October 5th, 2010 by

Recently, I was asked to answer a few questions for a company that was looking to better understand people with diabetes.  I expected a list of questions ranging from "What color meter do you prefer?" to "List all medications you are taking to treat your diabetes, and why." 

Instead, the questions were more touchy-feely than I had anticipated.  And a few of them were hard to answer.  The one I struggled most with was "If you could change one thing about living with diabetes, what would it be?"

My first response was to shrug.  "Everything?  I’d change everything?" 

Then I regrouped a bit.  But still, an answer wasn’t jumping into my head as easily as it had for the prior questions.  Somehow, "What or who serves as your motivation or inspiration?" was much easier.  

I’m only guessing, but I think if diabetes comes into your life when you are older, there’s a distinct "before" and "after" to your life timeline.  You remember when insulin injections or pumps or glucose meters weren’t part of the equation.  You know what it’s like to drink juice purely for pleasure.  You have a sense of what you’re missing, of what’s changed.  I’d imagine that concept makes a diagnosis both easier and infinitely harder, on so many levels.

Diagnosed as a kid, I don’t have many pre-diabetes memories at all.  I’m not feel sorry for myself, but it’s just a fact.  I don’t remember life without any of this medical stuff, and there is no "before."  Just "after."  Only the after part isn’t this big dramatic change – it’s just "life."

So when asked what I’d change about living with diabetes, I don’t have enough life without it to lay claim to a quality answer. I don’t give a lot of thought to the meters or the pumps or all the physical trappings of diabetes.  I don’t mind because I don’t know any differently. 

But I wish I could lessen the emotional impact of diabetes on my life, and on the lives of the people I love.  I wish diabetes wasn’t such a fickle mess, and that my mother could safely assume that I’ll wake up just fine every morning.  And that my husband wouldn’t view the Dexcom as his safety net when he travels without me.  And that I wouldn’t have seeds of concern when I’m alone with my daughter.  I wish this stupid disease didn’t come with so much worry, and I really would love to change how that worry bleeds into the lives of my loved ones.

If I could tie diabetes to a balloon and let it soar out of my life, I totally would.  If I could flush it down the toilet like a goldfish, I’d do that, too.  I’d let a bear maul it.  I’d allow my diabetes to stick a fork into a plugged in toaster.  And if I had the opportunity to shove it in a microwave like a Peep at Easter, I’d do it in a second.  I’m not a fan of this disease, especially when it makes people worry. 

So I guess my first response was sort of right.  "I’d change everything." … only I’d add balloons, microwaves, and bears. 

If you could change one thing about your life with diabetes, what would it be?

Source: Six Until Me.

October 5th, 2010 by

I’ve been writing DiabetesMine for six years now: 1,425 posts and over 15,000 (legitimate) comments to date, most of it all about what’s happening in the diabetes world and the industry that serves us. Only a little bit of it is personal stuff about me.  So as I’ve been watching this meme bouncing around the [...]

Source: AmyT

October 4th, 2010 by

Over the weekend, Chris and I took a trip up to The Balsams hotel in New Hampshire.  We were there for an event for Chris’s side of the business, and part of the event included a dressy dinner with food that was far fancier than the turkey and cheese sandwiches my pallet is accustomed to.

So here’s a problem I’ve never encountered before:  when the food looks like something from MoMA, how do you bolus for it?  Our menu included items like foie gras and tuna tartare with carrot gelee ("gelee" = carrots that enjoy Glee, at least in my head), and I didn’t have a clue as to how to actually it, nevermind the concept of carb count.  It’s moments like these that make the Dexcom indispensable.  By keeping an eyeball on the graph, I felt more comfortable going to bed that night, knowing that I wasn’t bottoming out.  It was a tricky dinner, of plates with an architectural and artistic flair and I bolused willy-nilly for them.

And by "willy nilly," I mean that I cranked up a few tenths of a unit every course.  it was trial by foie gras fire.  I wasn’t sure how to shoot for the salted caramel-tangelo sorbet, or jambom de Paris.  (Can you tell I’m copying these words right from the menu?  I was relieved when the tenderloin arrived, because I knew what it was.)  I mean, how do you bolus for art?

Thankfully, the grounds of the hotel were far less intimidating than the food, but no less impressive.  The garden alone, comprised of more than 1500 flowers that are planted during the course of one, single day (check out this time lapse video), held my attention captive for quite a while:

The hotel itself was a living, breathing entity with more history and charisma than your average Doubletree.  This place looked as though it was the inspiration for countless short stories, and we heard that Stephen King used The Balsams as his mental catalyst for The Shining.  Chris and I (directionally-challenged, as always) ended up happily lost in the beautiful halls of this hotel more than once during our short stay. 

And despite the five hour drive, the lack of coffee (I need to have a second pump just to ensure 24 hours of caffeination), and the fact that my infusion set rolled off my arm the precise second I lay my head down on the pillow to go to sleep (was awesome: had to leap up and put in a new infusion set at 1:30 in the morning), it was a leaf-peeping drive and a quality getaway.

Source: Six Until Me.

October 4th, 2010 by

Back in 2004/2005 when I started this blog, who would have thought that patient bloggers and advocates would soon be flying around the country as honored speakers at forward-thinking health events?  Look how far we’ve come, and I’m very excited to be part of it! A few relevant dispatches from the ePatient world today: D-OC [...]

Source: AmyT

October 1st, 2010 by

We moved at the very end of August, and when we left our apartment, we also left behind our gym.  Lovely, right-there-in-the-building gym that was easy to get to because it didn’t require getting into the car and trekking across town.  I worked out for the majority of my pregnancy, thanks to this gym, and only stopped when pre-eclampsia started to make my body its home.

Yesterday morning, I weighed myself and saw that I’m back to my pre-pregnancy weight, numbers-wise.

"Whaaaa?"  I said, looking into the mirror and assessing the various areas of squish.  "This is not how I looked before that little biscuit of a BSparl arrived."

Weight, for me, has never been a numbers game.  I’ve never cared in the least about what winks back at me from the scale, but more how my clothes actually fit.  Over the years, my weight has fluctuated due to muscle mass, stress, season (summer = ice cream), and work schedules, but overall, I’ve remained the same general size.  

But when BSparl came into town?  (And by town I mean "uterus.")  Chaos.  My body has taken on shapes I have never seen before.  Contents definitely shifted during landing, and I’m looking at a whole new me when I see myself in the mirror.  And honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of what I see. 

Some things, I’m fine with.  Like the scar from the c-section.  It’s a sizable sucker, but it’s proof positive that my baby came from my body, and I’m reminded of that every time I see her.  Some women call it a badge of honor.  I’ll take that.  The stretch marks?  I’m less snuggly with those, but every week they fade a little more and every week I notice them a little less. (And Palmer’s cocoa butter helps.)

Other changes in my body can be filed under "changeable," and now that BSparl is five months old, we’ve moved, and my travel schedule is about to lighten up over the holidays, I’m fixin’ (nod to NBF) to get myself back into shape. 

So last night, I joined a gym.  And I worked out for the first time since we moved into our house.  Granted, it wasn’t the most aggressive of workouts, but I was there.  I spent 45 minutes on the cardio circuit, and even though my weight didn’t shift even a smidge, I felt worlds better when I left.  Like I wasn’t just sitting at home, wishing I was making a change.  There I was – making it.

At the end of December, I’ll be in Marco Island with my family and my extended CWD family (including my daughter’s favorite spit up target, Mr. Scott Johnson), and I want to feel good about how I look when I’m there.  I have three months to reign things in, and I know that – for me – with exercise comes better diabetes control. 

Hear that, Larry?  You thought you shook me off for the last few months?  Pfffft.  I’m comin’ for you.

Source: Six Until Me.

October 1st, 2010 by

OK, so maybe I sound like my own grandma here. But seriously, what will they think of next? I shouldn’t be surprised in the era of one-size-fits-all bashing; everything has to be customizable and personalizable these days. Why not running shoes? That was ostensibly the thought process behind the new Santa Cruz, CA-based company Somnio, [...]

Source: AmyT

September 30th, 2010 by

I spent the last few days at the ePatient 2010 conference in Philadelphia, and one of the terms (surprise, surprise) that kept coming up was "epatient."  I’ve written about my take on the term "epatient" before, and was surprised to hear that there was a negative feel to the term, like it was overused.  And overplayed.  (Like Chumbawumba.)  

I turned to Facebook to see how my friends felt about the term, and the feedback was instant and mostly positive.  Facebook buddy and fellow ePatient 2010 attendee, Susannah Fox, connected with me after seeing the discussion and sent me a link to a discussion on her blog about the word "epatient" and how that movement is going through some growing pains. 

Far be it for me to be ahead of the curve (I just started tight-rolling my jeans), but I’m still comfortable with the term "ePatient."  I find it to be empowering – another "e" word – and having it as part of my identity makes me feel like I’m part of a very strong, very forward-thinking community.  Having lived with diabetes for … forever, it seems, I am so appreciative of the changes taking place in patient care.  I like the broad stroke of support that the Internet provides for patients, and the power of connecting outside of the perimeters of your zipcode makes an enormous change in how I view my health.  As I said at the conference, "People with diabetes take drugs, test their blood sugar, watch their food intake, but emotional support is just as crucial as the insulin we take.  For me, it’s part of my health."  Empowered, electronic, encouraged, engaged … ePatient.

My friends in the Facebook circles had varying perspectives, but most of them seemed to feel empowered to be using online resources to manage their health – or the health of their loved ones.  Here are a few responses:

With all of these varying discussions about the term "ePatient," how do you feel that you fit into the mix?  Do you think the term is overused and now weak as a result?  Are you empowered by the term "ePatient?"  Or do you have an entirely different opinion to share?  Are YOU an ePatient?

Source: Six Until Me.