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Posts tagged ‘diabetes and pregnancy’

Muted.

Ahh bullet points.  Ye be the only(e) way I can process things at the moment.

  • I don’t have a lot to say over here lately, and there are a dozen different reasons for that.  One is that the new baby kiddo keeps me extremely busy, what with his cluster feeding and chatty ways, and also the fact that he is still not much of a nighttime sleeper, with his sleepless nights becoming my sleepless nights.  Which translates into not a lot of creative brain power during the daylight hours.
  • (But holy fuck am I creative at night.  I make up songs on the fly, can produce ounces of breastmilk without a second thought, and have taken to texting writing ideas to myself with one hand while hugging Guy Smiley with the other.  The problem is executing on these ideas once the sun rises, because it’s then that I fall apart.)
  • The baby is getting much bigger, though, and even though we’ve had some issues getting him to gain weight (not a problem now – more on that tomorrow or Friday), he’s thriving perfectly now.  He has also entered that super smiley/finally giving feedback stage, which I love.  The baby grins and gurgles are my favorite.  He sounds so much like his sister at this stage, and yet he’s so distinctly himself.  His smile lights up the room, even when he’s spitting up into my freshly washed hair.
  • My kids are my focus these days, which keeps my heart full but my blog kind of empty-ish.
  • I’m also reluctant to get political in public, mostly because the diabetes community is united by busted pancreases and political discussions have the potential to cut our crucial community in half, but the election did not go the way I had hoped and I have grave concerns about health insurance, safety, and social issues these days.  This is contributing to the maelstrom of thoughts in my head, and the CGM frowns on my desire for Tylenol.
  • The election circus also sort of sucked the wind out of my sails in terms of diabetes awareness month activities, as well.  I’m having a difficult time focusing on the diabetes community when the country as a whole seems to be imploding to a certain extent.  I wear my blue circle pin when I’m out and I gave a presentation at a local hospital system last night, but for the most part, I’ve felt quieter than normal these days.
  • And another reason for my silence is that diabetes isn’t fun to talk about lately.  Back when I first started blogging, I would share a lot of the minutiae because I’d never had the chance to get that sort of stuff off my chest before.  Talking about a rogue low blood sugar that hit while I was in the shower?  That story came out easily.  But all of those diabetes moments feel redundant lately.  Yes, I was low.  I was high.  I was frustrated.  I was burnt out.  I was empowered.  I made steps forward in some areas, backwards in others.  It isn’t interesting to me at the moment.  When I think about diabetes, it’s this hamster wheel of the same tasks and the same emotions earning similar outcomes.  I’m still living with this disease, still trying to manage it, still having good and bad days.  Documenting those moments isn’t coming as easily to me anymore.
  • Maybe it’s because of my increased desire to keep more things private, even in the health space.  I looked back at some of my past blogs and saw that I’d chronicled a lot more of my pregnancy with Birdy than I did with my son.  I definitely blame infertility and fear of losing another pregnancy for that silence, but even now that my son is out and safe, I’m still reluctant to share a whole bunch about him.  I have a monthly letter than I’ve been writing to him (there’s two done already and a third one is in my mental queue … maybe I’ll feel up to sharing that third one here sometime) but I like keeping those in his email account (password to be given to him when he’s older).
  • Maybe this privacy surge is a result of being older.  Or tired.  (Or maybe being tired is a result of being older.  See also: non-sleepy cute infant person)
  • I love the diabetes community – truly love it – and I remain a big fan of blogging,  but maybe long form blogging is starting to shift a little bit.  Lots of activity on Instagram and Twitter (never got into Snapchat – my luck, the cat would walk by and puke while I was recording a video or something), but the long and winding blog posts are harder to find these days.  Do they require more effort to read?  I keep seeing things on Medium marked as “long reads” that are also marked as “8 minutes” and that sends me into “get off my lawn” mode because is eight minutes really a long read?  Does that means all books are becoming pamphlets and Jodi Picoult will suddenly start writing her tomes in tiny tattoo form?
  • I think I’m a little tired, overall.  Tired of diabetes (post-pregnancy burnout in full swing, thank you very much) and tired from adjusting to the arrival, chaos, and joy of a newborn baby. (I think there’s some guilt half-baked into that, because I wanted my son so much that I feel a little guilty about some of the exhausted frustration I’ve felt.  I could not possibly love him more, and I simultaneously could not need a nap more.)

Things will settle down.  I’ll post here as time allows and as inspiration strikes.  Diabetes will always be here, right?  It’s okay to take a breather from talking incessantly about it.

90% of my day is this snuggly.

A photo posted by Kerri Sparling (@sixuntilme) on

Day in the Life of a New (Old) Mom … with Diabetes.

Six years ago, I was adjusting to motherhood for the first time during Diabetes Blog Week, and one of the post prompts was to write about a day in the life with diabetes.  My day in the life was flanked on all sides by figuring out what to do with a newborn, so I chronicled that.

And just before my son was born, I thought maybe – maybe? – I’d be less of a mess this time around?  Maybe I’d have things a bit more figured out, and a day in the life post wouldn’t read like a desperate plea for help?

Once again, ha.

A Day in the Life of a New (Old) Mom … with Diabetes.

6.30 am – Hi, little baby!  Let’s do this feeding/changing diaper thing … again, because it’s not like 6.30 is the first time our tiny tomato goes off.  On the overnight, the baby wakes up around 2.30 and then again around 6, so we’re hardly breaking a fast when breakfast time rolls around.  The main diabetes thing I do at this point is check my CGM graph, because the baby is usually fussing for food, so even the 45 seconds it takes to check my BG is not happening.  (What – did you want me to lie and say I am totally on top of my diabetes stuff?  Nope.)

7.30 am – It takes me about 30 minutes to change and feed the baby, and then I go into the bathroom to clean teeth, find face, etc.  It’s at this point that I should be pricking my finger to check my fasting BG, but my alarm usually goes off (set for 7.30 am, just in case, even though it is redundant when pitted against the baby) and then I have to run back into the bedroom and turn the alarm off so that it doesn’t disturb the sleeping babe.  At this point, I forget what I was doing and am only positive I brushed my teeth based on the delightfully minty taste in my mouth.

7.33 am – Check my CGM graph again.  Showing 60 mg/dL.  I’ll check my BG officially when I go downstairs to make breakfast, but for now I need to get ahead of that low and have something to eat before the breastfeeding aftermath hypo moment kicks in.  Hi, banana.  I’ll eat you.

7.35 am – Time to wake up the Birdzone and get her sorted for school.

7.40 am – “What do I need to do again?”  “Brush your teeth, go to the bathroom, and put your clothes on for school.”  We have the same conversation every.  single.  morning.  Hasn’t changed in two years.  Yet she still wonders what the morning routine involves.  (Note:  now the morning routine involves my head popping off and the subsequent reassembly of aforementioned head.)

7.41 am – Dexcom alarm is still going off, but I drank the half-kicked juicebox that has been on my bedside table for the last three days.  Relieved it hadn’t turned to wine after sitting out that long.  Or maybe I wish it had turned to wine.  #jesusjuicebox

7.45 am – 8.20 am – This is a messy pocket of time during which Chris and I orbit around one another in the kitchen, making breakfast, making school lunch, assembling work bags, finding shoes, checking on baby (who is usually asleep in the bouncy chair in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the circus), etc.  Usually, I check my blood sugar during this time, and most often calibrate my CGM.  At 8.20-ish, Chris and Birdy head to the bus stop and I think about combing my hair.  (I do not actually comb it, though.)

NOTE:  I forced myself to ditch the extra-strength Tylenol prescribed to manage post c-section pain because it rendered my Dexcom useless.  The data from my CGM is beyond instrumental in helping me keep my wits intact in this postpartum period.  Blood sugars are very unpredictable as I adjust from pregnancy insulin rates to postpartum rates, in addition to the chaotic ebb and flow caused by breastfeeding.  I could manage without the CGM, but it’s much, much easier to feel safe and like I have some semblance of a clue when the graph data is streaming.  Dexcom gives me the 30 lives I need on some days, Contra-style.

[And I do have a relationship with Dexcom – disclosures here.]

8.30 am – noon – My intentions are good in this block of time.  I usually boot up my computer and open my email, letting the messages come flooding in.  I read every single email, and in my head, I compose useful responses … that never end up being typed and sent, because this block of time also includes a baby who needs to be fed twice.  I use the breast pump once (to build a supply stash for when I start traveling for work again).  I try and check my blood sugar once or twice more.  I spend at least half an hour coordinating the next round of pediatrician appointments, surgery follow-ups, and attempts at assembling a medical team here in Rhode Island (moving my care away from Boston now that I’m done pursuing pregnancies … more on that another day).  Oh, and there are baby snuggles.  MANY.  Because I did not work this hard for a baby to not snuggle the hell out of him.

So basically, I get a lot of important things done in this timeframe as it relates to keeping my son happy and cared for, but I’m spinning my wheels in a lot of other departments.  That’s okay – it’s Baby Time for the next few weeks/months, and I’m happy about that.

Noon-thirty – Tomato Man and I go for a walk around the neighborhood (using the stroller on days when I’m trending lower blood sugars, and on days when my BG is more stable, I wear him and walk that way).  This walk is necessary because it gets me out of the house and ups my mental health and happiness.

1.30 pm – Hey, lunch would be awesome, right?  I’m still trying to cook more at home/make some vegetable-based options, so my culinary creativity is at a high (despite cooking talent remaining woefully low).  I am not ravenously hungry most of the time, but I do want to snack/eat a small meal every two and a half hours or so (modeling my behavior after that of my son’s).  I’m kind of into protein balls (uncomfortable phrase) these days, and one version I like a lot is a peanut butter/pumpkin seed iteration that’s easy enough on my blood sugars but packs a caloric punch that keeps me from falling asleep.  (Will post the recipe tomorrow!)

2.00 pm – Baby snuggles.  And let’s feed him.  Oh, and snuggle him again. And restock the ever-waning supply of diapers and wipes.

3.15 pm – Use the breast pump.  (Our boy lost a fair amount of weight after delivery, so our pediatrician has been following his weight gain with interest.  We’re back up to birth weight, but our doctor has encouraged us to supplement breastfeedings with bottles of pumped breastmilk in order to ensure the little guy is getting enough.  So when he’s not attached to me, physically, the breast pump is.  Thankfully, he bounces easily from breast to bottle, so we’re thankful he’ll eat in a variety of ways.  Also, if you have dissenting opinions on how babies should be fed, can we just agree that babies should be fed, and leave it at that?)

4-something ish – Birdy’s school bus comes roaring through the neighborhood, and she comes scrambling off it, regaling me with stories about first grade and how much she missed her brother.  “I missed you, Birdy!”  “Yeah, but I missed HIM!”

4.30 – 6.30 pm – Another mangled window of time during which the baby is fed, changed, and snuggled.  Chris usually arrives home in this pocket.  Birdy (and a cast of characters from our neighborhood) rotate from house to house on their bikes, the embodiment of every gang of kids on bikes from 80’s movies.  I remember that I haven’t checked my blood sugar in a few hours, so I do that.  Dinner is assembled.  Dishes are ignored.  Loopy builds a biplane.

7.30 pm – Birdy gets a bath or a shower, and while she’s in there, I charge my CGM receiver or my pump (depending on which one is more depleted).  I’ve been trying to stick with changing my pump site every three days (the reminder for the site change on the t:slim is very useful these days, as I forget my name, nevermind when I last put an infusion set in).  Changing the site is hard sometimes because I hate wasting insulin, and sometimes my reservoir (even half filled) will last four days without any trouble.  I like using every last drop.

8.15 pm – Birdy is tucked into bed.  (When she actually falls asleep remains the mystery.)  Chris and I start to get punchy, realizing we haven’t properly slept through the night in weeks, and we know another long night is on tap.  And then the baby wakes up because hey, it’s getting dark out, and that means it’s time to wake up!

9.30 pm – I look at my email, cry, and shut my computer.  I eat a yogurt and wonder if it’s okay to eat these chickpea things straight from the bag with a spoon.

9.31 pm – I grab a spoon.

10 pm – Medical onslaught time.  As I’m getting ready to close up for the night, I need to take my blood thinner injection (thank you, Factor V Leiden and c-section combination – three more weeks of shooting up and then I’m DONE), my blood pressure medication (back on that as of last week), check my blood sugar, make sure my pump has enough insulin to last through the night, make sure my CGM receiver is charged, and that my bedside table is stocked with a glass of water (breastfeeding makes me dehydrated as eff) and something to treat low blood sugars with.  Baby is fed and changed, and tucked into his proper bed (in our bedroom).

And as I’m about to fall asleep, I realize we made it through another day, and we’re adjusting the best way we know how.  The exhaustion will give way to more sleep, and eventually we’ll be a few months out from life with a newborn and more in the swing of things.  (I know I will miss the warm, snuggly newborn cuddles a ton.)

We don’t have everything figured out, because our son is completely different from our daughter, so what we knew to expect is braided with a hefty dose of “what the hell do we do with that?!” sort of sentiment.  I have realized that all the preparing we did for our second child doesn’t actually prepare us … we’re still hot messes of exhaustion and confusion and hope.

And I also realize that it looks like I’m into some kinky stuff, considering the bag of marshmallows on the bedside table.  Whatever.  When you’re hypo, anything goes.

Releasing the Kraken … Into Our Home.

… he’s definitely not the Kraken.  That nickname will never stick because so far, our littlest friend is mild mannered.  He’s more Clark Kent than Kraken.  (Mixing my superheroes and myths this morning; feel free to blame the sleep debt and my attempt to repay it with caffeine.)

But he’s home, and even though he’s a sweet boy, he’s still an infant and our house is ROCKED by his presence.  My body remains equally as rocked by his escape, and my diabetes management is so confused that my pancreas, were it to have a head, would be scratching it with confusion.

OUR HOUSE:  Remains in the middle of our street, only it’s bursting at the seams with burp cloths and tiny little articles of clothing that require origami skills in order to snap up.  The laundry this little man produces is astounding, as are the number of diapers he rips through … and the number of times he’d like to eat during the course of a day.  For someone so small, the baby came with a lot of stuff.

(But I’m so glad he’s here.  I’ve never been so happy to have my house turned inside out in my life.)

MY BODY:  Is slightly less than a wonderland.  I talked about the c-section and cannot stress enough how different it was from my first surgical birth experience.  When I examined myself after having Birdy, I had a sizable scar and serious gas pain, but didn’t feel as though I’d been put through the wringer.  Ringer?  (W)ringer.  This c-section was very different because it felt busy during (lots of pressure and they actually needed to use the vacuum to assist in removing my son from the womb, poor kid) and the aftermath was not pretty.  I had a lot of bleeding after this one, more than the first time.  I also didn’t get a good look at my scar, etc. while I was in the hospital (they are smart to keep full length mirrors OUT of the postpartum recovery rooms) so I saw the mess for the first time when we came home.

Holy shit, the bruising.  The three or four inches of skin real estate underneath my incision was entirely black and blue and it looked as though I was wearing blue underpants.  I (am embarrassed to say) that I cried when I saw it because it looked so frigging VIOLENT.  Thankfully, 15 days later, the bruising is entirely gone and all that remains is the incredible shrinking uterus and the healing incision, but for the first week or so, I had a hard time checking the incision because it looked so Frankenstein’s monsterish.

And aside from the obvious diabetes stuff, I’m currently taking a blood thinner (thank you, Factor V Leiden) for six weeks, and am also unable to drive for six weeks.  The blood thinner is a little painful but totally manageable (one injection every night – easy enough).  The not driving thing is MAKING ME GO BANANAS because my freedom is entirely MIA.  I’m relying on friends and family for trips to the pediatrician, picking up prescriptions, getting groceries … every little thing requires assistance from a volunteer chauffeur.  And since I don’t want to trouble anyone more than I already have to, I’m placing some screwball orders on Amazon … like for the dry erase board eraser required on my daughter’s back-to-school list.  Or the long sleeve, size 0-3 month onesies for my son.  Or coffee, damn it.  I’m really excited to be able to get back behind the wheel and reclaim some semblance of independence.

DIABETES HEY OOOOH:  I cannot complain about how diabetes did its thing during the 38 weeks of pregnancy.  I didn’t have any tragic lows, there weren’t unmanageable highs, and the lack of pre-eclampsia was an excellent change of pace for this round.  During delivery, even though I was terrified, my blood sugars stayed solid.  And throughout my stay at the hospital, my blood sugars were without issue.  It was kind of awesome, and surely will stay that way forever, right?

HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAA … now that my placenta has been kicked out of my womb and I’m breastfeeding a newborn, all kinds of diabetes hell has broken loose.  My blood sugars – once calm and dare I say predictable? – are now pinging and ponging all over the damn place.  My insulin:carb ratios are 1:20 (versus pre-pregnancy 1:11 and during pregnancy rates as low as 1:5) and my basal rate is 0.3u per hour (versus pre-pregnancy of .5u and during pregnancy rates as high as 1u per hour).  And absent the breastfeeding, these rates would probably hold tight for a few weeks until they started to require increasing, eventually bringing me back up to where I was pre-pregnancy … at least ish.

But breastfeeding is its own circus.  The act of breastfeeding does not make me hypoglycemic, but the act of producing milk does, so I’m going low mostly while my milk supply is filling up.  If this was a predictable cycle, I could plan snacks/meals around my son’s appetite and my anticipated refilling, but the cycle isn’t one I can map.  I can’t even guess.  Some times, I go low 15 minutes after feeding him.  Other times it takes up to an hour and a half for the low to hit.  I’m not sure when I should eat, causing my CGM graph to look all Ms and Ws.  If my experience with Birdy helps inform this round, I should have a more predictable blood sugar response around the time that my son is a month old.  Which means that I have two more week of letting my body ebb and flow and get all confused before it aligns to some kind of schedule.

The madness of a newborn added to the mix of an already all-over-the-place family is exactly what we had anticipated.  We’re exhausted.  (While driving home from a pediatrician appointment, Chris turned to me at a stop light and asked, “This is really happening, right?  Like this isn’t a dream?  We’re actually driving right now?”  The lack of sleep is like we’re on the tumble dry setting in the dryer, all jumbled and confusing and warm and is this real life?)  We’re adjusting.  (Birdy is doing her best to make sense of the new little creature in our house.  She loves him.  But I’m on the watch for sibling angst as well.)  We’re grateful.  (Issues like a messy house? Exhaustion? Sore body?  Bring those issues on, because I’m happy as hell to have these as my problems.)  And we’re in love with this little guy, who despite being only 15 days old, feels like he’s been part of the party forever.

 

Four Chairs.

Our kitchen table has four chairs, and for several years, we had our family of three at the table for four.  But three chairs filled felt right at the time.

Except when it didn’t.  A few years ago, that fourth chair became this thing for me, like it should have A Person for it.  There was a feeling that someone was missing nagged me through many breakfasts, lunches, and dinners.  Someone was supposed to be there.  I had no idea who, but I knew someone was missing from our lives.

The empty chair started to hurt to look at, especially during the years of negotiating infertility.

But last week … on August 23, after two years of trying for a baby, after 38 weeks and two days of pregnancy, after staring at that fourth chair for all of those days and wondering if anyone would ever claim it, we finally found Our Person to fill the seat.

(His bum is very tiny at the moment, but he’ll grow into the chair eventually.)

Welcome to the world, my sweetest little boy.  We love you in ways and for reasons too numerous to count.

Month 8,455 of Pregnancy.

It’s been very quiet here on my blog, and this is because my body and mind entirely are being slowly devoured by the baby.  I’m nine days away from my scheduled c-section (but past 38 weeks, so could go into labor on my own any time) and my body hasn’t ever been this pregnant before.

The baby apparently likes being in there, though.  He’s content.  Happy.  Laid back and chillin’.

… good for him because I’m not as content or comfortable, by comparison.  My body isn’t tiny to begin with, but a full term baby in my not-very-tall frame is making me waddle.  And whine.  And I might have burst into tears when I had to pee for the third time in thirty minutes while taking Birdy school shopping.  Or when I realized that I saw 1 am, 2.30 am, 4 am, 5 am, and 6 am as a result of waking up and needing to scurry off to the bathroom multiple times due to a baby hanging out so low in my body that he could touch up my pedicure with ease.

And then there’s that weird rush of guilt for not feeling consistently hashtag blessed or hashtag grateful about the opportunity to experience pregnancy, to be having this baby.  Getting this baby going was the longest and hardest thing I’ve ever done, clocking in at almost a full three years between the “hoping for baby” and the “holding baby in my arms.”  I am beyond excited to meet my son.  I am also beyond grateful to be bringing another little friend into our family.  But here at the end of the pregnancy moments, I’m very, very whiny and my brain is in a dark space that I hope lets up a bit once I’m not as physically pressured.  I’m gigantically pregnant and I kind of feel like a blob of discomfort.  I’m beyond tired of sharing my diabetes with someone else, the pressure to be in range exacerbated by the panic of having diabetes adversely influence my child’s development.

I’m sort of emotionally done being pregnant, but my body isn’t quite done yet.

My body and I are at odds about this fact.

Weirdly enough, my body is completely fine with still being pregnant.  Blood pressures were good in the first trimester, low for the second trimester, and have just started to creep back up a tiny bit in the last week or two, but I’m still not on any kind of blood pressure medication (was taken off it at the beginning of the second trimester, once my pressures were registering so low that it was causing exhaustion), so that’s a success.  During course of this pregnancy, the protein levels in my urine are checked weekly and they’ve only flagged as suspicious once (about two month ago) and even the twenty-four hour urine collections came back entirely negative.  My weight is stable and in range (though still WHOA because 38 weeks pregnant).  I barely have any swelling in my feet and ankles.  My A1Cs have been a source of pride for me, and hard-earned at that.  Even my dilated eye exam (they do one every trimester) came back so unremarkable that I’ve been “downgraded” to visiting the eye clinic once a year instead of every three months.

This pregnancy, when pitted against the one with my daughter, is much healthier, by comparison.  And for that, I am really hashtag blessed.

But today, at 38 weeks along and the weight of his little world on my pelvis, I’m hashtag tired.  And hashtag done.  And hashtag secretly hoping they decide that tomorrow is a good birthday for the little nugget because that would be fine by me.  Once I am able to give him a good snuggle and kiss his head, I’ll be hashtag grateful all over the place.  And hashtag complete.

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