood sugar and then run back into the house for a snack.  “Mommy was your blood sugar low?” my daughter will now ask.  They know it sometimes hurts when I have to insert a new infusion set or prick my finger tips, and they quietly watch me do these tasks with a little bit of worry mixed with wonder in their eyes.  

So, life would be different without diabetes, but maybe, just maybe, not quite as sweet.

Running Low

Luke was home and it had been a few days since my last run, so I decided to head out one evening for a quick run through the neighborhood. Like the “responsible diabetic” that I am, I checked before leaving. 120, good, but just to be safe I had a little juice and crackers. I changed my basal to 60%, and was ready to go. I wasn’t planning on being gone long, so I decided not to wear my “running pack” that has my lifesavers and glucose gel in it. The bumping and bouncing of the pack sometimes drives me crazy. It’s just nice to run with the least amount of equipment, and I’m already carrying my pump on my waistband.

About 20 minutes into my run I started feeling a little sluggish. But this was my chance to get my run in before Luke returned to work, and I wanted to get some distance. Maybe I just felt funny because I was running in the evening rather than my normal morning runs. Then the nausea crept up. I was coming up on the point when I needed to decide if I wanted to head home, or add an extra mile and a half loop to my run. “Okay, it could be that my blood sugar is low.” I finally admit to myself

Is it the low blood sugar, and inability to think straight that causes me to deny the symptoms? Or do I just not want to ruin my run, my time to exercise because of a low blood sugar. Getting out to exercise is hard enough and then having to cut it short because of a low blood sugar just plain sucks.

Okay, so I decide not to do the extra loop, but now that I’ve admitted to myself that my blood sugar is low I start to get a little nervous. How low might it be? Can I make it home? Should I run home which would get me there faster, or walk so that I’m not working as hard and maybe preventing my blood sugar from dropping faster. Walk. I’m not feeling good anyway, so I’ll just walk home.

I’m coming up upon the little market in my neighborhood. I think to myself I should probably stop and get something to put in my body. A juice box, candy bar, something. But I’m not that brave. I wish I were, but the thought of marching into that store all sweaty and shaky and saying, “Hi, I have diabetes, I’m out on a run, and my blood sugar is low. Do you think I can have a soda or juice? I swear I’ll come right back and pay you. I just don’t have any money on me right now. I live just up the street, and I’ll be right back to give you the money I owe you. I promise.” I’m playing out what I would say as I walk past the store. I just can’t. I don’t want to be the crazy lady who can’t take care of herself. The “diabetic” who might pass out or freak out without someone’s help. I can’t do it. I’m too embarrassed. Too shy. I don’t want to have to ask for help.

So I continue on my way home. I play out the worst-case scenarios in my head. If I did pass out, who would find me? Would my head hit the cement? How long would it take for the paramedics to get there, to figure out I have diabetes, to get in touch with Luke? I have no identification on me. How would I explain to my family, to Luke, to my kids what had happened? Why didn’t I just put on my stupid running pack? “Literally they are lifesavers.” Luke’s comment keeps running through my head.

Suddenly I’m almost home. Rounding the corner, the panic starts to subside. I open the door and grab my glucometer. 56. Low, but at least it wasn’t 30. At least I’m home. I head to the fridge for some juice. The screaming and arguing of my kids never sounded so sweet, and being home to start dinner never felt so good.

Moments of Quiet

April 21, 2009

This is what I miss most from my life “before kids.” Not to say that I miss that life, but I find myself longing for the quiet I once had. No one told me how loud life becomes with three children, or if they did I wasn’t listening, so consumed with the idea of my new family, of becoming a mother, having my own baby. You think I would have known better, being the eldest of four children, but it’s different now. I can’t just go into my bedroom and close the door to the noise. Those kids just seem to follow me everywhere I go, and with them comes a circle of noise.

Okay, the noise isn’t necessarily bad… giggles, new words, figuring out how to read, spell, questions that are never ending and often difficult to answer, singing… but then there is the crying, the demands of “I want,” “I’m hungry,” “I need,” and the screams from falling down, being hit, or arguing. It just fills the house and my head. So I long for moments of quiet from my past.

The library at UC Santa Cruz where I could go study for hours without hearing another voice, it was peaceful, silent, and I was totally alone. My classroom early in the morning before the chatter of high schoolers filled the room. It was like the quiet before the storm and I loved it. Alone on the beach without a wagon full of toys, toddlers to worry about drowning or running off; just a book and a towel and myself.

Now even the quiet part of my day (after 8 pm when Evan is done playing, talking, or yelling in his crib and is the last to fall asleep), there still is noise. It’s the list of things I need to get done that keep running through my head. Dishes calling to me from the sink, laundry waiting to be folded and put away, the phone calls that need to be returned, and all the things I meant to finish that somehow didn’t get done.

But for now this is my life. I’m sure one day I’ll miss all the noise that surrounds me, but today I miss the quiet. It’s partly why I’m writing this blog. It helps me to be alone with my thoughts (even if there are two children in my lap and a baby crying in his crib, protesting his nap). I guess it keeps me a little saner. A meditation that works for me.

Wishing you a moment or two of quiet,
Laura