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Posts from the ‘Diabetes and Emotions’ Category

What to Work On.

I’ve gotten lazy in my diabetes management.  And I’m not proud of it.  My recent A1C result was still in my goal range but not where it was a few months ago, and I’d love to return to that level of control.  Thing is, I’ve gone soft when it comes to following through on my daily diabetes duties.

Yeah.  I’m at that point in the postpartum recovery thing:  finding ways to up my diabetes game.

I can check two things off my to do list with confidence:  I wear  my Dexcom every, single day and I also have been on top of my doctor’s appointments.  Those two things get big, fat gold stars.

Other stuff needs some grooming, though.  Here’s my wishlist:

  • Check fasting BG immediately after waking up.
  • Calibrate CGM right when it requests calibration.
  • Pre-bolus at least 15 minutes before eating.
  • Exercise 3 – 5 times a week.
  • Sleep more than 5 hours a night.
  • React faster to the high alarm from my Dexcom.
  • Rotate my device sites better.
  • Remember to eat more than coffee before 1 pm.

Hmmm.  That’s a lot.  Plan of attack for each:

  • Check fasting BG immediately after waking up.  We just moved the little Guy out of our bedroom and now he’s sleeping in his crib in his own room, so I have a little more time (3 min versus zero min) in the morning before I have to run and grab him.  I need to return to the habit of keeping my glucose meter on the bathroom counter and using it before I brush my teeth in the morning.
  • Calibrate CGM right when it requests calibration.  Ugh.  This just requires being less of a lazy tool and just checking/calibrating ASAP instead of ignoring the little red blood drop.
  • Pre-bolus at least 15 minutes before eating. This one is admittedly going to be challenging, as my schedule is a little non-scheduley these days.  My son is a busy little creature and also unpredictable, so it’s challenging to find the “right time” to do things like change out my insulin pump, eat breakfast, schedule conference calls.  But as he gets older, he does seem to be settling into something resembling a pattern, so maybe this will get easier.  I’ll try to pre-bolus.
  • Exercise 3 – 5 times a week.  This one is already going in the right direction.  As mentioned, I joined a gym and that gym has childcare, so there’s no excuse.  Except days like over the weekend, when I was away for work, or today, when the little Guy is so sniffling and booger-gross that I don’t want to bring him to the daycare and expose any other kids/adults to his germs.  We did go for a walk around the neighborhood today, clocking in at least a little bit of exercise, so that helps.  The weather warming up will help here, too.  This bullet point is one I’m putting like half a gold star on.
  • Sleep more than 6 hours a night.  OH HA HA HA HA.  The baby thinks 5.30 am is when human beings should wake up.  The early morning hours are gorgeous and I love the quiet of being awake that early, but around 10 pm my body starts to give up on doing body things, although I rarely make it to bed before 11.30 pm.  I need to work on this sleep thing.
  • React faster to the high alarm from my Dexcom.  Again, this one is something I just have to DO.  No excuses and no reason not to.  My high alarm used to be 140 mg/dL (pre-pregnancy and during pregnancy), but I’ve moved it to 180 mg/dL in the last few months.  I should be responding to 180s.  I will work on this.
  • Rotate my device sites better.  Yep, this is also a need.  My thighs have become a permanent home for my Dexcom sensors, but I am okay with the back of my hip or maybe my arm.  I’ll try to get creative.  As far as pump sites, I’ve been working on rotating those better, too.  Maybe it’s time to try a lower arm site?  (Has anyone ever done that and does it hurt??)
  • Remember to eat more than coffee before 1 pm.  Yeah, this is another whoops.  My mornings are generally a bit crazy, and sometimes I’d rather keep my CGM graph steady instead of interrupting it with breakfast.  But this is backfiring because I then get so hungry around lunch time that I eat the fridge, causing a nasty post-lunch bounce.  Moderation here.  Eat regularly throughout the day and I’ll be less likely to unhinge my jaws and devour the contents of the cupboard.

I hope writing this crap down will help up my accountability and will inspire me to keep moving forward.  If I can make one or two of these become habit in the next few weeks, I’ll mark that as a success.  Because backwards is all gross and disgusting feeling and also it looks like there’s a c-section back there and I am NOT going back to that.

Twelve Years Old.

My blog turns twelve years old today.

Twelve years ago, I was a twentysomething mess wondering if I was the only PWD who wanted to connect with other like-pancreased people.  Twelve years later, I’m a thirtysomething mess who has found her peers and benefitted from those connections in ways that far surpass any drop in A1C.

Grateful doesn’t even begin to touch how I feel about the last 12 years.  Thanks for being part of it.  And for making the journey with diabetes one we’re on together.

Guest Post: My Magical Disney Moment.

The power of peer-to-peer connections is not lost on the diabetes community.  While insulin remains our strongest medication tool, our mental and emotional health is nourished by connecting with like-pancreased people, making any diabetes burden that much lighter.

One of the most amazing peer support cultures in the diabetes community is found at Children with Diabetes’ Friends for Life conference.  As a board member, I’m extremely proud of the influence FFL has on families affected by diabetes.  Which is why stories like Noor’s are so powerful, because they illustrate how finding your tribe can make all the difference in your health.  

  *   *   *

Born and raised in the Middle East, in a culture where a lot of stigma is attached to people with medical conditions, growing up with T1D was very isolating, lonely and resentful. I was diagnosed at the age of 5, the first 8 years went by smoothly; my mom took on majority of my care load and those pesky hormones still hadn’t made their grand appearance. My doctors put me on a pedestal; I was their most “compliant” patient (yes that was a word that was actually used back then). Puberty kicked in and life as I knew it was over; the hormones took me on a never-ending whirlpool ride. I was embarrassed, tired, exhausted and done with diabetes. I was done with being different. I didn’t know how to explain that to my family and doctor. I felt like I was failing them and they wouldn’t understand, so I decided the easiest way to deal with it is to not deal with it at all. The next 3 years were a nightmare; I was in and out of the hospital more times than I can count. I was in severe DKA 3 times, once so severe the doctors said that I was going into cardiac arrest. I was in a coma for 5 days due to a hypo seizure. My a1c was 13%.

My parents did everything in their power to try and help; they tried soft love, tough love, grounding, reasoning, bribing, yelling, etc. but nothing worked, nothing fazed me. My doctor back home recommended attending the Friends For Life conference in Orlando; he thought it would be an encouraging experience. Little did he know it would save my life, LITERALLY. My parents dragged me kicking and screaming (maybe less kicking and more screaming); the last thing I wanted was to be in a room filled with “outcasts” and “weirdoes,” because you know as a teenager I was a “cool kid.”

The turning point of my life wasn’t when one of the amazing inspirational speakers talked about how he won the super bowl with T1D nor when a world renowned researcher talked about the effects of high and low blood sugars on our organs. It was on a Disney bus on the way to EPCOT with a group of teens who took me in and invited me to join. Kenny, a T1D teen, who was on top of his diabetes game, was checking his blood sugar using his forearm. I asked him the reason behind it and he casually answers, “In case I ever develop complications and need to read braille, I don’t want calluses on my fingertips.”

THAT was my wake-up call, THAT was my holy moly moment, THAT was all it took, THAT was my magical Disney moment.

Fast-forward 13 years; I haven’t missed a single conference, besides one because I was too busy having my twins (I know my priorities are off psht). I am not a mushy cheesy person; sarcasm is my language but brace yourself for this. These people have become my family, my friends for life and my squad. We have been through birthdays, relationships, breakups, marriages, childbirth, graduations, political turmoil (yes that’s a big one), highs and lows together. They inspire me everyday to do better and be better, not only with T1D but also with life in general. They made me comfortable in my own skin (after that summer I agreed to go on a pump after years of resistance); proud of the person I am with my diabetes and embrace it every day. When I’m having a screwed up T1D day, I know I can text them and they “get it.”

When I manage to workout and stay in perfect range they “get it” and understand what a huge deal that is. When I send them a screenshot of my dexcom with 2 arrows up after eating pizza, their “but that was worth it” response lets me know they “get it.” They have normalized this disease; suddenly I wasn’t alone, an outcast, or scared. They are nurses, doctors, advocates, athletes, chefs, photographers, businessmen/women and the list goes on. They proved to me that you can be anything you want to be and be amazing at it, in spite of the struggles.

That is the power of a community.  This is what they meant when they said “it takes a village.”

  *   *   *

Noor Alramahi has been living with diabetes since the age of 5 and since she wrote her own bio, I’m going to paste it here in full.  Mostly because she adds “had twins” as this NBD sort of thing when it is SUCH a BD.

“I’m a 28 year old curly brunette who’s in love with Tiramisu and Justin Timberlake. I was diagnosed with diabetes at the age of 5, since then I have learned to play piano, played varsity soccer, competed in horse jumping, travelled to more than 19 countries, had twins and can’t think of one thing that having diabetes has stopped me from doing. I am married to my best friend and have 2 year old boys. I have been part of  CWD FFL staff for the past 8 years, I also help run their social media platform. Five years ago CWD FFL inspired me to leave my corporate job and join the T1D nonprofit world and focus on helping people. I work as the community manager at Carb DM and am the co-founder of T1D females group in the family planning, pregnancy and post pregnancy phases called Sugar Mommas

Click to make a donation!

Thanks for sharing your story, Noor!

If you’re interested in seeing how Children with Diabetes can change your life, check out the website and consider coming to a conference.  If you already know how Children with Diabetes can change your life, please consider donating to support the organization.  And if you’d like to share your story about how the support of CWD has influenced your life, please email me at kerri (at) sixuntilme (dot) com.

From NOPE to Yes.

My friend Susan is a huge part of the Postpartum Progress group, and on her Facebook feed I saw an article that she had shared.  I like to see what my friends are working in and sharing in and out of the diabetes space, so I clicked.

Reading through the postpartum depression list had me nodding a little bit.  But the postpartum anxiety list had me leaning forward, nervous that I was finding myself in almost every bullet point.

This one in particular:

You are worried. Really worried. All. The. Time. Am I doing this right? Will my husband come home from his trip? Will the baby wake up? Is the baby eating enough? Is there something wrong with my baby that I’m missing? No matter what anyone says to reassure you, it doesn’t help.

After my daughter was born, I did not worry all the time.  I worried in a way that felt normal, about her eating patterns and my ability to meet them, or whether I buckled her in the carseat the right way … that sort of thing.  The worrying started right after she was born and was background noise by the time she was six months old.

With my son, everything was worry.  I worried the whole time I was pregnant, reluctant to get too excited or attached.  I kept thinking the pregnancy was ending, even though I saw his dancing little self on the ultrasound screen every few weeks.  My friends and family wanted to throw a baby shower and I avoiding committing to the idea for weeks, nervous that celebrating his soon-to-be arrival date would somehow make him not come.

After he was born, I worried incessantly about my health, and his.  My second c-section wasn’t as easy as my first, and I recovered slowly.  My son had swallowed some amniotic fluid during birth and he spent the first three days choking slightly and needing to have the fluid cleared from his mouth and through via suction.  We knew he needed assistance when he would gag and cough and then flap his arms because he couldn’t breathe.  The nurses in the hospital told us to push the call button immediately if he did this, so they could come in and help.

“This is normal.  It’s common for babies to experience this the first few days after birth.  He will clear the fluid out and be fine; don’t worry.”

Except I worried.  Like professional grade worry.  I was afraid to leave his side because I thought he was going to choke to death in his sleep.

No one on my medical team was panicking about anything at all, yet I was panicking about everything.  When my son settled into a pattern of waking up every 20 minutes for the first 11 weeks of his life, exhaustion and anxiety dominated my mind.  I wasn’t myself for the first three months.  Which makes sense, considering the little bits of chaos we were managing, on so little sleep.

But around the 3 1/2 month mark, he started to sleep.  And my incision was healing.  And blood sugars were becoming more predictable, even with exclusive breastfeeding. Things should have been feeling better, but I had some trouble appreciating the things that were going right as I was already halfway down the anxiety slide at all times.  I had horrible thoughts all the time, born out of innocuous moments.

Like I’d be pushing the stroller around the neighborhood and mentally picture the stroller tipping over and my son’s body crushed.  Or a big hawk would fly overhead and I’d immediately picture the bird coming down and jamming its beak into my son’s leg.  (Fucking bird.  I had this particular thought often.  Weird shit, the mind.)  The thoughts would come ramming into my brain and I’d immediately banish them, saying, “Nope.  Nope, nope, nope,” to myself and physically shaking them free from my head, but I was feeling anxious regardless.  I had zero desire/thought to hurt myself or my child, but I kept picturing some scenario where he’d get hurt.

I felt like I was in fight-or-flight mode at all times.

Reading that list of symptoms jolted something inside of me.  I showed the list to Chris to see if that list put words to any concerns that he had.

“Seeing this all written down, I do see a lot of these in you,” he admitted.

I called my OB/GYN that afternoon and made an appointment.  After a screening process and a discussion about my concerns (including telling her that I called mainly because a list of symptoms had me nodding “Yes” to almost every single one) my OB agreed that there was some kind of postpartum thing going on.

“You have experienced a few things that would influence this kind of response, like infertility for several years.  And pregnancy after loss.  And then a complicated pregnancy due to diabetes.  And then deciding on permanent sterilization.  And then the sleep issues after birth.  One of those things might be enough to warrant intervention; all of those things definitely might.”

I felt weird that I was experiencing this stuff five months out instead of immediately after birth.  She reassured me that it happens often enough this way.  She made a recommendation for medication, I told her I wanted to try therapy before medication, and she deferred to my requested treatment.

“While you wait on your therapy appointment, I’d suggest that you get outside.  Often. And don’t stay holed up in your house; see your neighbors, call your friends, be as social as you can in efforts to help keep you from feeling so overwhelmed by the worries.  It might help.  And if you feel worse in any way at all, you need to call us,” she said, handing me a card with the therapist group’s number on it.  “This team will call you today or tomorrow.”

It felt oddly comforting to identify what was going on in my mind as something that could be addressed.  That I wasn’t stuck feeling this way forever.  That others have felt this way, too.  That there’s a light at the end of this sometimes dark tunnel that has made me feel so very much unlike my normal self.

And now?  I’m trying to ask for help instead of feeling like I have to shoulder the anxiety and chaos on my own.  My mother has been instrumental in helping me maintain my mental health, coming by regularly to spend a few hours with the baby and help with laundry.  My son is currently at my aunt’s house while I work from a coffee shop down the street.  My husband is quick to step in and make it possible for me to exercise daily.  And my friends in the neighborhood and beyond are vital to my mental health checklist, serving as people I can see throughout the week so that I don’t feel confined to my house. (Working from home with the baby makes for very long and lonely days without much grown-up interaction.)

There’s a network of people I can lean on, helping whittle some of the anxiety off me and reminding me that I’m still here, underneath all these worries.  That it’ll be okay.

And that?  That gets a big Yes, yes, YES.

 

Imagining Life Diabetes-Free.

I read an article today – Imagining Life Diabetes-Free.  This quote gave me pause:  “She said her mom equates living with diabetes to being ‘like a duck on a pond: it looks graceful and calm just swimming along, but below the surface, you don’t see the paddling, and all the work it’s doing to keep moving forward.”

What would it be like to not be paddling so furiously?  I tried to give that thought pattern a go.


I pictured waking up in the morning and leaning into the baby’s crib to give him a smooch, then rubbing the sleep from my eyes while shuffling into the bathroom to brush my teeth.  No checking my Dexcom graph immediately upon waking, no pricking my finger and challenging myself to put toothpaste on the toothbrush before the result comes up on the glucose meter.

I would put the little Guy on my hip and go wake up Birdy, not worrying if I was impaling my son’s buttcheek on my insulin pump.  No low blood sugar would keep me from bringing my kids downstairs in time to eat breakfast before the school bus came roaring by.

Super wet diapers or requests for more than one glass of water at dinner would not make my stomach drop and my heart feel heavy.

My day would consist of emails that had nothing to do with diabetes and video calls where I didn’t keep a juice box just out of sight.  I’d breastfeed my son without concerns about going low afterwards.

I’d go for a run with only my car keys and my phone – no glucose tabs.

Lunch would be a meal instead of a math problem (If my blood sugar is 103 mg/dL and I’m eating 15 grams of carbs and I pre-bolus 1u of insulin, will two trains leaving at the same time from New Haven have enough glucose tabs on board to bring me up, should I start to tumble?).  I’d plan my meals around what people wanted to eat and when they wanted to eat it.

I’d think Steel Magnolias was a really sad movie and that Sally Field is a tremendous actress instead of wondering for decades if it was going to be me.

My body would be absent the scaly, itchy rash that comes up as a result of my diabetes device adhesive allergy.  My fingertips would be smooth and unblemished.  If I had a brief millisecond of clouded vision, I’d think, “Meh – something in my eye,” instead of “DO I HAVE DIABETES IN MY EYE?!”

I would think dresses with pockets are cool instead of finding a cute dress with pockets and buying that same dress in every frigging color available.

I’d only have one pump at my house.

Bank account balances would ebb and flow as a result of non-diabetes purchases and responsibilities, without that nagging need to have a clot of cash for constant copays, premiums, and out-of-pocket medical expenses.  That need for medical insurance would be a source of stress but not a point of panic.

I’d see cupcakes and giggle about how they’re “diabetes on a plate,” blissfully unaware of how fucking ignorant “diabetes on a plate” sounds.

I’d worry about the future like everyone else instead of worrying like everyone else and then adding the unscratchable need to have three year’s worth of insulin and syringes in my house at all times.

I’d fall asleep at night and expect to wake up in the morning, without issue.

I’d have a family and friends and would travel and write and experience things that are scary and exciting and a mush of both …

… wait a fucking second.  I have a family and friends.  And I travel.  And write. And I experience things that are scary and exciting and a mush of both.  Diabetes does not keep me from living the life I want.  It’s an enormous pain in the ass at times and I have uneasy feelings about what it will look and feel like twenty years from now, but I am still here.

Imagining life without diabetes sounds nice and I can’t wait to find out what it will be like.  But I’m holding my own either way.  Paddling on.

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