Six Until Me.

Snapshots from a Tuesday.

2010-02-09T14:42:28Z

I'm catching up from taking yesterday off, so all that's left of my brain at 10 am is something resembling brie cheese. Here's what's stewing about:

Well, of course now I want brie cheese. Just a few more weeks until I can get my brie on.
And THANK YOU for the very kind birthday wishes yesterday! You guys made my day - thank you! :D
Insulin needs between me and Ms. BSparl are up to an all-time high. I just rejiggered my basal rates yesterday, and now I'm taking 26u of basal per day and my insulin-to-carb ratio is up to 1:6. That's a lot of insulin. I'm burning through about 60 units a day - more than double what I was rocking before.
I need to get Dr. B to write me a high prescription to finish out this pregnancy, or I'll be trying to make my own insulin in the bathtub, a la moonshine.
Moonshine has a whole Wikipedia entry that fascinated me for about 15 minutes. People actually make this stuff and drink it?
Pregnancy dreams are starting to freak me out a little bit. Last night, I dreamt that my old job sent me a survey, asking me to outline exactly how many freckles I had on my body, with a chart at the end of the survey describing how these freckles would affect my ability to advance in the company. (WTF?) And two nights ago, I dreamt that I was tasked with saving the American kitten population through breastfeeding. These dreams are vivid. And terrifying. Nursing kittens?
Oh shoot - that's going to bring in some dodgy Google searchers.
Blooming some peach blooming tea this morning. That stuff is lovely, and will hopefully wake my ass up this morning because I am dragging.
Could it be from the carb-overload last night at birthday dinner? Chris took me out to a fondue restaurant last night and we were joined by a few friends - and by bread, cheesecake, brownies, and cinnamon marshmallows. Not to mention chocolate fondue, among other lovely things. I may have emptied out an entire pump reservoir last night, but my blood sugars stayed wicked stable, and only peaked up to 174 mg/dl for about 30 minutes. I'm considering that a win.
Diabetes365 is still rocking on - one month completed, eleven to go - and it's starting to look more like a pregnancy journal than a diabetes-centric exercise. But that's what happened last time I did it: it became a wedding exercise. Thing is, it's about 365 days of LIFE with diabetes. The whole "life" part is what makes it about us, not about diabetes.
(That's my excuse, anyway.)
Oh, and the Medgadget polls are still open - if you have a chance to vote for Best Patient Blog and you wouldn't mind casting your vote for SUM, that would be OMGWTFBBQ cool. Click here to vote!
This morning, I slept in a bit, but was woken up by an insistent Sausage, who wanted to lay flat across my belly. So I let her. Only once she started purring, BSparl woke up and got into the action. So my morning started colorfully, with the cat and the baby trying to respectively figure one another out. My sleep patterns were the only casualty.
I'm like the walking dead today.
And really - what's up with this instant third trimester exhaustion? I thought I already did this for the first three months. Now it happens again? (Hey pregnancy experts - can I have some caffeine now? Just a little? Like one cup? PLEASE?)

And now? Deadlines to meet and projects to finish. Friday is another appointment at Joslin, and I have to figure out what I need to ask them. Because the questions are coming fast and furiously these days. As is the baby. Only hopefully not furiously. But definitely FAST.

Today, I Won't Puke on the Floor.

2010-02-08T15:07:29Z

A guest post from Ms. Siah Sausage. Strange little critter.

* * *

Today is Kerri's birthday, and she's taking the day off to spend the afternoon with her mom and then go out to celebrate with Chris tonight.

Whatever.

Birthdays. I don't care about those sorts of things, unless they are my own, in which case I fully expect a carrot cake with cat nip frosting, and my own Snuggie and maybe something I can use to scratch the couch because sometimes it just plain makes my paws tired to spend all that time fixing the couch. I deserve rewards for those behaviors. I am, after all, very tolerant of Kerri and her affinity for picking me up all the time and snuggling me to her face. She still has a face. See how tolerant I am?

So it's her birthday, and the other cats and I have decided to give her our respective gifts:

Abby has decided not to shed on the couch today. This is a big deal because Abby is almost topping out at 18 pounds of fluffiness, so having her refrain from shedding means that Kerri doesn't have to vacuum today. This is also a big deal. Kerri hates vacuuming, but when Abby's fur becomes a tumbleweed that rolls across the living room floor, she starts swearing and promising to send us all to Belgium (which I would be fine with because I hear they have nice chocolate and I like chocolate and also Teddy Grahams - they are good), and then she brings out that huge vacuum cleaner that is so LOUD and sends us all scurrying for safety. So Abby won't shed.

Happy birthday, Kerri, from Abby.

Prussia promises not to sleep on her sweaters. Kerri will be very pleased, because Prussia likes to get into bags of sweaters that have just been returned from that dry cleaning place, and then she sleeps on them. Which, again, makes Kerri swear. Creatively. So no Prussia Cat nestled in the pockets of clean sweaters.

Happy Birthday, Kerri, from Prussia.

And from me. Her favorite, even though she claims to like me the least. Today, in honor of Kerri's birthday, I have made a solemn promise to refrain from doing what she hates the most - I won't scurry over to the food bowls and devour as much as I can in one breath, and then go hide under the dining room table and heave my guts out in several different locations. I won't make her crawl on her hands and knees under the table with that can of rug cleaner and a wet towel, mumbling as she mops up my offerings.

Today, I won't puke on the floor.

Happy birthday, Kerri, from your favorite Sausage Cat.

You're welcome.

* * *

Thanks, Siah. For making me feel so ... like this.

Oprah Does Diabetes.

2010-02-05T17:05:24Z

Dear Oprah and Dr. Oz,

Diabetes is very expensive to manage and to treat the complications of, but what comes at an even higher cost is the damage of statements from a doctor, claiming that diabetes is reversible. I was diagnosed as a child, and my type 1 diabetes is not the result of any controllable factors. However, I have many friends who have type 2 diabetes who can make the same claim.

I can't lie - I had a lot of hope about your episode regarding diabetes. Even though it was billed as "the silent killer" and even though I knew you'd show the darkest side of diabetes-related complications possible to "sensationalize" this disease, I was holding out because I wanted this episode to be accurate.

Dr. Oz, you are a doctor, and a mouthpiece for the medical community. I realize you are a cardiologist, not an endocrinologist, so you can't be expected to know everything about every medical condition, but I'm surprised you were chosen as the expert on diabetes. I understand that doctors are human, as are their patients, and no one expects you to be an expert on every medical condition. I actually respect doctors who admit that they can do a lot, but can't do everything. And since you aren't an endocrinologist, I'm not shocked at your casual mentions of the two types of diabetes, not making clear distinctions between the two. (Actually, I believe it was Oprah (or her husband, Richie Cunningham) who continued to bring up the "type 1 or type 2" question.)

I was hoping that you take a clinical approach, instead of one that generalizes diabetes. Type 1 diabetes is a very serious disease and shouldn't be put in that "lose weight and you'll save the healthcare system millions" category. You had an opportunity, and a duty, to educate the public about the different kinds of diabetes, and to help people understand what methods of treatment work best.

I was disheartened to see how this show was handled, editorially. You two started off by saying that diabetes is an epidemic, one that will eventually bankrupt our healthcare system. After discussing how insulin and glucose work in the body, you then cut to Laureen. Laureen is 44 years old, on dialysis waiting for her second kidney transplant, and a double amputee. You zoom in closely on her tears as they fall, as she laments how she has been dealing with diabetes for most of her life and wishes that she took better care of herself when she was young.

(Back to the studio: Oprah asks if Laureen was a type 1 or a type 2 diabetic. Dr. Oz says she was type 1 diabetic. "She's type 1. She's not making enough insulin. Type 1 is genetic." I'll admit this is one of the first times I've ever heard type 1 and type 2 even mentioned in the same breath in mainstream television. And then in the next breath: "Diabetes is an epidemic.")

Why show a type 1 diabetic with serious complications, and then say that diabetes is the fastest growing disease in the country? You need to specify that diet and exercise, or lack thereof, did not cause Laureen's type 1 diabetes. Yet you want people to see the horrible effects of type 1 diabetes on her body and then say that a generalized "diabetes" is an epidemic. Type 1 is not an epidemic. Type 2 diabetes is. And thanks to your mishandling of the facts, ignorance now joins the epidemic status as well.

Do you realize how frustrating it can be to live with diabetes, of any kind? The testing, the injections, the complications, the daily fear of what may happen while you're driving or - worse - what may happen while you sleep? The physical impact of diabetes is tremendous, as you both illustrated with your jar of glass shards, representing what an excess of sugar in the blood stream can do to blood vessels.

But do you realize how equally frustrating the stigma of diabetes is? How we are so often viewed as having "brought this on ourselves" or as not working hard enough to prevent complications? I've written in my blog countless times about the impact of diabetes and guilt, but you wouldn't understand that. You understand ratings. You understand getting your name out there and having people click on your website ads and tune into your show. You understand that showing a woman with missing limbs and streaming tears will make people sit on their couches and watch your show. What you don't understand is how some of us felt, watching from our homes. Opinions vary on how your show handled diabetes, but for me, personally, I feel like you just blended the worst of both kinds and then barreled into generic advice about generic diabetes symptoms and "remedies."

Now please don't get me wrong: I'm grateful for having more of a spotlight on diabetes. For all the times I've wanted to see diabetes featured on the Oprah show, I feel somewhat guilty for criticizing how your portrayed the disease. But it's hard for me to disconnect logic (i.e. not everyone has type 1 diabetes so not everyone will understand what information is correct or incorrect about diabetes) from my body's visceral response. I know that during many points in your show, I felt so frustrated. I wanted clarity to be delivered to the parts of society that are unfamiliar with diabetes. I wanted to have people watch your show and come away thinking, "Wow. There's more than one type of diabetes? It's not all about diet and exercise, but there are people who don't have a choice in this diagnosis?" Instead, I'm afraid that people will continue to think that diabetes is just diabetes, and that there is no distinction between the causes or the treatments. They'll think that all diabetes is controllable and treatable and potentially reversible. That it just requires work, and for the diabetic to not be lazy about taking care of themselves.

If one dollar of funding towards type 1 diabetes research is put back into a potential donor's pocket because they believe, as a result of your words, that all types of diabetes are the same and that all diabetics simply didn't take the measures to "prevent" their disease, this is your burden.

And for those of us with diabetes, we will have to carry the burden that society doesn't deem us "worth curing" because they think we did this to ourselves.

Sincerely,
Kerri Sparling
Type 1 diabetes for 23 years … and counting

NOTE: To send your comments to Oprah, click this link.

What Defines Our Community?

2010-02-04T15:15:17Z

What defines our diabetes community?

At the Smithsonian, there is an exhibit called "Portraiture Now: Communities." It's described with the following (edited) language:

"How do we define community today? Through new electronic networking, our connections with family, friends and acquaintances are increasingly widespread. And yet, we are still drawn to the idea of small communities and face-to-face interaction. Each of the three painters selected for “Portraiture Now: Communities” has explored this idea through a series of related portraits of friends, townspeople, or families. ... Seen together, the paintings by these three artists suggest the enduring power of personal communities."

I can't remember how I stumbled upon this exhibit, but the idea of it really moved me. "Community" used to be defined by who lived in your zip code, or who went to your school district, or just what faces passed you in the hallway at work every day. Back when I was a little peanut, my community was my family (there are a lot of us), my school friends, and my fellow tap dancers from Miss Jeanne's dance class.

Since second grade, I've always been part of the diabetes community. Back in those days, there weren't many tell-tale tubings sticking out from underneath someone's t-shirt, and kids didn't test as often or as openly in the classroom. But when another child in my school district was diagnosed, an instant bond formed between he and I, and between my parents and his. Even if we hadn't met yet. I had a sparse but crucial community of other Rhode Islander children with diabetes, and when I attended Clara Barton Camp in the summers, my community of "other kids who got it" expanded by leaps and bounds.

But I grew up, and in those foggy years between 9th grade and my first job out of college, I was alone. Alone with diabetes, yet still part of the diabetes community. No one knew I was there, but just hearing someone at school mention "their cousin who has type 1" or "That lady they were waiting on at the restaurant who freaked out when the diet soda was switched - she said she had diabetes," made me feel like I was instantly connected to these imperfect strangers.

And then I found you guys, drawn in by a desire to not feel alone anymore and wanting to share, out loud, the emotional burden of diabetes that I carried for a very long time by myself. A whole community of people who were either living with diabetes themselves, or loving someone who lived with it, and who understood exactly what I meant when I said, "It's just ... ugh, you know?"

What defines our diabetes community? Is it the common thread of syringes and infusion sets and the pile of test strips we leave in our wake? Is it the shared fear of complications? The universal celebration of a lowered A1C? The muttering of "Lows are The Suck," and hearing, "I know what you mean," in return?

I thought about what a "Portraiture" of the diabetes community would look like. I pictured all those photographs so many of us have taken over the last few years, the ones that show a bunch of grinning people with their arms around one another. It's only if you look really closely that you notice the pumps clipped to pants pockets or calloused fingertips.

"Through new electronic networking, our connections with family, friends and acquaintances are increasingly widespread. And yet, we are still drawn to the idea of small communities and face-to-face interaction."

Face-to-face interaction is such a huge part of feeling like a community, but it's not the only thing that makes us one. Whether you want to be part of the diabetes community or whether you are rebelling against the very thought, the fact remains that it's there for you, and will always be there for you. There's a certain comfort to knowing you aren't isolated or alone. There are people who understand.

The definition of our community is found in the people who are part of it. Each and every one of us: the bloggers, the lurkers, the medical professionals who care for us, the parents of kids with diabetes, the kids with diabetes who have grown up to become parents themselves, the lovers, boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, friends of diabetics, the immediate family members and the ones who are slightly removed, the employers, the employees, the strangers who help us get juice when we can't help ourselves, the friends, Romans, and countrymen of the diabetics ARE the diabetes community.

It's a far-reaching group of people who share more than just a busted pancreas.

It's a true community of people who understand, despite different backgrounds and preferences and opinions. We're in this together, and as I'm preparing to bring my daughter into this community as a "child of a person with diabetes," I'm thankful that she can find support as a caregiver in this sea of people who have been instrumental in helping me achieve the strength to bring her into this world.

We Can Work It Out.

2010-02-03T16:21:20Z

(Great song.)

Now that we're back from our trip, it's time to reintroduce myself to the "swing of things." While we were away, Chris and I were up late, eating fancy food at fancy restaurants (including desserts and carb-fantastic sweet potato french fries and gelato ... things we wouldn't normally eat but we devoured in spades - and in our mouths - all week long during the festival holy run on sentence), going to bed at 3:30 in the morning, battling the frigging hills, and waking up the next day only to do it again. For nine days running.

It was exhausting.

But now we are home. And in the comfort of my own schedule, I can wake up early, eat a breakfast that doesn't include sausage (not the cat), get enough sleep at night, put my feet up as necessary, and get some exercise in.

Oh, the exercise part. How you plague me.

I used to be awesome at getting to the gym. Not to toot my own horn - more to toot Chris's, actually - but his dedication to the gym helped me keep my proverbial (and literal) butt in gear. It was just part of our routine, and it was easy. And the benefits were tremendous: good health, pants that fit, and that feeling of "ooh, I'm sort of strongish."

But now? As the baby belly grows and my sense of balance leaves the building for the next 75 days? Exercise is hard. Wicked hard.

Since we've been home, I've been back at the gym with Chris, only the workouts I'm doing now feel completely lazy-ass, compared to the ones I was doing before. No weights (thank you, retinopathy), no jumping rope (thank you, bouncy belly), and no increased heart rate over 130.

So I walk. For like 40 minutes on the treadmill, without an incline and at a speed of only 3.0 miles per hour. On paper (screen?) that looks wussy, but in reality, it's kicking my behind. I'm not sure if it's the weight I've put on in the front or the fact that my lungs are squished in there, or maybe just because my whole body is completely different now than it was seven months ago, but just walking on the treadmill is a challenge these days.

I'm going to see how long I can keep exercising. I've heard that many pregnant women make it to the day before they give birth, and I've also heard that the more active I can remain, the better my recovery will be after having the little baby. Activity helps keep BSparl healthier, too, which is even more incentive to keep plodding.

Weird thing is, my blood sugars don't drop during exercise anymore. In fact, they seem to go up a little bit. Before becoming pregnant, I would disconnect my pump and exercise without insulin, but now I need to leave it attached. And I sometimes need to bolus during the workout, depending on how the Dexcom is trending. It's very odd, what my hormones are doing to my blood sugars these days. I also had to increase part of my wee hours of the morning basal today, after two mornings in a row of waking up at 150 mg/dl.

"Kerri, you're rambling. You realize that, right? You're just rambling on about exercise and blood sugars and do you actually have a point with this post?"

Why thank you, Internal Motivational Speaker. I appreciate you bothering me. Yes, I'm rambling, but I'm just trying to get all these thoughts out before I lose them. Which seems to be the case lately.

"Why don't you just tell them that the real reason you're fixated on exercise this week is because when you came home from Sundance, each cat had gained 5 pounds? Now you have a trio of porkchops racing around the apartment? Why don't you admit that Siah can't even fit under the couch anymore because she's too darn fat?"

Sigh. I need to get back into the exercise groove.

And apparently so do my cats.

BSparl: She Likes to Make Me Work.

2010-02-02T13:14:08Z

Park City is an old mining town nestled among the Wasatch Range of the Rocky Mountains, and aside from buzzing with Sundance excitement and brimming with film-goers and celebrities, let me just say that the damn place is not flat. Not even close to flat. (See also: built amongst the mountains) The majority of the "stuff to do" is on Main Street, and I'm pretty sure that street is a 60 degree angle.

BSparl and her mommy (me), in all their frontal weight gain glory, were not amused.

Something about walking up and down (and usually up and down a few more times) that street had me more winded than if I'd tried to run a mile on the treadmill at a 6.0 incline. I know that the air is thinner in that part of the country, being so freaking high above sea level, and I also know that having a little baby girl growing inside of me is compromising the room for my lungs to expand. But I had not anticipated how hard it was going to be just to WALK around in Park City. We'd take the bus from our condo down by the Yarrow Hotel and get dropped off at the city transit center, and then the huffing and puffing would begin.

"I'm ... sorry ... for ... not ... keeping up." I'd pant with each step as I tried to keep up with Chris.

"It's okay, baby. We'll go slow. We're not in any rush."

"Awe ... some. Hang on while I lean against this lightpole for a minute ... and let my lungs ... do stuff."

(Thing was, we were late for two different dinner appointments because I couldn't catch my breath about 15 minutes into the walk. I've never felt more awkward, or more yeti-like, than I did trying to plod up Main Street.)

Overall, little BSparl was a well-behaved fetus, doing her job of kicking and sleeping and rolling around in there. I'm officially sporting a major baby belly, complete with visible baby movements even through my shirts. And thankfully, my basals didn't need any adjusting while we were away. I don't know if it was the time change or all the walking around or maybe it was just the grace of the diabetes gods, cutting me some freaking slack for the week, but my numbers ran relatively stable while we were away. (Save for that f'ing 300 that came up as a result of overtreating two 48 mg/dl's in a row, pissing me off royally and causing me to have to skip dinner one night.) I changed my infusion sets every three days like clockwork - mainly because I'm now using about 50u of insulin a day and that's the shelflife of one pump cartridge and also because sets left in too long are starting to get infected faster than usual - and I tested about 18 times a day. In addition to Dexcom'ing.

I may have left a trail of test strips on that there Main Street.

BSparl is proud of her daddy. When I was trying to coax her into kicking at times, all it would take is a quick "Hi baby!" from Chris to get her scooting around in there. And during the five screenings of Buried, she danced in celebration for her father's success. I believe I may be building a "daddy's little girl" in there, and I think they're respectively smitten with one another.

Traveling at almost seven months pregnant was definitely a challenge, and I'm not sure I would have done it, were it not such a big freaking deal to go to Sundance. Heparin before the plane ride was one thing (that shit stings going in, FYI), and not being able to lift my suitcase wasn't exactly heartbreaking, but moving around was a little awkward. And having to pee every 30 minutes was also cumbersome. (I know where EVERY bathroom is in Park City. Thank you, BSparl, for making my bladder your pillow all week long.)

But I wouldn't have missed this for the world.

Sundance: The Festival Itself.

2010-02-01T15:40:24Z

(I've bombarded you guys with info on Buried and kept a running update on Facebook and Twitter, so I promise this will be the last post about Sundance. I'll go back to diabetes crap in a few minutes. Or at least I'll blend them.)

We're back from Park City, and the whole Sundance experience was completely and utterly surreal. I won't go on about the reviews that have come out about the film (i.e. New York Times, LA Times, Variety, Moveline, Slashfilm, Film School Rejects), and I have no plans to talk extensively about the Lionsgate purchase (holy crap). But we were at the premiere of Buried at the Library Theater on Saturday, January 24th, and it was incredible.

After a private pre-screening dinner (where there was a special "Buried" menu on tap - very cool), we headed off to the theater for the actual screening. The film premiered at midnight, and it was something else. Chris's (in my humble, wife-ish opinion) fantastic script was brought to life by Rodrigo's immense directorial talent, and Ryan's performance was emotional and real. I don't want to ruin the story for anyone who is planning to see the movie (you are ALL planning to see the movie, right?), so suffice to say that the film was incredible. I applauded wildly, and BSparl did the same from underneath my belly button. (She's a big fan of her daddy's movie. Man, that is bizarre to write. Two and a half more months! /diatribe)

So many friends and family members came out for the festival (including the majority of Chris's extended family and also my father), so the house was packed. Chris, director Rodrigo Cortes, and star of the film, Ryan Reynolds were all in attendance, adding some extra excitement to the room. This was the first time that anyone outside of the production team was seeing the film, so the air was electric. And since this was our first look at the finished film, we could hardly sit still. I found myself particularly fidgety during certain moments of the movie - you'll know when you see it.

Writer Chris Sparling, director Rodrigo Cortes, and actor Ryan Reynolds

And it was over. Ninety four breathless minutes later. The audience sat back from the edges of their seats - literally - and then there was a Q&A with Ryan, Rodrigo, and Chris, where the audience peppered the trio with questions about the film. (Some video coming soon, once we figure out which suitcase the Flip ended up in.)

Buried screened a total of five times at the festival, and the responses from viewers has been overwhelmingly positive. I mean, these three guys pulled it off. A movie, taking place entirely in a coffin with one actor, was interesting. For over an hour and a half. That's pretty damn impressive. ... but I'm not doing a movie review here. Obviously my bias is impossible to contain. ("Most impressive script EVER!" "Cutest writer of all TIME!!" "Framing the movie poster and debating putting it in the baby's NURSERY!")

I am so proud, as his wife, to have been there to support Chris as he made this huge career leap forward. But I was proud before, when there wasn't a Sundance movie to talk about or a movie premiere to attend. He's my best friend, and I'm so, so happy for him.

Now I need to upload a pile of photos and make sense of the suitcases that still need unpacking. And find out why Siah is curled up around the toaster, purring maniacally.

Looking Back: The Beginning.

2010-01-29T15:22:16Z

I am SO itching to write my updates from Sundance, including posting photos and really describing how unreal this has been for my husband, but Internet access is pretty crap here, and I've had a lot of trouble keeping up with the online world. Monday, I'm all over it. :)

What did dawn on me is how much has changed in the last 4 1/2 years, since I started this blog. Back then, I had a different last name, lived in my own little apartment in South County, RI, and worked at a job that made my skin crawl. I didn't know another soul who had diabetes, nevermind having access to hundreds of other people with diabetes who really "get it," you know?

It's str ange, chronicling life with diabetes and seeing how much has changed in the last few years. So much has happened, from moving to Connecticut and then planning a wedding and then marrying Chris, and then all the stuff with our respective careers and now little Ms. BSparl? Some really tough times, some really triumphant times, and all the gray (like Siah) parts in between, many shared with you guys.

And it started with one crappy little post back in May 2005, when I was just learning what the hell a blog ("blaaaaaaaaahgh") was, and how it could help me heal, emotionally, in the ways I didn't realize I was a little broken.

* * *

My name is Kerri.

I could go through the hassle of establishing a non de plume, but I wasn't thinking when I set this up and I signed in with my real name. Note to Potential Stalkers: Please don't.

The purpose of this is to make contact with other diabetics. It's one of those diseases (or maybe they're all this way, I'm not sure) where even if you have the mechanics of it completely mastered, the psychological battle is just as daunting. Every time I test my bloodsugar, the result stirs me up emotionally. If I'm high, I feel guilty. Or surprised. Or angry. If I'm low, I feel anxious. And slightly panicky. Or confused. A normal reading level might make me feel cocky. Or successful. But they all make me feel something. And it's not just physiological. There is so much involved in the daily maintenance of diabetes that a support network isn't just nice, it's necessary.

Reach out. Ask questions. Answer the litany I'm sure to ask. Network network network. And when that doesn't work, just repeat repeat repeat.

* * *

Funny how everything has changed, but absolutely nothing's changed. (Thanks for the line, Eddie Vedder.) How long have you been blogging, and what made you decide to take the leap into the online unknown?

SEO Bloggy Bits.

2010-01-28T13:48:30Z

I love, love, love the search terms that bring people to my blog. As I've mentioned before, most of the terms are related to diabetes, but there are some real ringers that come through ... and those are the ones I want to share today.

first man to describe type one diabetes - I thought, at first, that this said "first man to walk on the moon with diabetes." It doesn't actually say that. It doesn't say anything close to that. The end.

sexy infusion set placement - What's sexier than an insulin pump infusion set? Not much, actually. No matter where you stick it, it's proof that you're aiming for good control. Rawr.

is martini good for diabetics - Yes. So is proper verb/noun agreement. Next question?

baked and fried diabetes brains - I can't even respond to this.

nothing says lovin' like a bun in the oven - And nothin' says lovin' like leavin' off the apostrophe. '

no one understands how much I love Yanni - I do, dear friend. Testing 1 ... 2 ... Yanni?

should I marry a man with type 1 diabetes - Yes. It would be sweet. (PUNS! Love them.)

up to my ears in cats - Don't I know it, sister.

... I'm sorry. I can't get past the baked and fried diabetes brains ones. I'm going to have to talk to Google and find out what the hell sent that search term here. In the meantime, what's the weirdest search term to lead to your blog?

DiabetesSisters Weekend.

2010-01-27T13:20:01Z

I wanted to do my part to help get the word out about the DiabetesSisters weekend that's taking place this coming May 22nd and 23rd in Raleigh, North Carolina. Here are the details:

The First Annual Weekend for Women Conference hosted by DiabetesSisters and TCOYD will begin at 5pm on Saturday, May 22nd (immediately following the TCOYD Conference) in Raleigh, North Carolina and end at 6pm on Sunday, May 23rd. The Weekend for Women Conference will take place at Marriott City Center in downtwn Raleigh, North Carolina.

I love diabetes conferences, and in particular, ones that recognize the different needs of different segments of the diabetes populations. Women with diabetes come head-to-head with some very unique diabetes-related issues, from periods to pregnancy to emotional hurdles, and having a weekend just for "us" sounds awesome.

I wish this was an event I was able to attend, but I'll hopefully be spending the first few weeks of May adjusting to life with my daughter (!). If you are going to be in the NC area for that weekend, check out the DiabetesSisters Weekend for Women Conference!

BSparl: How on Earth Did THAT A1C Happen?

2010-01-26T13:04:31Z

I've had a lot of trouble controlling my late second trimester blood sugars, as I've written about all over the place in the last few weeks. But it's true! While the first trimester was crammed with low blood sugars, this second bit has been plagued with 200's ... and some of them fasting. (I hate the idea of waking up high. Makes me feel like the day gets off to a miserable start.)

I have been working very, very hard to keep track of these numbers and doing what I can to keep any highs from hanging out more than an hour. But still, there were highs. And not as many lows.

So how on Earth did my A1C go down again this month? I'm confused!

Last week, I called Joslin to get the results of my most recent bloodwork, and when the receptionist answered, I was braced for the worst.

"Hey, this is Kerri Sparling. I was calling to see if my A1C result was back yet."

"Let me check," the receptionist B said.

I couldn't keep my mouth shut because I was just certain that it had gone up. "I'm pretty sure it's going to suck a little bit."

B laughed at me. "What? Well let's just see then." I heard her clicking on things and shuffling papers. "Okay, Kerri. Well it hasn't gone up. You're at 6.0%."

"What? I don't mean to sound like a jerk, but are you seriously looking at my chart? I've had some really rotten blood sugars this past month. But it's lower now? How the heck did that happen?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're getting those highs down faster than you think."

"I'm shocked. But I'll take it. Whatever's best for the baby girl, right?"

We hung up the phone, but I didn't feel particularly proud. Believe me, I'm not complaining at all about an A1C of 6.0%. Not even close to complaining. But I know that I've been doubting the accuracy of the A1C for a while now (wrote about it a few months ago, when I was up in the 7's and distressed about those results) and now, after getting the lowest result in my entire history with diabetes, I'm not sure how I got there. A few weeks ago, I understood why my A1C was lower because my overall blood sugars were lower. I wasn't over 180 mg/dl for weeks on end. Now? I've seen a pile of highs, yet my A1C is at the tail end of six. I'm happy with the number itself, but not sure it's completely accurate.

It's weird, what being pregnant has done to my mentality. Before BSparl was thrashing away in there, I wanted an A1C of 6.0% so badly that I was willing to do anything for it. Now? I'm sitting pretty with an A1C of 6.0% and wishing that it was definitively the result of steadier numbers. I want what's best for this kid, and I'm hoping that this number is indicative of a safe little environment for my daughter to flourish.

Because God only knows how I'll manage to screw her up once she's on the outside. ;)

What's Sexier Than Compression Stockings?

2010-01-25T15:23:17Z

Thanks to the happy combination of Factor V Leiden and being pregnant, I'm rocking a higher chance than average for a blood clot while traveling. Back in October, when I was just a few months along, a lot of my travel was on the Acela, cruising back and forth between Boston and Philly, in addition to some flights. So I needed to take these clotting risks into account.

"You're telling me I should pick up some compression stockings, then?" I asked my obstetrician, after we had discussed my upcoming travel plans.

"Yes ma'am. And wear them. Not just for traveling, but as often as you can."

"Will do. So I'll be potbellied and wearing compression stockings. Hot!"

My feeble attempts at joking aside, these stockings are important. Even though I'm working hard to get to the gym several times a week, I'm more definitively working hard on making money, so there's a bit too much time spent at the computer these days. Heeding the advice of my doctors, I'm careful to keep my legs elevated as much as possible, and I'm sure to pop up and walk around every hour or so, in addition to staying hydrated. (Note: Staying hydrated makes getting up every hour easier, especially when BSparl is gnawing on my bladder.)

And I'm also sporting these socks, purchased for $4.99 at my local CVS. (Another note: CVS takes too much of my money on a regular basis, from their clever selection of lip glosses - love me some Bonnie Bell - to their strategic arrangement of Hallmark greeting cards to their convenient pharmacy that's open 24 hours. I have an intense love/hate relationship with CVS, as evidenced by their constant contact with my debit card.) The socks aren't uncomfortable, they appear to be working well (no varicose veins yet), and they are black, so thankfully they go with my go-to flats of choice these days. I'm safe, BSparl is safe, and CVS is safe because they will continue to get my money.

So what's sexier than compression stockings?

Nothing.

Because without these blasted old lady leg warmers, I'd be risking a blood clot and varicose veins, thank you very much.

Looking Back: Rage Bolus, Anyone?

2010-01-22T13:21:11Z

Today, we're traveling to Utah for the Sundance Film Festival. And yes, I will be photographing and videoing the hell out of the festival, because I am so excited to see how this week plays out for my husband. But in the meantime, as I board the plane and head off to Park City, I'm looking back to this post from October 2005, where the term "rage bolus" first appeared on SUM.

(It made me laugh to read this post, because this was pre-dLife, pre-Chris and I getting married, and pre-so much stuff that's in play right now that I almost forgot that I hated my job back when I lived in RI. And how much I still want to know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop.)

* * *

October 10, 2005: Bit of a rantish post here. And there's no reason for this other than to vent frustration.

Last night, after I came home from the U2 show in Boston (more on that later), I was a little bit high. Rang in at 212 mg/dl. Okay, no problem. Bolus it up, go to bed. Woke up this morning at 200 mg/dl. Hmmm, no drop in the blood sugar levels. Not to worry, though, because it's a Free Shower - no infusion set - Day due to the fact that it's time to change the infusion set. Primed and inserted a new set with good ol' Charlene. She purred (beeped?) happily and I set about dressing for work.

Arrived at work. Hungry. Devoured one of those sometimes-delicious-but-most-often-just-gritty Kashi Whole Grain Granola bars. Bolused two units to cover, in accordance with the 1:10 ratio. Worked at my boring job for about an hour before realizing that I had already visited the bathroom twice in that time. Hmmm. Not normal. Tested, revealing 281 mg/dl. Whaaaa... I corrected this morning. I bolused for the crappy snack. And now I'm higher than before? Frustrated Kerri. So I Rage Bolus*. I just crank the shit out the pump, knowing full well that I only need about two units to come back down. I lace in 3.5 units. Sit back, satisfied.

Not done yet. I test again, an hour and half later, clocking in at 286 mg/dl. Fan-freaking-tastic. Good thing all that insulin made me higher. Because that makes f-ing sense. So I Rage Bolus again, sending 2 more units coursing through, Frustrated Kerri not really giving a shit that the "active insulin" tally on my pump is enough to cover dinner at Olive Garden.

So it's noon. I've been high all morning. I just changed my infusion set this morning. And I'm angry. I do not want to pull this set only to find that it's perfectly fine and I've wasted yet another expensive pump supply.

I'm riding this out. It's Me against the D. Who will persevere? How high will Kerri allow herself to rise before she pulls the set and starts over? How much Rage Bolusing will eventually catch up with Herself before Kerri bottoms out at 44 mg/dl? How many licks does it indeed take to reach the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop? If you say three, you and that f-ing owl can go screw. It at least takes 125. I'm going to find out as soon as my Rage Bolusing catches up with me and I'm Trick or Treating at people's desks here at work.

*Rage Bolusing: Taking an uncalculated amount of insulin to correct a frustrating high bloodsugar reading. Also see: Panic Eating.

Buried in Clips.

2010-01-21T14:52:16Z

I'm shamelessly plugging Chris's movie, Buried, as we prepare to head out to Sundance tomorrow afternoon. In case you missed it yesterday, here are the latest clips, borrowed from the MTV website (which explains why there are preroll adds in there - forgive in advance.):

Movie Trailers - Movies Blog

I'm excited and proud, I'll admit it! Thanks for your continued support with this movie, and we're hopeful it will generate some serious buzz at Sundance.

:: Headdesk ::

2010-01-20T15:52:45Z

No way can I create a cohesive blog post this morning. Welcome to the alphabet soup mashup that is my brain:

Last night's Entertainment Tonight fiasco has left the Sparlings scratching their heads. The clip aired in some places, not in others. (We didn't see it at our house, but my brother and several of my friends in Connecticut did see the short clip.) Apparently, Buried was bumped due to Golden Globes coverage and the clip will be airing tonight (so we're told) on Extra and on MTV.com, but I'm not saying anything until we have confirmation from A.C Slater himself.
(I have tried hitting the locker with my fist to make it open, and have never succeeded. How on earth did he do that?)
The D365 Project is forcing me to take photos of diabetes-related items in my life, and I'm fast realizing, again, that this isn't a struggle. Weird mindset.
We leave for Sundance on Friday afternoon and I'm still not sure I have enough clothes that fit to get me through the 10 days we're there. I hope all those fancy celebrity types are ready for my potbelly and seeing the same Target maternity shirt more than once that week.
"What are you doing on Saturday night?" "Oh, we're going to see the premiere of my husband's film at Sundance." This conversation actually happened. And I actually laughed my ass off because my life is starting to look weirder and weirder every day.
As exemplified by the woman at the bookstore bathroom the other day who, while I was washing my hands at the sink, said to her five year old son, "See that lady? She's pregnant. And why is she pregnant? Because a man had sex with her." The exchange that followed was a bit curt. ("Excuse me? A man? My husband. I believe that's an important distinction to make, lady," with me drying my hands angrily on the automatic hand dryer, which is hard to do because you can't rip the paper out angrily and toss it into the trash can with conviction because there is no paper and nothing to throw out so instead I just blew hot air at her, at my hands, and stormed out of the bathroom. Holy. Digression.)
BSparl either really likes or really dislikes the movies, because when we went to see The Book of Eli last night, she was wailing away in there whenever things got too loud in the theater. Little Miss Ebert in there, all opinionated. Or maybe she was just bored.
This video makes my husband laugh. And when he laughs, I can't help but laugh. So we've watched it about three dozen times and now I want to go practice writing my name. Some cookies would also be nice.
While I was working in our home office yesterday, I could hear the cat snoring. From like two rooms away. I think she needs to exercise more.
I'm not drinking coffee, yet my body is so amped up I feel like I'm mainlining espresso. (Or, as Rhode Islanders say it, "ex-presso." I love the RI accent. Love, love, love.)
Wait, I have deadlines today? I have actual work things that are due?

:: headdesk ::