I started going to the gym before my family gets up in the morning
I contacted the Kovler Diabetes Center to join their MODY Registry
The Prompt (suggested by Hillary at Rainie and Me):
We don’t always realize it, but each one of us has come a long way since diabetes first came into our life. Share the greatest accomplishment you've made in terms of dealing with your diabetes.
In 2004 my first child was delivered via c-section. The c-section was planned, as was most everything about the pregnancy:
The switch, prior to conception, from oral medication to insulin (MDI - Multiple Daily Injections)
The counting of carbohydrates and adjusting of doses as hormone levels changed
The umpteen appointments with the endocrinologist, obstetrician, and perinatologist
The very many ultrasounds
And the birth plan that specified the endocrinologist’s favored delivery time: 11 AM
While I was grateful to be pregnant, I did not love the experience of it, as many women do. Instead, the frequent monitoring served as a constant reminder of the risky environment I felt I was providing for our growing fetus. Having a birth plan felt reassuring.
I was relieved and excited when the delivery date arrived. September 10, 2004 was a busy day in the labor and delivery wing. (Evidently, I wasn’t the only soon-to-be-mother hoping to spare her child a September 11th birthday.)
Despite my most proactive efforts, 11 o’clock came and went.
“Excuse me, my c-section was scheduled for 11 and it’s 11:30 now. I have diabetes. My blood sugar’s okay right now, but I haven’t eaten since 9 last night.”
“Excuse me, I can see you’re busy, but I was supposed to have surgery 90 minutes ago. I have diabetes and I haven’t eaten in over 15 hours…”
I continued politely bothering the busy hospitalists. Eventually, 2 hours after the scheduled time, off we went to the operating room. I met the team, got hooked up to some equipment, was anesthesized, and within about a half hour everything was underway. Probably sensing that I'm nervous about the surgery, my OB made light chit-chat:
OB: So, Emily, do you guys have a pediatrician picked out? Me: We do – it’s Dr. Papadopoulos. OB: Aww, he’s terrific! And such a nice man. Here’s a challenge – can you spell his last name?
[That I cannot spell the pediatrician’s long, Greek name doesn’t surprise my OB. It surprises me, though, as I’m generally a good speller. It’s my first clue that something is amiss.]
OB: (New topic) So, when you're in recovery where should your blood sugar be? Me: Well… Mmmmm... I think... Whatdidyousay? (Is that slurring?) OB: After surgery – your blood sugar. Where does your endo want your sugars? Me: (Can’t. Quite. Reach. The Words.)
Something’s wrong, I think.
I manage to ask the anesthesiologist if the anesthesia is scrambling my thoughts. Nope. Something’s wrong, I think.
“Something’s wrong,” I say, “I’m low. What's my blood sugar?”
Anesth: Where's your meter? Me: I’m in surgery..I'm naked. I don't have my purse. Anesth: I don’t have a meter.
Me: But – the plan... the blood sugar... how will you know if I need insulin? Anesth: We’re not doing any of that. Me: But, the plan...! I'm low. I'm very, very low.
[I’m not thinking anymore about the baby, or about being cut open. All I feel is the panic of an extreme low. A low that the plan – the one that nobody is following – was designed to prevent.]
I want my OB to remind everyone of our plan, but at this moment she’s tugging the baby out of me. I can’t catch her eye. I’m not her priority and I feel very afraid.
I hear the anesthesiologist say, “There's no meter; every floor is supposed to have one.”
I'm not a player in this scene anymore. I am tired. I close my eyes so I can focus on listening, which now requires some effort.
I hear someone say, “Get her some orange juice.”
I hear my husband ask, “Are you sure you can give her orange juice during surgery?”
I hear a code announced over the PA system.
I start to wonder about the code, but doing so takes too much effort.
I hear drawers opening and closing. They sound like the junk drawers in our kitchen at home. The ones that have AAA batteries rolling around inside. I don't feel afraid anymore. I feel tired and calm and focused and I wonder why a drawer in an operating room contains AAA batteries. I'm aware of the chaos around me but I feel detached and too tired to care about it.
Somebody finds 500cc of dextrose in a drawer.
10 seconds and I feel the change. So much faster than juice.
Someone asks how I feel.
“It's helping. I'll feel better soon.”
“You have a beautiful, healthy baby girl.”
I smile from the post-low haze.
It will be hours before I really feel better, but this lovely baby helps a lot.
This post was written for Diabetes Blog Week
The Prompt (suggested by Jasmine at Silver-Lined): Share a memorable diabetes day.
Food is a major focus of celebrations in our culture. Sweet treats especially play such a prominent role that a party without them is almost unimaginable. A birthday without cake? Valentine’s Day without cookies? Halloween without candy???
Yes. I propose that we re-imagine how we celebrate, overturn the norm, and actively shape a new culture of wellness.
Here’s the challenge – pick the micro-culture you’re going to change – your family, school, office, or block. Consider starting with your own birthday. Serve fruit kebabs. Or a watermelon with candles in it. Sure, it will feel awkward at first, but few people will find the change refreshing. Encourage those people to carry the charge the next time and support them when they do. Little by little, people will stop believing that cake has to be part of a birthday celebration.
Commit to gradually shifting what celebrating looks like by making some small changes:
Make the focus something other than food. You got a promotion? That’s awesome – let’s go for a walk to celebrate and you can tell me all about it.
Be creative. Breakfast meeting? Opt for Clementines over pastries. (yes, the fist time I brought Clementines to a meeting I felt a little funny handing them out. But guess what – they loved it. And now it’s just what we do.)
Trump the cupcake. Sure, cupcakes are cute. But so are these (my versions of which were a big hit with kids and parents at my children’s recent class parties):
Photos: school-bites.com; weightlossfitnesshealth.tumblr.com; and madiganmade.com.
(And yes, there’s still a place for the odd cupcake.)
This post was written for Diabetes Blog Week
The Prompt (suggested by Briley of inDpendence):
Recently various petitions have been circulating the Diabetes Online Community. Tell us who you would write a petition to – a person, an organization, even an object. What are you trying to change and what have you experienced that makes you want this change?
Six months ago my long-time and most trusted endocrinologist suddenly stopped practicing. The prospect of having to replace her was unsettling – after years of working together, she knew my disposition, motivation and relevant goals and shortcomings. All that knowledge translated into effective care. Transitioning to a new endocrinologist meant starting over from scratch.
Last month I met my new team and was struck by how different their model is from that of my previous team. I’ll still have an appointment every three months, but at those visits I’ll alternate between seeing the endocrinologist (every six months) and either the Nurse Practitioner or the Certified Diabetes Expert/Nutritionist.
While I appreciate the emphasis on specialized care, I wonder how easy it will be to build relationships within this structure. I believe patient/medical team relationships are closely related to both the quality of care I receive and my own motivation. So I have some concerns. With these in mind:
I Hope My New Health Care Team Will Understand: Diabetes is demanding. Managing blood sugars is a never-ending exercise in planning, calculating, adjusting, and refining. And the resulting numbers don’t necessarily reflect that effort, which can be enormously frustrating. Diabetes is also pretty solitary.
Because of that, I hope the new team won’t say things like: Your blood sugars look awesome. Keep doing what you’re doing!” A comment like that, from my medical team, will make me feel like diabetes is mine alone to understand and manage. I suppose for a few hours a year, I’d like it to feel less that way.
I hope instead they'll say:
“Your blood sugars look awesome. You’re doing a great job and we know it’s not easy. Stick with it – because all the that work is paying off. Here are some ideas that may make things easier and help you get even better results.”
What I Hope My New Health Care Team Doesn’t See (just yet)
I replace my blood glucose meter about every 5 years (not the recommended 1-2 years).
I change the lancet maybe once a year (not with every test, as recommended).
I do not store ketone strips properly (nor do I replace them when they expire, as they did in 2010).
And while on the subject of expirations, my glucagon pen expired in 2007.
It’s not that I wouldn’t disclose this information; it just feels a little early in our relationship.
This post was written for Diabetes Blog Week
The Prompt (suggested by Melissa Lee at Sweetly Voiced):
Often our health care team sees us for just 15 mins several times a year. What do you wish they knew about your and/or your loved one's daily life with diabetes? What do you hope they wouldn't?