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Plant-Based Faceplant.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve made an attempt as a family to eat more plants/eat less meat.  This is decision is rooted in a dozen different health reasons, but the end result is a move towards cutting back on the meat we’re consuming and integrating more than just a “meatless Monday” philosophy.

All well and good, right?

Except I still can’t cook.  And this is making anything “new!” a bit of a challenge.

Last summer, I worked towards a decent grasp on using our grill, making chicken and grilled vegetables and hamburgers that didn’t highlight my inability to create edible meals.  That learning curve was steep, though, and now the idea of trying to get creative in the kitchen with a renewed focus on plant-based meals is daunting as eff.

Because, as mentioned, I still can’t cook.  I’m having a plant-based face plant.

I tried to make these – sweet potato quinoa patties – and assembling the ingredients was easy enough.  I could get everything into a bowl and if I were to eat it like a salad, it would have worked out beautifully.  But the goal was to cook these on the stove top, creating a hot meal where the patties are crisped to a golden brown and cause people to put their fingertips delicately to their collarbones in delight – “My goodness – did you MAKE these?  They are DELIGHTFUL!” and then everyone gets drunk.  (This fantasy takes place post-August, when wine can re-enter the picture for me.)

Instead, I ended up with patties that didn’t ever crisp into golden perfection.  My attempt was more a lump of burned-on-one-side-barely-held-together-on-the-other-side patties, where they needed to be coaxed aggressively out of the pan and had to be eaten immediately or else they’d taste like not-awesome hash browns.

I’ve tried to make them twice now.  The first time, Chris and I had a “ho, ho, ho this is an experiment! and we’ll figure this out” response.  The second time, I was a hormonal mess and just about threw the pan across the kitchen with a pathetic sob of, “I can’t COOK I only make burnt vegetarian DOG FOOD.”  The third time, I’m afraid I will pitch a fit and then a tent in the backyard and force myself to sleep there until I can happily eat grass.

(Have I mentioned hormones?  I have them.  There are many of them.  Would you like some?  AHHHHHH!!!)

So what I’m hoping for is this:  Do you have a favorite non-meat recipe that is easy to make and that you enjoy eating?  I’m looking for recommendations to help expand my palette and my culinary skills without causing emotional chaos.  My kitchen prowess is limited, but I’m willing to try anything at least three times, and I’m really eager to reduce the amount of meat we’re eating.

Diabetic Pregnancy: Third Trimester.

Ten weeks left until the little man arrives, which means I’m in the third trimester and ready to fast forward through the summer.  FAST.  FORWAAAAAAAAARD!!

Swelling.  So far, so good.  I don’t have any swelling to speak of, which is a far cry from my first pregnancy, when I was in StayPuft mode starting around 28 weeks and stayed there until I delivered.  But thankfully, I’m a little more comfortable this round.  I can still wear my wedding rings, all my shoes, and my feet look like feet (instead of inflatable kayaks).

And I’m grateful to be back home from Utah, which was the scene of the swelling crime six years ago.  Something about being that far above sea level seemingly kicked off my incoming preeclampsia last time, and I’m glad Utah this year didn’t bring about any repeat performances.  (Also, I’ve only been to SLC twice, and both times I was seven months pregnant.  Weird theme.)

Blood sugars.  I still have them.  And they haven’t been entirely pleasant lately.  Some high numbers are returning in the evenings, which caused me to kick up my insulin : carb ratio for dinner as of this morning and I’m also side-eying my basal rate a little bit.  Still attempting to pre-bolus for as many meals as I can manage, which is working out pretty well.  I am aiming to keep my A1C in the same range it has been for as long as I can.

Some lows are back, only without symptoms at all, and those suck.  The other night, my CGM was screaming LOW for about an hour and I woke up the next morning with glucose tab dust all over the bedside table, a text message conversation on my phone that I have no recollection of having, and a low hangover that kicked my ass for hours.  Also, there was a missing burrito, which I can neither confirm nor deny responsibility for.

(Have I mentioned the Comfort Burritos that have lived in my freezer for the last five months?  Cravings were weird and intense during the first trimester, and there was a specific day when I NEEDED to have a burrito but didn’t want to eat so many carbs in one sitting, so I bought a frozen one and threw it in the fridge next to Animal.  It’s been in there since, comforting my cravings without having to be consumed.  I will plant it in the backyard after my son is born.  Perhaps a burrito tree will sprout?)

Baby kicks.  My daughter is strong and quick now, but I do not remember her being such an athlete in the womb.  However, her little brother is a storm of flying feet and hands at all times.

“Are you pregnant?” asked the lady next to me on my flight over the weekend.

“Yes, I am,” I confirmed, grateful for people who don’t assume/don’t say “WHOA! ARE YOU DUE TODAY?!”

“I thought so.   Your baby has been moving like crazy since we took off.  You have an active little one in there!”

Awesome.  You can see my son moving around through my shirt now.  And he clearly digs long flights.

Doctor’s appointments.  We’re turning up the dial on doctor’s appointments for this last trimester, moving to weekly appointments next week and then twice-weekly appointments until delivery.  My team at Beth Israel and Joslin are in sync and tracking me closely, in addition to keeping tabs on any eye disease progression (holding steady), kidney issues (none to speak of), and blood pressure spikes (still not back on BP medication yet, so feeling good about that).

I’m grateful to have so many medical professionals at the ready and tracking my baby’s progress.  (But I can’t lie; I’m looking forward to never seeing any of them again, post-delivery.  I’m emotionally done making that frigging drive to Boston.)

August.  We’re still working towards a late August escape date, with my body cooperating so far.  If the weather holds in this lovely 72 degrees and no humidity pattern for a few more weeks, I’ll be the happiest third trimester lady of all time.

Weak Away.

I accidentally took a week off from blogging, but there are reasons.  And they involve dinosaurs.  Bullet list, because that’s the only way to organize what’s swirling in my brain?  Yeah, let’s do that.

  • Last week started strong – a good visit to Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center on Tuesday to confirm a strong and healthy growing boy.  More on the third trimester of this pregnancy in a bit, but for now, I’m holding very steadily without any blood pressure issues, no swelling, no protein spilling in my urine, and a baby of a healthy and normal size.
  • I think my son has the same nose as my daughter, which is weird to notice in an ultrasound.  And he definitely has my husband’s dance moves, which contributes to his cuteness.
  • The next day, I took a flight out to Salt Lake City (after putting Birdzone on the bus) and then drove out to Vernal, Utah for a diabetes event with the Tri County Health department.
  • Per my daughter’s request, I wore a bracelet she made me while presenting. It is as important as my medical alert bracelet, to be honest.

  • The people in Vernal are nice.  Super nice.  And there was a lady whose due date was the day before mine, so we had the chance to bond over babies.  (Hi, lady!)
  • The drive from Salt Lake City to Vernal is also nice, but extremely rural.  Like there’s one rest stop on the three hour journey on Route 40.  I saw lots of red rock formations.  And Strawberry Reservoir.  The drive through the mountains was beautiful.  If I didn’t have to pee every 25 minutes, this would have been a truly relaxing drive.
  • My cell phone didn’t work perfectly throughout the duration of the drive, so it felt weird to be tooling around in a state I’m unfamiliar with, in a car that’s not mine, entirely by myself, save for the seven month along fetus that was dancing while I drove.  There was a vulnerability to being out and alone that I liked and feared, simultaneously.
  • I did meet Dinah the Dinosaur upon my arrival in Vernal, which was a highlight.  Sending this picture home to Birdy earned me some mom points.

  • I found a dinosaur. #travelbetes

    A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

  • After presenting in Vernal and having the chance to connect with folks at the dinner, I went to bed and then made the three hour trek back to Salt Lake City for my flight out the next day.
  • Note:  I wore compression socks while driving.  Yep, I’m that old lady with the paranoia.
  • Second note:  The socks at least had a decent pattern, so at least it wasn’t a total loss.
  • Last sock note:  I neglected to remove said socks before going into to grab a snack at a rest stop.  Was also wearing a skirt.  May have looked a little off.  Do not care.
  • Then it was off to San Antonio, Texas for the TCOYD conference, where I rolled around like a hamster in one of those plastic hamster balls.  Only I was the hamster ball.
  • We talked about the emotions of diabetes-related complications, with the conversation tipping in favor of emotions related to diabetes on the whole.  The group attending the session was diverse in age, diagnosis length, and emotional response, which made for a very engrossing discussion.  As always, I learned a lot from my peers.
  • And at the end of the session, I saw people exchanging contact information, helping extend the conference bond beyond the moment.  Damn, that is my favorite part of any diabetes conference: the connection with peers.
  • After the conference, I crashed hard (sure, I may have watched three episodes of OITNB back-to-back before bed – don’t judge).
  • Sunday – Father’s Day – I was back at the airport to make the flight home to Rhode Island.
  • “Did you take a direct flight home?”
  • HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA
  • “The flight home to Rhode Island” isn’t ever direct, unless I’m coming from Chicago, Baltimore, or DC.  Every other location takes a ridiculously long time to get back from.  It took six hours of flying time to get home from Texas.  America, you sizable.
  • And on the first leg of the flight home, a PWD (T1D) in the back of the plane struggled with a serious low blood sugar, causing a bit of controlled chaos on the plane.  Thankfully, there were some smart and capable folks on board who were able to step in and assist, but it was unnerving to recognize that the good samaritan running to the back of the plane had that familiar orange case of glucagon in her hand.
  • Then it was home.  Beautiful, quiet home for a few days before the next leg of travel kicks in.  (See you in Seattle?)

Free Shower.

Internet LOLZ suggest I title this post “Free Shower Be Like …” but I refuse to do that.  My dad, and every English teacher I’ve ever had, would throw things at my head.

Instead, I’ll just assert that diabetes-device free showers are totally akin to this:

AKA the happy dance of airy weightlessness, scrubbing skin unadorned with medical devices.  It’s brief, but beautiful.

(unrelated but entirely related:  all of these gifs are terrific)

Reimbursements.

“I’m not positive I can make it in for that appointment, since I’m traveling for work for the majority of those weeks.  Would it be possible for me to send my device data by email and have you review it for any issues?”

Without pausing, my endo said, “Yes, we can do that.”

We’ve seen a lot of one another over the last seven months, as my pregnancy has progressed.  Appointments are at least monthly and while we review the same things during every appointment, reviewing these same things is necessary over the next few weeks.  She made a note in the computer system and something occurred to me.

“Do you get paid to review those emails?”

“The emails?”

“Yes, when I email you blood sugar logs and you review them.  Are you paid for that?”

She paused from her typing.  “No.”

I never forget that the issues I have with the hospital system are not related to my endocrinologist specifically.  She’s forced to work within that system, and her ability to flex her capable caregiver muscle is hindered by billing codes and administrative responsibilities.  But I do forget that she goes above and beyond in many circumstances, oftentimes not paid for the work she does for her patients.  And I’m not nearly as appreciative of her work as a clinician as I should be.  It’s not her fault the system sucks.

“Thank you for doing that,” I said.  “I appreciate it.”  Our appointment continued.

Being a patient is hard work.  I didn’t choose this road, and I would not choose this road.  But being an endocrinologist is hard work, and her road was chosen.  I have to remember to say thank you more often.

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