Mind over Matter

For some reason moments of clarity and strength happen in the strangest of places.
Wegmans.
I love to shop there, what with all of the great stuff-natural, local, organic-but it is also one of the friendliest places to go with children. The grocery store is a big experience in our household, you know. Ever since my boys were young, I have suited them up, packed them in and scoured the parking lot looking for those damn giant car carts (which could probably qualify as a weapon of some degree-as I have knocked over a couple of really nice displays and people on occasion.) In any event, the boys get free samples at each counter, the layout is nice and I am always getting compliments on how good and well behaved my children are. That can really make a mother's heart soar. Really. Now watch-the next time I hit the store it's going to all fall apart.:)

So as a diabetic-grocery shopping is a challenge. I learned this around the first time I went shopping after I was diagnosed. I remember angrily looking at some guy trying to decide which icing-covered sweet cake he was going to buy. I never even considered those cakes before-I prefer to make my own. But all of a sudden, those cakes weren't an option for me to buy. It made me want to buy one. And I still linger at those displays a little too long in Wegmans. They're decorated in gold for crying out loud.

Deciding which foods to buy, what I'll prepare for my family and offer to them for snacks, etc., it's daunting. I want the food to be healthy and super low on sugar, if not free of it. But that is really tough. Not impossible- I know there are people out there who have been able to cut out sugar and write about it. And good for them. I haven't conquered that part of our lives yet. But I'm reading more-the latest-The Sugar Solution, by Sari Harrar. We'll see. All I can say is lots of cheese and lots of oats. Good thing those are accepted foods on my toddlers' menus.
So food is a challenge-shocking eh-for a Diabetic. I have to say my husband is always offering to go to the grocery store and shop for us, but for some reason that's a tough issue for me. Maybe it's a control thing. Wait-it is a control thing.

So on to my moment of clarity. It happened in the shopping line, when after reading labels, pushing the cart and boys throughout the store (it's got to be at least a mile) and talking/refereeing-I felt low. Shaky low. And I'm in line with the millions of other people waiting to get the hell home after a longer than expected trip to the grocery store. My tester is buried in my purse, under groceries, the free samples are crumbs on laps, the florescent lights are turning annoying, and I've got to keep unloading-expending energy. Of course, I chose the aisle with books and balloons as opposed to candy and soda.
So what am I left to do. Breath. I will be okay. I keep telling myself this. I have been low while cleaning the house and been able to keep cleaning knowing OJ is a second away. I can do this. I can do this. Groceries on the belt. Yes boys you can help. Breath. Write the check-is my writing okay? Can I still add numbers? I am okay. I really am.

By the time I get to the car I am at 79. Not bad. Not pass out bad. Everyone is fine. Safe in their carseats. The shoppers can breath easy now that the lady with the giant car cart and two little boys will not knock them over. And I can have a sip-guilt free-of the yummy organic juice I managed to find as I put the groceries in the car.
It is mind over matter. If I panicked and let myself worry about going low-making a scene at the store in front of the boys-it could have been chaotic and scary. I hope I can maintain composure more often than not.
I know it is not always possible. But talking myself through was good. I will be okay.

The Mothership

Before I got to Boston-I had visions of entering into this massive building-high ceilings, some dramatic movie soundtrack playing in the background, and a flock of eager doctors awaiting my arrival. I think I was bored and fantacising a bit. The ceiling are hig, though.
I'm talking about visitng the mothership of Diabetic care in America-The Joslin Center in Boston, I just got home late last night from a whirlwind tour of the city-seeing friends-visiting Harvard (and pretending I was one of them), and getting myself back on track with the help of the Joslin group (A Harvard Affiliate-not surprising).
It was a blast-literally and figuratively. I had moments of great clarity-like "oh yeah I should be taking insulin when I eat-not an hour after food/sugar has started taking over my body."I knew I needed help when I assumed my sugars would be in the 300's and I was okay with that after eating my meals. So they guided me-the group at the Joslin Center. They've seen patients like me. They reminded me I am healthy for now-but the road is long and we must be diligent. I must be diligent. I have a family to care for, I have a life to live, a world to explore.
It wasn't dramatic, the doc's offices are the same no matter where you go. I did like the idea that the excersize phisiologist has worked with famous athletes-he mentioned a few. Not in a name-dropping way-in a "during games, he checks his sugar 6-7 times and he goes off the pump and uses a slower-longer acting insulin." I'm wondering if Ok magazine would pay money for that kind of insider information. Yeah..nope.
So the trip was symbolic as things in life can really be. I feel renewed-I've got a real plan form the best doctors in the business. I took a trip alone-and traveled as a diabetic-it can be done quite easily. Lots of testing at the gates, in the air, on the subway. And of course being away from my little family was tough for a bit-but I knew this was good for them in the long run.
So the ceilings were high, but the docs weren't waiting with clipboards in hand telling me I wasn't in Kansas anymore. They brought the reality, the humanness, the feeling that people all over deal with it-we are working with it-it will get better-you will be okay. And I will. The soundtrack playing-hard to tell right now. When I hopped on the treadmill-I had a Rocky moment-but that's a bit much...I'll keep thinking on it.

Is it me?

It's hard to tell sometimes who I am beneath this disease. I have feelings and thoughts as I always did-but somehow they seem more dark, deeper, and when things are out of control-they seem really out of control. I have a tendency to clump things all together when things go wrong. So I think of the problem, where the problem stems from, how it is exacerbated, and finally how having diabetes makes it all worse. I wish many times I could erase that one final issue from the issues of being a mother , wife, daughter, worker. I can't quite figure out how it all works together-it only seems like this is something that worsens the bad parts. And when there are good parts-it doesn't make them better-it just lingers in the corner waiting to burst a bubble. And I am impatient about making my problems go away. I have done this even when I was younger. My father reminded me recently that I would rush to them at the end of their day-just as they walked in the door with all of my problems-and my concerns and I wanted them to help me right then. As a parent now-I can see how this can be tough. There are moments in the day when Wes, my youngest, wants to be picked "up right now" and he will cry if I don't. Maybe this is some foreshadowing (mental note). I know I still do this today with my issues-I am impatient in wanting everything to get better. Diabetes is not for the impatient. Insulin takes 2 hours to really work and peak in my body. When I have a low-I want everything-and need at least 15 grams of something-to eat-right now.

I took a personality test-"Are You a Happy Person?" I always considered myself to be one-but then the question was posed-do you take something bad that has happened to you and turn it into an opportunity-or a way to make your life better? I am not at this point in my coping with my disease yet. That is for sure. So in essence-does Diabetes make me not a happy person anymore-not as optimistic as I once was? I cannot answer this question-at this point.
(And I still don't know if I should capitalize Diabetes.)

Is there something good that can come out of this, and how will I find my true self within the disease? The cliche-of not wanting to be defined by your problems is major here. Maybe within this there is one part of me that can mature and become better at being patient. I have to be-there is no cure right now, there is no way I can change the right now of my Diabetes. But on the other side of impatience is understanding the importance of the right now. Diabetes has definitely made me much more eager to experience all that life has to offer-right now. I don't like feeling like I have missed an opportunity. I hate thinking I may have regrets.

I can pick Wesley up right now. And I can do many things right now-as a healthy, mother of two beautiful boys. And I can sit and enjoy the right now-not in the way that something is creeping up around the corner, but in the way that right now can last-and more right nows will come in good time.

The Center

Hooray. My doctor has set up an appointment for me at the Joslin Diabetes Center. I am looking forward to being amongst the latest and greatest people who deal with this disease. The trip to Boston should be fun-nice city, and it will be in the fall-apparently they book far out. I am having a hard time keeping good solid track of my numbers-but I know I need to do this in order for my slew of healthcare professionals to realize what works for me and what doesn't. I'm not sure if it is hard for me to fit it into my schedule to write down all of my carb intake, and my boluses, and all of that, or if I am avoiding the work that will show that I am off track. My numbers have been better since I have been on the pump-but that is what I always say-I am doing good-better, etc. Rarely do I ever say I am not doing well or I am totally unhealthy. I fear that if I say it it will be true. And I have not had any complications from the disease yet. I hope never to have them. But am I kidding myself? This is a disease that will not go away. I am afraid to admit that someday it won't be as easy as it is now.
Not so much on the creative side-but I needed to write-it's been a while.
Sugars 1 hour ago 199-3 hours ago 114.

Bend Over

Shoes. Should they be comfortable, should they be stylish? I change my mind on this a lot. Good shoes are important for our foot health, and so on. But damn there are some ugly-ass comfortable shoes around. In any event I was trying to find the best pair to wear this morning, bending over deep into my closet to find a match. As I was peering into the depths, my son Wes started playing with my pump cord. Just like a cat and a string. He pulled it long, looked at it and rolled it around his pudgy little fingers. It's a toy to my sons. It has been since they were born. I remember changing my pump site from my belly to my butt while I nursed both boys, so their tiny feet wouldn't get tangled up in the line. Like fishing wire, that could cut off a toe.
They play with the blue screen light in the middle of the night when they can't fall asleep. I worry, and am cautious that they will give me insulin accidentally, but I also don't want them to fear this gadget that hangs from their mother. There are enough safety features that I would know if this were ever to happen-and I am only a foot away from them when they hold the pump.

Unlike how I am with friends, I am very open about testing my sugars, changing my pump site, and dealing with Diabetes in front of my children, and husband. I don't want them to think of me as different, or weak because I have diabetes. I want it to just be a part of our life-uninterrupting, just a piece to the large puzzle of our lives. They are at an age where everything is new to them, and they are curious without judgement. So when I tell them I am checking my blood sugars-they watch, and try to grab my tester out of my hands. They are boys-if they could they would probably throw it across the room and leave it out in the rain. If I could, I would throw it across the room and leave it in the rain.

I noticed that I sit differently in the car with my pump on. I always attach it to my backside, clipped to the rim of my skirts or jeans, or pants. and tuck it in so it looks like a beeper. When I first started wearing it, I hoped others thought that's what it was- a beeper-or cell phone. Now when I lean over and show the pump and the cord attached, oftentimes sticking out awkwardly, I am self conscious. It is something that draws attention to me but not in a flattering way. I'm working on making the pump a more fashionable accessory. We'll see.
But for now when it sticks out and I'm home, and Wes or Everett reach over to explore this weird thing connected to their mommy-it's okay, it's a time to talk about it and make it part of me, and my life as thier mom...as a diabetic.

Crying in the doctor's Office

It's something that I really don't want to do...ever. I don't want to stare at the sterile walls, the corner where the nightshift cleaner missed a clump of dirt, the $9.99 framed poster of some famous painter's work-reproduced so the colors bleed, and the brush strokes are lost, and cry. I don't want to do this in a doctor's office. Ever. But then, in a way, it is kind of comforting to cry to someone who knows the disease well-the numbers, and letters of it, the intricacies, even if they have only studied it and read about it in books, they have taken that interest, and the tears are a part of it.
I went to get my new pump hooked up and sat there, arms crossed. The nurse was running late-an emergency at the hospital.
"Will I ever become an 'emergency' at the hospital," I thought. "Will I ever get to work on time?" "Will I ever get a chance to feel normal and healthy again?"
I can't help but remember the days when I looked forward to going to the doctor's, because it was a reassurance of my health. All was well. I looked good, felt good, and my body was healthy. It is not like that any more. It is concern, and numbers, and directions, and pokes, and blood- letting, and anxiety, and reminders of what I will be if I make it to 65.
Ugh.
So I sat on the tissue-papered table, and looked at a Golf magazine, sunny skies, green grass, striped shirts, and I thought about whether or not I wanted to cry in front of this nurse, who knows my name only when she is looking at my chart.
I start to talk to the secretary of the office , who is also a diabetic, and says she understands, and tries to be there."I know, I know," she says. I am trying, swalloing hard, so I don't burst into tears. I have always been an honest to the core kind of person. Tell the truth, say how you are feeling, get it out. This is the first time I hold back my tears. What will it do for me here? It will make the nurse even later for the next appointment.
I ask for a name of a counselor-I get a piece of paper with "psychotherapist, name, phone" written on it. Psychotherapist. I am scared. I have tears welling in my eyes. My new pump is on, and I have no one to just cry to, to bury my head in someone's soft shoulder and cry for me. It is a selfish moment, but I just need that, and someone to hand me a tissue and tell me it's going to be alright. But I am in this office with fake plants, no windows, no fresh air, no flowers, no warm sun or swimming pool. I try to imagine all that until the appointment is over -and finally it is. I have to go back in a week, write down all my sugars-before meals, post perandeum-bedtime, middle of the night, exercise.
I will try my hardest, and I will go home and shed some tears. I wanted to in the car-but I had to head to work.

Hooray New Pump-new Hope

I'm drowing in test strips. They are very where I go. I leave this funny trail of blue and metal. Random places, the babysitter's driveway, the floor in the library, the floor of my son's room, my bed.
I just got a new pump upgrade, and am looking forward to putting it on and starting like a new diabetic. I am hoping to tell my doctor to treat me as though I am new to this-because I feel like I need re-learning. I feel like I have learned as much as I can and am now making decisions based on fear rather than knowledge. Like I wait to give myself insulin until after I have eaten-in fear that I will go low. Or sometimes I don't give myself insulin at all. All of this I know is wrong. Like an alcoholic knows they shouldn't drink. It is all in the mind. I am more and more surprised at how in control-and out of control- we are of our lives through our minds. The brain is shockingly able to turn so many things. I love when I can think myself into being relaxed-at ease,.
I am hoping to test less, and be more confident with how insulin works in my body. I feel like anymore it is anyone's (mine) guess as to how much insulin I should take at a given meal.
I think that is why this is so stressful in my life right now. I worry when I sart the car-in fear that I will crash with my babies inside. I get nervous before a walk or run-I don't even bother with that now-because I'm not sure how my body will react.
A trip to the doctor's will hopefully be just what I need. It will be Friday. See you then!