My 24th diaversary shall be known as…the one I almost forgot.
My diaversary, which falls on Christmas Eve, has never been something that I actually actively celebrate because I’m always too busy celebrating the holiday season with my family. And that’s exactly what happened this year: I was living in the gift of Christmas present (there’s a pun in there, I know) rather than reflecting on that fateful one 24 years ago.
It feels fitting, really, that I didn’t remember my diaversary until a couple weeks after it came and went, because this Christmas Eve was extra special in a different way. It was the first significant holiday since the pandemic hit that my entire family could be together. And I mean my entire family – I saw both my mothers’ side and my fathers’ side, and even my big brother was able to come home from Nashville for the week. So I was spending the holidays really rejoicing in the fact that we were all able to safely see one another for the first time since Christmas 2019, rather than dwelling on my diabetes diagnosis.
After all, it’s the people who surround me that make something like diabetes manageable. My supporters – family, friends, partner, dogs – are the ones who motivate me when I’m experiencing diabetes burnout. They’re the ones who let me cry on their shoulders when diabetes is too much. They’re the ones who high-five every diabetes triumph that I experience. They’re the ones who remind me that my life is not defined by diabetes (despite how much I talk about it). So with that in mind, I can get behind doing what I did this diaversary: celebrating them instead of my diabetes for every Christmas Eve to come.
Today’s blog post is taking a personal turn because I’m using it to wish an extra-special birthday to my big brother!
It’s a milestone birthday – let’s call it age 29.999999 – and as such, I wish that I could celebrate it with my brother in person. But seeing as he lives about a thousand miles away from me (no exaggeration), coupled with the fact that travel isn’t exactly something that I personally feel is a smart idea right now, we’ll have to settle for a virtual celebration at the moment.
So before I continue with this birthday post, one thing you should know about my brother is that he’s just about the polar opposite of me in every sense of the word – I’m 5’3, he’s over 6 feet tall. I have blue eyes, blonde-ish hair, and fair coloring, whereas he has brown eyes and hair, and a much tanner complexion. And I choose to share my life pretty freely on the Internet (case in point: this blog), but he’s much more private in comparison. (As a result, my bro shall be known as “my brother” to help maintain his privacy.)
And now to tie everything together a bit – this blog about diabetes, this post for my brother, and my relationship with him – another thing you should know is that I don’t have a single memory in my lifetime of my brother treating me differently because of my diabetes.
I’ve never heard him complaining about living with two T1D women (my mom and I), not once.
I’ve never felt judged by him for any choices I’ve ever made about my diabetes.
I feel like he may be the only person that I’ve ever met (and possibly will ever meet) who is completely, 100% impartial to my diabetes…and that’s really cool to me, for a bunch of reasons. But mainly because I think he realizes that I have plenty of other sources in my life that will judge me, treat me differently, or react in some way to one or more facets of my life with diabetes, so he just stays out of it.
I’m thankful for that.
One final thing you should know about my brother (besides today being his birthday, how different he is from me, and how nonchalant he is about my diabetes) is that he’s pretty effing fearless – he goes beyond being chill about my diabetes, he is chill about errrrrythang. He moved to a brand-new state, met all sorts of new people, found a nice living situation, started a new job, and oh, he also got into the best shape of his damn life and has officially run a marathon and become a certified personal trainer, all in the last three years. And he’s acted borderline blasé about all of his achievements. Like, WTF!!! In contrast to my high-stress, always-anxious, and wound-up-tight self, he’s the coolest cucumber and I hope that he knows I’m proud of him and can’t wait to see what he does next.
Happy birthday, bro – please don’t be mad at me for telling the world (okay, the 7 people who read this blog) about how awesome you are.
Yesterday was Father’s Day, but today I’d like to take the opportunity to give a shout-out to my dad – and all fathers – who care for children, young, fully grown, or any stage in between, with diabetes.
All dads, generally speaking, don’t get enough credit for all that they do for their families. I know that I am fortunate enough to say that growing up, and to this day, my dad (and mom) provided me with everything a child could ask for: a loving home, plenty of food to eat, and endless support, to name a few.
But on top of that, my dad took care (and continues to take care) of both his child and his wife with diabetes. He does everything in his power to make sure that we want for nothing and has dealt with alllllll the highs and lows – and everything in between – over the years.
My dad has always been the “fixer” in the family. When a problem pops up, he just wants a solution to it. So it’s no wonder that he’s felt helpless on the occasions that there’s literally nothing he can do to help with diabetes except wait for the insulin or sugar to kick in (depending on whatever the case may be).
But the other thing you should know about my dad is that he gives everything in his life 110%. Professionally and personally, he never half-asses anything. And I’ve always found that extremely inspiring. He’s a role model for me in that his give-it-your-all attitude and work ethic has taught me to give my diabetes my all. For that, and so much more, I’m thankful.
My dad – just like my mom – is the real MVP. He has done so much for the both of us during this stay-at-home situation, between picking up groceries each week and running all of our errands for us in order to limit our time out of the house. My dad deserves credit, and so do all other T1D dads: You’re doing great. As you help us navigate this new normal, we realize that there’s already so much you do for us. You’re doing your best in these weird times and your loved ones see that and appreciate it more than you could ever know.
Thank you to all the dads out there, but particularly mine: Thank you for helping to keep me grounded during this “challenging time”, and for, well, everything else you’ve done for me in my 27 years (both the non-diabetes things and the diabetes-related things).
Yesterday was Mother’s Day, but today I’d like to take the opportunity to give a shout-out to my mom – and all mothers – who care for children, young, fully grown, or any stage in between, with diabetes.
All moms, generally speaking, don’t get enough credit for all that they do for their families. I know that I am fortunate enough to say that growing up, and to this day, my mom (and dad) provided me with everything a child could ask for: a loving home, plenty of food to eat, and endless support, to name a few.
But on top of that, my mom also acted as my pancreas (and her own) throughout my childhood. She counted carbs for me, injected me with insulin, scheduled and took me to doctor’s appointments, and offered her guidance whenever I was dealing with a difficult diabetes issue.
Even in my adulthood, though I’ve taken over all of my day-to-day diabetes responsibilities, my mom is still one of the first people I turn to when I have a diabetes question.
She’s the real MVP and she’s helped me a lot during this stay-at-home situation. So I want to give her credit, and credit to all T1D moms: You’re doing great. I know that it can’t be easy, especially for those T1D moms with little ones at home who are dependent on you for everything, but you’re doing your best and your loved ones see that and appreciate that more than you could ever know.
Thank you to all the moms out there, but particularly mine: Thank you for helping to keep me grounded during this “challenging time”, and for, well, everything else you’ve done for me in my 27 years (both the non-diabetes things and the diabetes-related things).
In times of sadness, fear, and uncertainty…laughter can be a powerful medicine.
I know that I haven’t had much to laugh about lately. Neither has…well, the world, really.
So my desire to have a good chuckle, and make others laugh along with me, was strong this week and inspired Friday’s little act of kindness…
Friday, 4/17 – Act of Kindness #12: I dressed up as Dwight Schrute today.
Yes, that character from The Office. Two years ago, I dressed up as him for Halloween and it was a hit among my coworkers. I figured I could surprise them on Friday by dressing up as him (I still have the wig, glasses, yellow button-down, and tie) and attending my virtual meetings in the beet farmers’ signature garb.
Despite my concerns that they might think I’m a freaking weirdo, they loved Dwight’s appearance in both of my Friday afternoon meetings. Inspired by their positive reaction, I took my Dwight disguise a step further and uploaded all sorts of pictures and videos to Instagram of me in costume doing funny things for my friends and family who follow my account to see. I got a ton of messages throughout the day thanking me for my silliness because it did what I wanted it to do: make people smile.
And I even walked my parents’ dog around my VERY small town dressed as Dwight. I got a couple of honks, a few smiles, and more confused looks than I could count, but it was all worth it – those who know and love The Office as much as I do got a kick out of it, and that’s what mattered to me.
Saturday, 4/18 – Act of Kindness #13: Early Saturday afternoon, I got the disappointing news that the Children with Diabetes Friends for Life Orlando conference was canceled this year. I was saddened because I made plans to be there in-person for the first time in seven years. There were so many people from the diabetes online community who I wanted to meet in real life at this conference, but I know that the right decision was made to help keep our community safe and healthy at home. Plus, the conference is moving to a virtual format, so it helps to know that we will be able to attend it in some form.
Anyways, the cancellation encouraged me to ask for a partial refund (in lieu of a full one) for the conference registration I’d purchased earlier this year. The money that I didn’t get back went straight to Children with Diabetes to help them fund their mission, and I feel that it was the right thing to do since they need support (and funding) to make these conferences happen in the first place.
Sunday, 4/19 – Act of Kindness #14: New England weather is effing weird. It snowed and rained all day Sunday, and then yesterday it was sunny and a fairly warm 61 degrees! The beautiful weather brought with it a revitalization for me. I had all sorts of energy to help my parents with a myriad of tasks around the home, so that’s what I did. I couldn’t even complain about it, because dare I say, I enjoyed the chance to move around the house and yard so much (if my parents are reading this, they’re probably jumping for joy over the fact I just admitted that). It felt good to be productive, and since my parents have both worked their butts off in the last few weeks (okay, they always work hard, but the last few weeks have been a little different), I was happy to do a little something that helps them out so they could have a bit more time to rest.
My acts of kindness continue to be small, in the grand scheme of things. But knowing that they’ve helped people, in some teensy-weensy way when things have been rough, continues to motivate me to keep up this challenge. Halfway there!
Six years and one day ago, my maternal grandfather passed away. He was 87 years old and lived a very full life, but his passing felt sudden to all of his family members who simply believed that we had more time with him.
In the immediate days following his death, my parents, brother, aunts, uncles, and cousins experienced a wide array of emotions, as well as physical side effects from overwhelming grief. I had some of the highest blood sugars of my life during this time, and I also came down with some sort of fever that left me boiling hot one minute and head-to-toe shivering the next.
I remember that getting myself ready for his wake was a real process – I was collapsed on the floor just outside of the bathroom, waving a hair dryer not just on my head, but also all over my body because I felt so frigidly cold. Little did I know, my blood sugar was also well over 400, but even if I’d known that fact sooner, I probably wouldn’t have cared very much.
Anyways, the intent of this post isn’t to remember a truly heart-wrenching period of my life. It’s to help me remember my grandpa, and catch him up on everything that’s happened since he left us. I thought it’d be most appropriate to do this in the form of a letter.
I have so much to tell you. But let me start with an apology. I’m sorry that I didn’t appreciate you more when I was younger. I’m sorry that I didn’t try harder to talk to you and hear your many stories firsthand. I always respected you throughout my youth and teenage years, as my parents instilled upon me early on to respect my elders. And even in childhood, I knew you were the elder to respect; after all, I was convinced that you single-handedly ended WWII. What’s more respectful than that? Anyways, I digress – the point is that I wish I made more of an effort to learn more from you and I’m sorry that I’ll never get a chance to make up for that.
You probably already know most of what I’m going to tell you. We lost Zuzu the same year we lost you, and I’m sure she’s with you in heaven now, but then we gained Clarence a couple of years ago and I think you would get such a kick out of him. There’s been a few more losses in our family, too, but many more gains of all kinds, and I know that in a way, you were there with us for those occasions and everything in between.
You also probably already know that since we lost you, I graduated college and started my career. Weird, right? I also started a blog about diabetes, and really, it’s become a much bigger part of my life than it ever was before. I would love to see your eyes widen in awe at our diabetes technology and how advanced it has become over the years. (I remember how amazed you used to be when we showed you our computers and early-model eBook tablets, I can only imagine your reaction to medical technology!)
As I sit here and type this and marvel at how much (and how little) has changed since you left, I remain grateful for the fact that you were a big part of our childhoods (“our” meaning my brother’s and my cousins’ childhoods, as well as mine). I also take comfort in the fact that just because you’re not physically here to witness all of this stuff, you’re here in our hearts and you’re with us in that manner for every step in our journeys. I know that when I’m having a tough diabetes day, you’re one of the guardian angels looking out for me and helping me recover from it.
And I also know that you’d be proud of me for what I’ve accomplished so far in life, and for me, that’s more than enough motivation to keep going, fighting, and working hard to beat diabetes and be successful in other arenas, too.
It’s November 6th which means that it’s Day 6 of the Happy Diabetic Challenge! Today’s prompt asks us to name our diabetes hero/heroine. Well, I have more than one…
My diabetes hero is not just one person. It’s a small group of people that I call my family. (Awwwww, how sweet.)
My mom, dad, and brother are all-too familiar with diabetes. My mom is T1D, like me, and my dad and my brother were the lucky ducks who got to live under the same roof as us for many years. All three of them are diabetes heroes to me, but in some very different ways.
Let’s start with my brother. He is three years older than me and I’d say we were fairly close to one another in our shared childhood. Though he doesn’t share a diabetes diagnosis with me, he grew up with diabetes just as much as I did. And do you know what’s amazing about that? I’ve never once heard him complain about it. If he has ever felt any fear or worry for my mom and I, he definitely has done a good job of internalizing it. He treats us like we have normal, functioning pancreases, and I think the reason for that is he knows that we are more than capable of taking care of our diabetes ourselves. Although his thoughts and feelings about our diabetes have yet to be verbalized, I appreciate his unique brand of support for us and I continue to be wowed that he never seemed to be bothered by the extra attention I got as a child due to my diabetes. No unhealthy sibling rivalry there!
Next up is the other Type None in our family: my dad. I’ve written about my dad in a couple of previous blog posts. He is truly the Mr. Fix It in our family. If there is a problem, he wants to solve it – especially if it is something that is causing his loved ones emotional distress. He has had more than his fair share of situations in which my mom or I were seriously struggling with our diabetes. I can only imagine how he feels when all he can do is just stand by and let us work through our issues: It’s probably a combination of helpless, angry, and worried. He’s said numerous times over the years that he’d give my mom and I his healthy pancreas if he could, and I’ve never questioned the sincerity behind that sentiment. I know he means it, and to me, that’s the kind of heroism that nobody else in my life can even begin to compete with.
And then we’ve got my diabetes partner-in-crime, my mom. How on earth she managed to deal with her OWN diabetes, in addition to mine, all throughout my childhood is completely beyond me. Besides being there for me as a source of unwavering emotional support as someone who really “gets it”, my mom’s attended practically every single endocrinology appointment with me, encouraged me to start using an insulin pump, ordered alllllll of my supplies for many years (and kept track of the stacks of associated paperwork), and helped keep me as calm as humanly possible throughout my terrifying insurance transition that took place late this past spring. Let me just restate that she did all of this and still does all of this while still dealing with her own diabetes!!!!! It’s sort of mind-blowing to me that she can stay so much calmer about her diabetes than I ever could when it comes to either of ours, but she does it, and that makes her a heck of a diabetes hero to me.
What’s really neat about my diabetes heroes, as a collective unit, is that diabetes has never and will never define our family. It’s something that lingers there in the background, for sure, but it almost never steals our attention away from our time spent together. I can’t recall a single instance in the last 22 years that diabetes really, truly disrupted our family rhythm (maybe my parents would disagree with that and count in my diabetes diagnosis, but I barely remember that).
It just goes to show that even as something as life-altering and disruptive as diabetes only made my family stronger when it hit us with a double dose.
The morning of my cousin’s wedding, I woke up to a blood sugar of 237 after a night of fighting elevated levels. There was no rhyme or reason for the high blood sugar – I hadn’t eaten a single thing for 16 hours at that point, but I had changed my pod an hour or two before going to bed.
WTF was wrong? Was the pod’s cannula bent? Was I high due to wedding day jitters? Would the highs persist all day?
These were the thoughts racing through my mind almost as soon as I woke up the morning of my cousin’s wedding.
I didn’t have time to worry about my MOH speech, or whether my hair would turn out the way I wanted to, or even to drink a celebratory mimosa while I got ready with the rest of the bridal party – I was too preoccupied by my elevated blood sugar.
All I could bother to think about was a potential solution before we all walked down the aisle.
Somewhere between applying my eyeshadow and having the 111th bobby pin secured in my hair (yes, it truly took 111 bobby pins to make my intricate braided up-do possible), I remembered “The Incident” from last year. I’d slept through a high blood sugar that, the following morning, refused to come down. As my frustration grew, so did the pain in my belly that lead me to the bathroom, where I came very close to passing out. One ambulance trip and ER visit later, I discovered that my pod’s cannula was bent, leaving me with no doubt that a pod malfunction was responsible for the whole ordeal.
With that memory vividly replaying in my mind, I made the executive decision to change my pod a couple hours before we were due at the wedding venue. And I can’t even begin to explain how happy I am that I listened to my intuition to do so. Upon removing it, I noticed blood at the site – not as bad of a sign as a bent cannula is, but a possible indicator of a problem. By the time we were in the venue’s bridal suite, my blood sugar was sitting pretty at 90 and I was finally able to focus on the beautiful, meaningful afternoon.
Sure, it was a stressful morning and far from an ideal situation, but I am extremely proud of myself for how I handled it. I didn’t panic the way I normally do. I didn’t shed any anxiety tears. I kept the issue pretty well-concealed from the bride, who shouldn’t have to worry about her MOH’s health on her special day. My calm approach paid off, and though it sucked to waste almost two days’ worth of insulin when I disposed the wonky pod, I knew I should pay closer attention to the fact that I did what needed to be done.
And even better was that my diabetes mostly cooperated with me the rest of the day. It didn’t stop me from delivering a fantastic speech with the matron of honor. It didn’t prevent me from enjoying some tasty wedding food, cake and all. It certainly didn’t keep me from tearing up the dance floor with my enthusiastic family. And it didn’t end my night early as I went out with my boyfriend, the newlyweds, and the matron of honor and her husband to a bar to shoot some pool and continue our celebrations.
Turns out that dealing with diabetes when you’re the maid of honor has a lot to do with keeping a cool head and living in the moment, two things that are so important to do in a variety of situations.
This post originally appeared on Hugging the Cactus on June 18, 2018. I wanted to republish it today because my dad (and all fathers of T1D children) should be recognized for everything they do for us. I also wanted to give my dad a little extra shout-out, as this is the first Father’s Day that I’m not there to celebrate him in-person.
Father’s Day was yesterday, but as I did the day after Mother’s Day, I want to use today’s blog as an opportunity to express my appreciation for dads: Namely, my own father.
Besides being the family patriarch, my dad is a firefighter/EMT. He makes his family feel safe with his emergency preparedness knowledge and skills. He also deals with his diabetic wife and daughter on an almost-daily basis, which warrants, at the very least, a ginormous golden trophy with his name engraved on it in fancy script.
That’s because he sees the ugly side of diabetes from time to time. The side that causes blood to spurt out of mom’s abdomen when she removes a pod that struck a vein. The side that causes me to lash out, because my blood sugar won’t seem to come down from a sticky high, no matter what I do. The side that causes mom and I to lose sleep, because we’re treating another middle-of-the-night low blood sugar. The side that forces mom and I to be prepared for any and every possible diabetes scenario that could occur while traveling. The side that causes us to cry, because we just can’t deal with diabetes today.
And he’s there through it all.
He’s there to apply pressure and gauze to the bloody site. He’s there, feeling just as upset as I am, because he just wants my blood sugar levels to come back down, too. He’s there to make sure mom and I have enough glucose tablets or juice to bring our levels back up. He’s there, keeping us calm as we pack for our next trip and taking care of all the travel arrangements. He’s there to comfort us when we need him to, and he hates that we live with diabetes – probably even more than we do.
He’s the kind of guy who says he’d trade his pancreas with us in a heartbeat if it meant we wouldn’t have to live with diabetes anymore.
He’s the kind of guy I’m proud to call my dad.
Thanks, Dad, for helping me handle my diabetes over the years, and supporting every venture (diabetes and otherwise) that I pursue.
This post originally appeared on Hugging the Cactus on May 14, 2018. I wanted to republish it today because my mom (and all mothers of T1D children) should be recognized for everything they do for us. I also wanted to give my mother a little extra shout-out, as this is the first Mother’s Day that I’m not there to celebrate her in-person.
I know Mother’s Day was yesterday, but mothers deserve more than a Hallmark-card holiday in order to be adequately recognized. (They also deserve more than just this blog post; however, I can only express my admiration for moms using my words.) Let me explain my appreciation for moms.
All of the mothers I know, especially my own mom, work tirelessly to support their families in multiple ways. This is especially true of mothers of children with diabetes. They spend so much time counting carbs, losing hours of sleep, injecting insulin, attending doctors’ appointments, and dealing with difficult diabetes emotions all on top of normal mom duties. And many of the diabetes moms I know work(ed) full-time jobs, to boot!
I think my mom is particularly amazing because she did all of the above, all while managing her own diabetes, too. Now that I’m an adult, I can’t help but marvel over how she did it all with such capability, humor, and unconditional love. I’m blessed to have an incredible mom who taught me what it means to be a dia-badass.