I’ve officially reached the 100-post mark on Hugging the Cactus. Wow!!!
I can’t believe I’ve already reached this milestone!
This blog debuted on October 2, 2017. I’ve spent the last eight months writing new content as often as possible, meeting more people with diabetes (both in person and online), and focusing on my personal health and well-being. It’s been an awesome ride, and I can’t wait to keep on enjoying it.
As always, thank you for your continued support. Every click, tweet, comment, and visit means the world to me, and every share couldn’t be more appreciated. Thank you for reminding me daily why this blog is so important to me and why I should continue to share my story.
Here’s to the next hundred posts – and many more after that.
Growing up, the notion of diabetes camp was gently nudged into my brain each Spring. My endocrinologist and my parents would ask me, “Do you want to give it a try this year?” and my annual response, unfailingly, was “NO!”
To this day, I still don’t really know why I was so against diabetes camp. Part of the reason may be because I was a bit of a nervous Nelly growing up (okay, okay, I still am) and didn’t like the thought of sleepaway camp: It meant being away from home for an extended period of time, which made me feel nothing but anxious.
But my best guess as to why I didn’t want to go is that I felt that camp wouldn’t benefit me in any way. Both my mom and my aunt have type one diabetes, so they were (and still are) my go-to sources whenever any sort of diabetes issue crops up for me. I didn’t see how meeting kids my own age with diabetes would help me; after all, I thought I had everything I needed in my mom and aunt.
Things changed drastically for me when I started college and made the transition to caring for my diabetes independently. I got wind of a diabetes student organization on my campus and was interested in attending a meeting. That was it for me: for the next three years, I was very involved with this organization (the College Diabetes Network), eventually becoming the President of my school’s chapter and continuing to this day to volunteer for them whenever I can.
I wasn’t ready for any kind of diabetes camp as a kid…but it’s a different story now that I’m an adult.
My involvement with the CDN has resulted in me meeting countless other T1Ds my own age, and it’s been amazing. I love sharing stories and learning from them. And as it turns out, most of these individuals went to diabetes camp when they were young and loved it. In many cases, diabetes camp is where they thrived and met some of their closest friends. They learned a lot about caring for their own diabetes and became more independent with diabetes management at a younger age.
But even after hearing the rave reviews about diabetes camp…I’m still thankful that I didn’t go to it when I was a kid.
Why? Because I think that a person’s journey with their own diabetes is highly personal. Like insulin-to-carb ratios or multiple daily injections versus insulin pumps, diabetes is often a disease about choices and responsibility. As an individual with diabetes, I hate being told how to handle my condition by someone who thinks they understand it better than me. I’m the one person in this world who understands MY diabetes better than anyone else. I know my body and I know what diabetes treatments and decisions are best. And for those few years of my life, I thought it was best for me to not go to camp. It was out of my comfort zone, and I refused to be coerced into going.
Perhaps in the back of my mind, I knew I’d have an opportunity later in life to connect with people my age who have diabetes. And I’m so thankful that I did because it came at a time in which I felt ready and was more accepting of my diabetes overall.
So there are no regrets for me when it comes to my choice to not attend diabetes camp. You could say that my decision to stay at home during those summers made me a happy camper…
At the start of the year, I told myself, this is your year. You’re going to be in the best shape of your life and finally run a 5K. I’ve never particularly enjoyed running, which is why the challenge of a 5K was more alluring than a different fitness goal. I felt that doing something I practically dreaded would make accomplishing it that much more gratifying.
But just a few short weeks into 2018, I broke a bone in my arm. I was crushed, because the kinds of physical activity I could do suddenly became severely limited. Instead of taking the injury in stride, I spent a long length of time moping over it. My exercise levels decreased and I stopped caring (for a short while, anyways) about my lean and mean pursuits. All I wanted was to heal, and heal swiftly.
Fortunately, I’ve fully recovered from the fracture, and so have my spirits. A renewed vigor took hold of me in April, and I spent many weekday mornings waking up early to complete a variety of workouts. I started to feel stronger and more confident in my athletic ability. So in the second week of May, just a few days after my 25th birthday, I decided the time was right to register for my first 5K.
And so I did, and I’ve devoted time training for it since then. It’s far from easy, but I must admit that each time I successfully complete a run, the feeling of accomplishment and pride that courses through my body makes it all worth it. It’s doubly wonderfully when I’m able to achieve in-range blood sugars before, during, and after each run.
An example of my blood sugar during a run…
…and some of the metrics from the same run.
I don’t have a convoluted strategy for stabilizing my blood sugar while running; rather, it seems to work best for me if I simply complete a fasting workout first thing in the morning. This eliminates a few variables affecting my blood sugar, including carbs consumed during a meal or insulin on board. I’ve found that I don’t even need to run a temporary basal or suspend any insulin – my body seems to do well if I’m running my normal basal rate. But with diabetes being a fickle fiend, I’m always prepared for a potential high or low blood sugar to occur on a run. In other words, portable glucose and my PDM are my constant running companions.
Race day is just a few short weeks away, and I can honestly say that I’m looking forward to it. Sure, I’m a little anxious, but I’m choosing to focus on the fact that I’m finally taking on something that tests me – and my diabetes – in all the right ways. I should be proud of that alone, but I must say, I’ll be over the moon when I get to cross that finish line.
A question I’m often asked is: “Can you feel your CGM or insulin pump on your body?”
The simple answer to that is: usually, no. It’s something that you just get used to. You grow accustomed to seeing a lump underneath your clothing. You adjust to putting clothes on (and taking them off) carefully to avoid accidentally ripping a site out. You acclimate to showering without being completely naked.
And, of course, you get used to the questions from strangers asking about that device stuck to you.
But the more honest answer to that question would be that there are times that I feel it more than others. For example, sometimes I forget where I’m wearing my pump until I hit it against something (I’m a major klutz who constantly runs into doorways and trip over things, almost always managing to catch my pod on whatever it is), resulting in pain at the site and a curse word or two to fly out of my mouth.
My OmniPod (on my arm) and my Dexcom (on my stomach) are stuck on me 24/7.
I feel it the most, though, when people stare. Whether unconsciously or purposely, people do ogle at it in very not subtle manners. Which makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. It’s worse when they don’t even ask me what it is – I’d rather have a chance to use it as a teaching moment than to have someone walk away not knowing what the device does. This tends to make swimsuit season a little less welcome for me. Nothing will stop me from donning a bathing suit at the beach or by the pool, and I do so as much as possible in the summertime. But it’s just not as fun when I’ve got to cope with lingering looks, especially when I’m an admittedly insecure person in the first place.
So it’s a more complex question to answer than you might realize. Wearing a medical device 24/7 is humbling. It keeps me alive. I’m privileged to have access to it. I’m grateful for the ways it’s improved my life. I’m always wearing it, but it’s not at the forefront of my mind – unless it chooses to make its presence known by alarming, or I’ve got people blatantly checking it out. It’s kind of like diabetes itself. It can make you feel a gamut of emotions, but no matter what, it’s always there. It’s just a part of me, and I can deal with that.
“Aw, she’s so cute! What’s her name? What kind of dog is she?” The woman stooped down to the ground to take a closer look at Clarence, my 12-week old Shetland Sheepdog – who is a boy.
I patiently answered her questions, knowing she wasn’t really paying attention. After all, she was totally distracted by my adorable little pup.
The man who accompanied her – undoubtedly her partner – was chattier. He looked at me, almost condescendingly, and said something about how this must be my first dog.
Nonplussed, I said, “Actually, this is my family’s third Sheltie. The last time we had a puppy like Clarence here, I was practically a baby myself.”
“Well, you know, I noticed that you’re buying puppy pads. You really shouldn’t do that if you want to get your dog housebroken, it’ll only encourage it to go indoors.” If I thought he was bordering on condescending before, he was definitely laying it on thick now.
I hastily responded by telling him how the puppy chow that Clarence is eating is salty, and the high salt intake results in frequent puppy puddles in the kitchen. It’s virtually impossible to ensure that Clarence is outside every single time that he has to pee, so the puppy pads have been a huge help. I trailed off, wondering why I had felt the need to provide this stranger with an explanation that wouldn’t matter to him.
The man shrugged, clearly unimpressed by this answer, and walked away.
Upon reflection, this mildly irritating encounter turned into a bit of a metaphor for what life with diabetes is like. People you don’t know bombard you with questions about it. You answer as best as you can, hoping that your replies help these inquisitive folks understand diabetes better than they did before. But this ray of hope is quickly dimmed when the questioners run out of things to ask and begin to tell you how you should manage your diabetes. It’s baffling when it happens because you didn’t ask for advice, but you somehow get an earful of it every damn time.
So I guess in this way, diabetes is a little like raising a puppy. There will be highs and lows, good days and bad days. And unsolicited advice will be dished to you by strangers, even though nobody knows your diabetes – or your dog – the way that you do.
The last lines of the 1946 classic film It’s a Wonderful Life are as follows:
Zuzu Bailey: Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.
George Bailey: That’s right, that’s right.
George Bailey: [Looks heavenward] Attaboy, Clarence.
Those who know my family well are aware that this movie, and three of those above names, hold special meaning to us. Bailey was the name of our first dog. Zuzu was our second dog. Both were Shetland Sheepdogs and beloved members of our family. They shaped two very different parts of my life. I attribute the two of them for getting me through various challenges encountered by my family and me over the years, and I’m grateful that we got to provide a loving home to them. A home that’s been quiet since they left us.
A home that once again will be occupied by a puppy’s presence.
Everyone, meet Clarence:
We are overjoyed that our sweet boy will be coming home soon! And in case you’re wondering what this possibly has to do with my diabetes, I’ll tell you right now that it doesn’t really, I’m just bursting with excitement over Clarence’s arrival.
But I’m also pretty darn skilled at making diabetes connections where they don’t seem to exist.
I’m positive that Clarence will help with my diabetes. I plan on taking the little guy on plenty of walks, which will be great for my numbers. I’d also like to set up an agility course in our backyard for him, because based on my past experience with shelties, they have incredible amounts of energy to burn – so I’m certain that means I’ll be running the course and burning energy with him.
Plus, I’m starting to research diabetes alert dogs. I have no idea if I’ll train him to detect high or low blood sugars, but I’m very interested in the idea. Especially since there are multiple diabetics in my family.
And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the wonders he’ll work for my mental health. The calming presence of a pup will surely ease my anxieties as well as make me smile even more than I already do.
Attaboy, Clarence – I know that’s something I’ll be saying quite often and very soon.
I’ve heard the following phrase for just about my entire life:
“There will be a cure for diabetes in the next five years, just wait!”
Uh, I’m still waiting over here. Where’s the aforementioned cure? *Taps foot impatiently*
It’s fun to fantasize about life with diabetes, especially when you look at the numbers like this.
Oooookay, while I sit here and wait for another 20 years of diabetes to come and go, I’ll daydream. Ooh! I’ll daydream about a day without diabetes. What would it look like for me? I have some ideas…
In the morning: I’d wake up feeling incredibly well-rested. That’s because I’d sleep through the night without my CGM going off. After rolling out of bed with a head of perfectly-mussed hair (this is MY fantasy here, so just go with it), I’d head down into the kitchen to indulge in a ginormous cinnamon bun slathered in cream cheese frosting for my breakfast. I’d savor every bite and relish in not having to poke myself with needles multiple times in order to eat the tasty treat.
In the afternoon: After actually enjoying a workout at the gym (cue my Anna from Frozen singing voice) for the first time in foreverrrrrr, I’d probably treat myself to a massage/spa day. But a shower first because a masseuse should never have to deal with a smelly and stinky person. You know what would be awesome about that experience? I wouldn’t be worried about my blood sugar all throughout it and I could just appreciate the act of self-care. And for lunch? I’m not a TOTAL junk food junkie – I’d eat a healthy, balanced lunch that day. Perhaps a smoothie bowl laden with fabulous fructose-filled fruits that WOULDN’T spike me? Maybe a massive salad topped with carb-y croutons? The possibilities are endless.
In the evening: The day would wind down with a sense of accomplishment, because I would’ve been able to run errands without a single diabetes-related complication slowing me down. I’d glam myself up for a night on the town in which I’d consume one or four cocktails, free from wild swings due to alcohol’s effects on blood sugar. And then I’d run into Kit Harrington (Jon Snow from Game of Thrones, A.K.A. an extraordinary man) and he’d sweep me off my feet and we’d take off into a sunset sans diabetes.
Okay, yeah, I’m definitely stretching my imagination as I picture a couple parts of this day…but it sure is fun to think about life without diabetes.
The morning of Tuesday, January 23rd, I took a bit of a tumble. I fell on some black ice in my driveway and managed to fracture a bone in the process: my ulna, which is the longer and thinner bone located in the forearm. I broke the one located in my dominant arm and have spent the past few days in a brace. I’ll get a real cast put on it early next week.
Please enjoy this gratuitous shot of my arm in a brace, featuring the sleeve of my dinosaur sweatshirt.
I waited a few days before writing a blog post about it for several reasons. For starters, I struggled with teaching myself how to type with limited range of motion in one hand. Actually, I struggled doing most things with just one hand. Brushing my hair, putting clothes on, feeding myself…every mundane task has become a challenge. It’s been especially difficult to accept that I need to allot myself twice the amount of time to do just about anything because I have no choice but to move slowly. I’m an incredibly impatient person, so this has been a hard truth to come to terms with. But I’m getting there.
Taking care of my diabetes is also included on the list of everyday tasks that are now tricky. I dislike having to rely on others for help, but I’ve got to say that changing my pod with one hand is far from easy. It feels like I’d be flirting with disaster if I were to hold a precious vial of insulin in an awkward grip as I made an attempt to fill a syringe, then a pod, with my shaky left hand. Fortunately, my parents are more than willing to help me when I need it – thanks guys – and I’m able to do other things, like check my blood sugar, on my own.
The healing process is expected to be about six weeks, so it won’t be too bad. I’m just going to have to adapt to life with one functioning arm/hand. There’s one thing that’s certain, though: I’m not going to let this stop me from doing anything I want to do! (Within reason, of course. Let’s just say I won’t be taking a boxing class any time soon, even though I’d really like to.) Just like diabetes, a broken bone can’t stop me. I’ve even managed to get 10,000 or more steps each day since the injury happened – including the day of the fracture! I could’ve chosen to pardon myself from exercise and stew over the pain, but I wanted to prove to myself that I’m both physically and mentally stronger than my excuses. After all, the rest of my body is in perfect working order. I’ve just got to keep it that way!
Happy 2018! I wanted to take a moment to wish you well. I hope the new year brings you health and happiness!
Fireworks!!!
Like many others, I’ve come up with a few New Years resolutions that I’d like to fulfill in 2018. One revolves around this blog – I want to increase the variety of content featured here and, overall, improve it so it has a bigger impact on the diabetes community and beyond.
That’s where YOU enter the picture. Have a suggestion for me? Let me know! This blog isn’t just about me – it’s about you, too. That’s why I want to make sure I’m making good use of this site and offering content and insight that you care about. Thank you in advance for your ideas. I sincerely appreciate them!
Curious about my other goals for 2018? Look for a follow-up post about ’em sometime in the next couple of weeks. Sharing them will help keep me accountable, right?
Merry Christmas Eve, to all those who celebrate it! Christmas is one of my absolute favorite holidays. I love spending time with my family and friends, attending mass, baking (and eating) Christmas cookies, and decorating the tree. This time of year is pure magic; a time when I feel most joyful.
This Christmas Eve also marks my 20th year of living with type one diabetes. I don’t remember much from that night in 1997, seeing as I was only four years old. I recall tons of family members visiting me in the hospital and bringing gifts for me. One of the gifts I received was a honey-colored teddy bear that I particularly liked and hugged often throughout my hospital stay.
Beyond Type 1 featured me on their Instagram Wall of Warriors last year. This is how I #LiveBeyond.
Twenty years with diabetes is a long time. Too long, especially since every couple of years since my diagnosis I’ve been told that a cure would be found “soon”. I’ve come to accept the fact that “soon” just might not be within this lifetime, and rather than dwell on that, I choose to focus on the joy of life itself. How lucky am I to live a full life, surrounded by loved ones, employed full-time, with a roof over my head and food on my plate? How lucky am I to be able to have access to the insulin I need and to have a choice when it comes to the pump and meter I use? How lucky am I to have the knowledge and willpower it takes to manage a chronic illness every second of every day?
I’m extraordinarily lucky. I’m blessed.
That’s what I’m focusing on joy on this significant diaversary. I’m embracing the spirit of the season and recognizing the good in this life. Diabetes takes things away from me sometimes – a full night’s sleep, an occasional dessert, a missed trip to the gym – but I refuse to let it take my joy.
Hugging the Cactus 