The Chase

The increased sound of our pursuers crashing through the brush behind us meant two things.  First, they were getting closer and second, stealth was no longer a concern for them.  That last thought sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the bitter cold.  If they were no longer concerned about being heard then they no longer planned to take us alive.  The fear nearly stopped me in my tracks, but the empath chose that moment to grab my hand and give me a quick smile.  I realized that she wasn’t any less scared that I was.  She just wasn’t letting it slow her down.  I decided I wouldn’t let it either.  Now the cold was a different matter.

The empath looked over her shoulder and said to the warrior, “We’ve got to find someplace to hide and rest soon.  She’s not going to last much longer in this cold.”

“At this pace we will be at the border in just over an hour.  We can rest then,” he replied gruffly.

“I’m telling you if we don’t rest and warm up soon, we’ll be carrying her the rest of the way.”

“Fine.  I will scout ahead for a suitable hiding place.  Keep up this pace so you do not lose sight of me,” he said with a pointed look at me.

Despite the growing attraction I was feeling for the warrior, he infuriated me.  Did he think I was slowing them down on purpose?  That I enjoyed freezing to death?  That I asked to be kidnapped by people I didn’t know and for reasons I didn’t comprehend?  He was an arrogant bully.  But why was I drawn to him?

I looked up when I realized that the empath was talking to me and I hadn’t responded.  She smiled and repeated what I’d missed.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll get you to safety and then we can explain everything.”  I tried to smile back, but I was so cold that my teeth were chattering.  She was right, I wasn’t going to last much longer.  My feet and legs were numb and felt like they were made of lead.  My hands and face had been numb for even longer.

At that moment the warrior circled back to us.  “If we can put a bit more distance between us and them, I’ve found a place that we can hide for a few hours.”  With determination, I picked up my pace and followed him.  I was going to make it out of this alive.  I had things I still wanted to do.  Maybe not big, important things, but things that mattered to me.  I still hadn’t perfected my grandmother’s gumbo recipe.  I hadn’t eaten near enough chocolate chip cookies while they were still warm from the oven.  And I’d never been in love.  Not truly in love.

I was so deep in my thoughts that I ran right into the warrior’s back when he’d paused to make sure we were keeping up.  “I appreciate your willingness to keep up, but please keep your mind on the task at hand so you can avoid knocking me over.”  Before I could stop it my sarcastic reply escaped, “I don’t think it’s possible for me to knock you down even with a bulldozer.”  His puzzled look reminded me that he was not from Earth and had no clue what I meant.  The giggle I heard from the empath let me know that even though she wasn’t from Earth either she knew what I was talking about.

Peering around him, I saw that our path was now up a steep incline.  “Are we climbing?” I asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.  Those few seconds of standing still had made my legs begin to shake.  We were much closer to my collapsing than I wanted either of them to know.  After his curt affirmative response, the empath moved quickly past me and began helping me climb.  I looked up and noticed the opening of a cave.  “Are we headed for that cave?” I asked.  “No, that is too obvious,” he replied.  And I guessed he was right since I’d spotted it right away.  “Make your way to the right of the rock face,” he instructed.  Once we did, the wind felt less harsh and I nearly sighed in relief.

We came to a group of tall vegetation when he announced, “We will hide here.”  I looked around and decided that our definitions of hiding were more different than they were alike.  As I turned my questioning face his way, he pointed at the ground.  “There is a crevasse in the rock that is wide enough for two people to lie down in.  I will stand guard.”  I found I was too cold to object to crawling into such a small space and once the empath had crawled in across from me, it didn’t seem quite so frightening. 

My teeth were still chattering and I was about to let them know that I didn’t seem to be warming up when the warrior said in a low growl, “You must keep quiet.  They are nearing our position.”  Before I could reply, the empath whispered, “She cannot help it.  She’s not warming up and that sound is her teeth chattering.  If I concentrate I can feel if they get too near.  In the meantime, we could use your body’s higher temperature to warm her up quicker.”

“I do not think that will be necessary,” the warrior began before the empath cut him off.  “Do not make me pull rank.  Just get in here.”  I felt a sudden rush of panic as I realized that he would need to lie behind me.  I didn’t want to be that close to him.  I was sure that it wouldn’t be good for my peace of mind.  Too late I realized that the empath could probably tell exactly how I was feeling.  I glanced up and she met my look with one of her caring smiles.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll be safe soon and I’ll help you make sense of all that has happened.”

The warrior chose that moment to slide down into the crevasse.  The sudden warmth behind me made me gasp.  “Did I injure you?” he asked with more concern than I thought possible and began to run his hand up and down my arm.  It took me a few moments to be able to respond, “No.  Your body heat just startled me.”

“I did not realize that you were so susceptible to the cold,” he said as he worked his arm underneath me, pulled me back against him, and wrapped his arms around me.  I couldn’t help but sigh as I settled into the warmth of his body.  It was beginning to feel like I would never be warm again.  I must have been feeling much warmer than I thought because I actually drifted off.  As I resurfaced from sleep, I could hear them talking quietly.

“I no longer sense them close by.  Once they searched the cave, they moved off in the general direction we were heading,” the empath whispered.  “Apparently the cave was too obvious,” I quipped and I thought I actually felt the warrior smile.  “Indeed,” was all he had to offer.

“Does that mean we need to get moving again?” I asked.  “No, I think we can stay here a bit longer,” he replied and then added, “Try to sleep a bit more to build up your strength.”  He must have moved his head as he said that last part because his breath on my neck made me shiver and I could feel goosebumps pop up on my arms.  The warrior pulled me tighter against his body.  “Are you getting cold again?” he asked with concern.  I was grateful that it was too dark for anyone to see me blush.  “No, I’m fine,” I replied but I knew it was going to harder to fall back asleep this time.

But apparently not impossible because the next thing I knew the warrior was whispering in my ear, “You must wake up now.  It is time for us to get moving again.”  I was loath to leave the warmth, but ready to have this over with.  I had no clue what those people wanted with me, but I was thankful for the help of the warrior and empath.  I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes without them.

We crawled out of our hiding place, worked our way down the rock face we had climbed up, and then continued our journey to the border.  The border of what I had absolutely no clue, but navigating was not my job.  Surviving this ordeal was my one and only job.  I must have been distracted because too late I heard the warrior growl at the same time the empath yelled, “Look out!”

Before I knew what had happened someone that was no more than a blur had grabbed me and began to take me away from my new friends at a very high rate of speed.  All I could do was scream and pound my fists on the back of whoever had grabbed me.  I looked up to see the warrior and the empath running as fast as they could after us, but we were quickly pulling away from them.  “NO!” I yelled as loud as I could as everything went black.

I came to suddenly and found myself in my own bed, alone.  It couldn’t have been a dream.  It felt too real.  In fact, I could still feel the lingering heat of the warrior.  I reached for my phone where I had left it on the nightstand and I checked the date.  It was two day earlier than the date in my dream.  So was it really a dream, albeit a very realistic one, or was it a vision.  And if it was a vision, I only had two days to either keep it from happening or prepare myself for it if I couldn’t avoid it.

Even though it was still dark outside, I decided I’d have enough sleep for one night.  I needed to run some errands and make some plans.  Damsel in distress was so not my speed.

The View

I woke up in bed alone, but he hadn't been gone long because his side of the bed was still warm.  I slid out of bed and went in search of him.  As I rounded the corner of the hall, I found him staring out the window.  We'd rented this cabin because of its wonderful view of the mountains.  He seemed entranced by the sight of the sun coming up over those mountains, but I was mesmerized by the sight of him.  Just looking at him could make my heart do backflips in my chest.  The sun turning his hair the almost golden colour it had when we first met nearly brought me to tears. 

Over the last few months, I'd begun to regret not having children when I was younger.  Especially now that I wasn't able to have them.  But seeing him at that moment made me realize that he was the only man I'd ever want to give children.  I would have loved to give him a baby girl with his golden curls and my gray eyes, but by the time he'd come into my life children were no longer an option.

Suddenly a weight that I hadn't known was there lifted and that regret I'd felt just faded away.  There was frost on the window he was looking out of, but the cold couldn't touch me despite my bare feet and thin nightgown.  I felt warmed from within like the sun was also rising in heart and melting everything that wasn't love and happiness.

I don't know if I made a sound or if he suddenly felt me watching him, but he turned around.  His face lit up with a smile as he said, "Honey, it's too cold for you to be wandering around like that.  You should crawl back into bed."  I smiled and replied, "Only if you come with me."  He chuckled and said, "Well that was always the plan, now wasn't it?"  I giggled as we walked back to the bedroom to warm up again under the covers.

Better Late Than Never

When you live with more than one chronic condition, sometimes things can snowball and you end up buried beneath an avalanche of issues, doctor’s visits, self-care, and tasks you meant to do but didn’t.  Sadly, one of those things for me was Diabetes Blessings Week hosted by my friend Mike Durbin over at My Diabetic Heart.

It’s not that Mike had specifically asked me to participate (it’s an open invitation) or that I’d promised I would.  It’s that I was still a bit too shy to participate last year, but really wanted to.  Having a bit more free time this year due to a company-wide furlough this week, it should have been easy to fit into my lack of schedule.  Then life happened.

Here it is Tuesday.  Mike casually mentions it during a conversation and it slowly dawns on me that I’ve let another thing slip through my fingers.  Yet another chance to advocate that I let pass me by.  Nearly.

So with determination (and possibly a bit of stubbornness), I pause the craft video I’m watching on YouTube, set my craft supplies aside, and get Pandora going.  Time to see what this crazy brain of mine can crank out when I tell it to instead of just when it wants to.

What do I come up with?  No clue, but we’re about to find out together.  So buckle your seatbelts because this is bound to be one crazy ride.  Providing of course that Pandora doesn’t throw yet ANOTHER Taylor Swift song into my mix and try to derail my train of thought.

So I’m supposed to write about blessings, specifically those related to diabetes.  I’ll be honest, my first thought is “WTFructose?  Diabetes sucks!” and it does.  But just like nothing is all good, nothing is all bad either.  I dig deeper and see a faint light shining in the distance.  A bright spot amongst the endless numbers for blood glucose levels, carb counts, A1c’s, units of insulin, and the never ending cost of what feels like the million tools it takes just to keep me alive.

As I move towards that glimmer of something that feels like it’s made of hope, love, and support, I feel myself growing lighter and lighter.  The fears, doubts, and insecurities that crowd me begin to fall to the ground like the changing leaves of autumn.  My steps are buoyed by anticipation and my pace quickens.

I enter the outer reaches of the glow and instantly feel warmed from the inside out.  My nerve endings begin to tingle in a way that makes me think I’ve begun to glow on my own.  My smile widens as I take what feels like my first unencumbered breath in years.  Moving closer I feel it envelope me like a loving embrace and I know I’ve found that silver lining I was looking for.
You might be wondering what I’ve found and I will be glad to tell you.  What I’ve found is support, love, understanding, and empowerment.  We affectionately refer to it as the DOC.  The Diabetes Online Community.  A group of diabetics of all types, caretakers of diabetics, and loved ones of diabetics.  Basically, people who get it.  Where you can talk about diabetes without explaining WHAT diabetes really is first.

We are patients, children, mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, siblings, newbies, veterans, advocates, lurkers, bloggers, tweeters, non-profit workers, family and friends, but mostly we are just people, who happen to be connected by diabetes.  We are the light that makes the darkness retreat, taking with it the fear and doubt.  We are the hand held out to strangers and friends who need comfort.  We are the human connection that keeps all of us strong and moving forward.  We are the voice of advocacy and the cry for change that keeps diabetes from becoming a truly invisible disease.  We are love, caring, understanding, support, & kindness.  We are the DOC.

And that is a LOT to be thankful for.  Thanks for coming along.  I hope you enjoyed the ride.

My BFF Is A Published Author!!!

I cannot even begin to express how wonderful this book is. And not just because David Emprimo is my bestest friend. He is a VERY talented author with a wonderful imagination. Do yourself a favor & go buy this ebook. I promise you won’t regret it. :)

Thanks! ♥♥♥♥♥♥



https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/244389

Diabetes Art Day 2012

Today is Diabetes Art Day & this is my submission. The background is something I digitally "painted" a while back. The blue circle is the symbol for Diabetes. I painted all of the bottles & stuff with a black paint pen then took a picture of them. My co-worker who is a Photoshop Goddess helped me merge the two (Thanks again, Sasha Whitney-Hayes!!!) & then I added the words.

Last year was my first time to participate & it was an amazing experience. So amazing that it actually gave me the courage to go to my first diabetes meet-up. Thanks, Lee Ann Thill!!! Your creativity is contagious! :)

Want to know more about Diabetes Art Day or see more submissions? http://www.diabetesartday.com/

New Poetry...

dangerous game

i am your once in a lifetime
your one last, best chance
at true happiness
and you are mine
but if you walk out that door
i won’t be here when you get back
you can’t make the rules
then break them to suit you
this is a dangerous game
you are playing with our hearts
by the time you realize it
you’ll be alone and unhappy
and i’ll have moved on
getting over you won’t be easy
knowing it was never my fault
will dull the edges of my broken heart
maybe even let me live again
but love is too dangerous a game
for me to ever play again

©CLP

Aftermath of Lucky Number 7

If you follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr then you know that Friday I was at the hospital for another blood transfusion.  My seventh since December and I have to say it is really getting old. 


Don't get me wrong.  I am very grateful to have this option open to me.  Without the transfusions, who knows if I'd even be alive today.  My hematologist doesn't think I would be.  He's a not just a good doctor.  He's a great doctor, so I believe him.  Still, it's not a thought I like to entertain for long.


The transfusions themselves are relatively easy & mostly pain free.  I go to the hospital the day before to pre-register and have blood drawn for a type & cross-type.  After this many transfusions, I've developed several anti-bodies in my blood.  The blood bank has to match those anti-bodies carefully or I could have a serious reaction to the blood.  I'm O+, but usually get O- blood because the anti-bodies I have are more common in O- blood.


The next morning I report to hospital registration and someone from the Day Surgery unit comes to get me.  That's where I spend the day because getting two units is an all-day endeavor.  And lately I visit the Wound Care Clinic first for my ankle wound before going to Day Surgery.


The nurses get me settled, we go over the medications I've taken in the last week, and they take my vital signs.  Then the fun really begins because it's time to insert the IV needle.  Unfortunately the needle for a blood transfusion is larger because blood is thicker than IV fluid.  I won't sugar coat it.  This part hurts.  They give me a local anesthetic, but that can only do so much.  We've discovered in the midst of all this that I have a lot of valves in my veins and that just adds to the pain.


For the most part, once the needle is in & the IV is hooked up to it, the pain goes away.  Some locations will ache for a while after.  Some will ache the whole time.  All of them will bruise pretty badly a few days after the transfusion.  One of the hazards of being pale and having a low platelet count.


Once the IV is set, the nurse will go get the first unit of blood.  It will be given slowly over three hours.  For the first hour, the nurse will take my blood pressure & temperature every 15 minutes to insure they catch an adverse reaction right away.  After we're sure there are no reactions, I usually get breakfast and start watching television.


Instead of a hospital bed, they fix me up in a big recliner.  And I spend my day watching HGTV and Food Network.  They feed me lunch too.  The nurses are super sweet and they spoil me.  Also, heated blankets FTW!!!  Man do I love those because I'm usually cold these days.


After the first unit is done, they unhook me from the IV so they can change all the tubing.  I get a shot of Lasix to avoid any fluid collecting and I get up to move around a little.  Mostly I just go to the bathroom, rejoicing in being untethered.  Then the nurse comes back with the second unit of blood and we start the procedure again.  Except for the needle part.  That stays put to minimize my discomfort.


When the second unit is done, the nurse begins unhooking everything and removing the needle.  Low platelets sometimes makes this a tricky or messy task.  At this point, she usually watches a bit of television with me while she puts pressure on the IV site for about 10 minutes.  Then I have to hang around for another round of blood pressure and temperature checks.  Usually a half hour to an hour.


On a good day I'm out of there around four.  On a not so good day it is sometimes after six.  Those are really long days.  Made longer by the fact that I will wake up several times during the night with very painful leg cramps.  The best we can figure it's a combination of sitting in pretty much the same position all day and the sodium and potassium I lose because of the diuretic.  I'm prone to leg cramps anyway.


The next day I'm usually pretty tired.  It's amazing how worn out you can get from sitting all day long.  Usually I'm at work the next day.  I've missed so much work this year that I push myself to get back the very next day.  This does not make my hematologist happy, but I hate missing work.


This time I had the weekend to recover, but it sure made the weekend seem short.  Here's hoping this one lasts for a couple months at least.  I'm really tired of doing this whole transfusion song & dance.  Anyone care to cut in?

A New Road

Twenty-one years ago yesterday it was a hot and rainy Saturday.  I was sitting on Dr. H's exam table, kicking my feet out of habit and because my inner child is about twelve.  I was there because of an out of control wound on the outside of my right ankle.  What I couldn't figure out was why Dr. H had drawn so much blood.  Plus I was starving since he'd insisted I be fasting.  Not to mention I was so thirsty that I had cotton mouth.


Dr. H had looked briefly at my ankle, but he'd been far more interested in asking me a series of strange questions.  He'd even checked the whites of my eyes.  I figured after years of being our family doctor, insanity had finally claimed him.  I mean who cares what I'd been eating when I'd actually lost over 30 lbs.  That is what the doctor who said I had Type 2 Diabetes ten months ago told me to do.  Actually, that was the only thing he told me to do.


By the time Dr. H returned, I was starting to get a bit irritated.  In fact, I'd been irritated a lot lately and that was not like me at all.  I hadn't really felt like myself for a while now.  Sometimes it was like a stranger was living in my body.  One that was quite a bit meaner and angrier than I'd ever been in my life.


I shook my head to clear it and focused on what Dr. H was saying.  Did he just say something about high blood sugar?  "Doc, I told you that endocrinologist told me last August that I had non-insulin-dependent diabetes.  He told me to lose weight and I'd be fine.  I've lost more than 30 lbs. so that has to have helped, right?"


When he took my hand, I knew I wasn't going to like what he was about to say.  In one of those strange moments of clarity I sometimes get, I knew that his next words were going to drastically change my life.  I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be happy with this new road I'd have to take.  Mostly, I was starting to get scared.


"Honey, you don't have non-insulin-dependent diabetes," he said and the deep breath he took to steady himself doused the small flicker of hope that sprang to life at his words.  "You have insulin-dependent diabetes and probably have since last summer.  You lost all that weight because your body is starving to death.  No matter what you eat or how much you eat, your body can't use it because it needs insulin to turn it into fuel.  You don't make any insulin anymore."


Now I was just confused.  How could I have insulin-dependent diabetes?  You get that when you're a kid and I was about to turn 23.  So he had to be wrong and I said as much.  Dr. H was a great doctor, but no one can know everything.


He assured me that not only was it possible, but it was true.  Then he reached behind him and grabbed what I would soon learn was a blood glucose monitor.  He pricked my finger, applied blood to the strip, inserted it into the machine, and we watched it count down sixty seconds.  When the 386 popped up, I had no idea what it meant but by the look on his face, I knew it wasn't the winning number.


"When did you last eat?" he asked me in his serious doctor voice.  I had no idea why it was important but I knew better than to argue with him.  "I had some cereal before I went to bed last night," I answered then quickly added, "It was before midnight, I swear."  Dr. H actually smiled, but it didn't last long.


"Normally, I'd put you in the hospital until we can get a handle on your blood sugars, but I know you don't have insurance.  And I know from your family history that your grandmother's brother had a reaction to insulin the first time he took it so what I need you to do is to come back first thing Monday morning and plan to stay all day.  We'll teach you to give yourself shots and be able to watch you for reactions to the insulin."


He paused to make eye contact with me.  "Promise me you'll be back here Monday morning.  This is not just important.  This is life and death.  You understand that, right?"


"Doc, I don't think I can give myself shots every day.  You know how much I hate needles," I said with a shudder.  I'd been afraid of needles for as long as I could remember.  And with that thought, the tears began to fall.


Dr. H reached behind him and grabbed a tissue without ever losing eye contact.  "I know, honey, but if you don't take insulin shots you are going to die.  In the not too distant future you will slip into a coma and not wake up again.  It is that serious.  And we will do everything we can to make it as easy and painless as we can."


"Can Mommy come with me on Monday?" I asked, not the least bit ashamed that right then I needed my Mommy more than anything.  He nodded his head.  "Okay, I'll be here Monday morning.  I promise.  What do I do until then?  And what about my ankle?"


"I'm getting to that," he said and I notice he looked visibly relieved by my promise.  "Until Monday I want you to get lots of rest and don't do anything strenuous at all.  Drink lots and lots of water.  Be prepared because you'll be going to the bathroom often, but just keep drinking water.  Try to stay away from anything starchy or sweet.  Stick to meats and vegetables.  And if at any time you feel nauseous or your back starts to hurt like you've got a kidney infection, then go straight to the ER.  Don't stop to call me, just go.  And as soon as you get there tell them you have insulin-dependent diabetes but haven't had any insulin.  They will know what to do."


The tears kept coming and fear was starting really set in.  I'm pretty sure I looked like a deer caught in headlights.  "Don't worry, kiddo.  You're not going to do this alone.  You'll have lots of help along the way.  When you get home today, tell your mom to call me and I'll go over it with her."  He put a business card in my hand.  "Give her this card.  He's a great doctor and he'll be expecting your call.  He'll work you in Monday as soon as we're done here.  He'll get that ankle fixed up the best he can.  I'm not going to lie to you, the next few months are going to be hard and probably frightening for you, but we'll all work together to make sure you get through it."


"I'm going to put a new bandage on that ankle.  I'm going to do the best I can with it and we'll just leave it alone until you see Dr. Y.  Stop doing all that other stuff the dermatologist had you doing."


"Yes, sir," was about all I could manage.  I'd reached my limit for the day.  I couldn't take in one more thing and Dr. H knew it.  He helped me off the table and helped me gather my stuff.  It was still raining, but he walked me out to my car and wouldn't let me drive off until I'd put my seatbelt on.  I don't remember the drive home at all.  I just remember suddenly being in our driveway and noticing that it had stopped raining.


I've written about this day before.  Not in this much detail, but I thought today was a good day for the details.  I went into that first week of my new diabetes battle without a single clue of just how hard and frightening it would get.  There were a lot of numbers tossed around that summer.  My blood sugar that Monday was 412, but I'd made it through the weekend without needing to go to the ER.  My favorite of Dr. H's nurses was tasked with teaching me how to give myself insulin shots.  She told me most people learn on an orange, but she said we were going to go a different route.  She loaded a syringe with saline, rolled up her sleeve, and offered me her arm.  


I took a deep breath, shook my head, and gave myself my first shot.  When I didn't pass out, I handed her the syringe and told her to give me some insulin so we could do this thing for real.  When I'd done it again with insulin and still hadn't passed out, we both laughed so loud that Dr. H came to see what we were up to.  I think the whole office lined up to hug me.


We would have to stay there for a few hours.  Time I spent napping on the couch in Dr. H's office.  Every so often one of the nurses would come take my blood pressure and temperature, but there was no sign of a reaction.  Eventually, the appropriate prescriptions were written and my Mommy would tuck them into my ever-growing bag of supplies and instructions.  Dr. H took us to lunch and then it was time to pick up the new prescriptions.


Later that day, I'd find out that Dr. Y was a plastic and reconstructive surgeon.  A fact that would make me panic so much that I actually hyperventilated in his waiting room.  Dr. Y was definitely a straight-shooter and he didn't mince words.  He told me the last thing in the world he wanted to do was surgery, but if it would save my life he wouldn't hesitate to insist that it was necessary if the time ever came.  He told me that the worst case scenario was that I'd lose my right leg from the knee down.  He made sure I understood that not only did we have to do exactly what he said about the wound, but I had to work really hard to get my blood sugars much lower so my body could do its job.


Dr. H started me on insulin and a pill for my underactive thyroid.  I'd taken the same pill from the age of 11 to 16, but this time when I'd start taking it I wouldn't stop.  Not that we knew that at the time.  By the end of the summer, my wound was healing nicely and surgery wasn't going to be necessary.  My blood sugars weren't great but they were much better and we were working on making them better.  I still didn't have insurance so my parents were paying for the medicine I couldn't afford which was pretty much all of it.  And I began to make the rounds to all the specialists you're supposed to see when you have diabetes.


We found a new endocrinologist and I went to a few appointments with him, but stopped after the third or fourth visit.  He was completely convinced that I'd be lucky to live another ten years and that I'd never live to see 40.  So I went back to Dr. H who told me the guy was nuts and I'd live just as long as anyone else, I'd just have to take extra-special care of myself.  Since I'll be 44 in about 9 days, I think Dr. H knew what he was talking about.


I'd seen optometrists since I was seven and got my first pair of glasses, but now I needed to see an ophthalmologist.  The one we found was about as cheerful as the endocrinologist.  He was sure I'd be blind by the time I was 30.  I didn't bother to make a second appointment.


So here I am 21 years later.  Still alive, obviously.  Still wearing glasses, but not blind.  I've just had over a year of some of the best blood sugar levels I've ever had.  I've had a lot of different doctors during those years.  Some as positive and supportive as Dr. H, but some haven't been.  I try to keep a hold of the good ones and just leave those negative ones behind as I move forward.  


2012 has brought more than its fair share of medical problems.  Liver and spleen issues.  A bone marrow biopsy and six blood transfusions.  An endoscopy, colonoscopy, and a pill endoscopy gave my gastro film of my digestive tract from entrance to exit.  Literally.  Throw in a couple of CT scans and you have my year so far.  Oh and let's not forget the wound on the same damn ankle from 21 years ago.  I'm pretty sure they'll be naming a wing of Baylor Carrollton Hospital after me and my insurance company.


I take a lot more pills now than I did 21 years ago.  I use two completely different insulins than I did and instead of syringes I use pens.  I have a lot fewer highs, but also more lows.  I know my body much better than I did.  I can manage to eat ice cream with barely a spike in my blood sugar, but I can still only have orange juice when I'm low because even just a few swallows will shoot my blood sugar up 30 or 40 points.


When I was diagnosed, the only diabetic I knew was my grandmother's older brother.  Now I know probably hundreds of them.  Including my Mommy and my stepmom who both have Type 2 diabetes.  I have diabetic friends and family all across the world.  One day I hope to meet some of them face to face, but until then the internet keeps us closer than I ever thought possible.


It's funny.  Years ago if you'd ask me about places I'd like to see in this world I'd have listed London, Paris, Dublin, Venice, Madrid, Rome, & Tokyo.  Now that list is a bit different.  Those places are still on it, but just a bit further down because places like Los Angeles, New York, Oregon City, Las Vegas, Indianapolis, & Kansas City have taken over the top of the list.  Unless I can convince my loved ones in those cities that Texas is a great place for a meet up.  Failing that, there just might be some traveling in my future.  Maybe this road isn't so bad after all.

Update On Me

I saw the hematologist yesterday.  My hemoglobin levels aren't great, but seem to be holding pretty steady for me.  We've decided to not mess with them.  Two weeks ago it was 9.6 & yesterday it was 9.2.  So no iron or blood.  But I did have a sore on my ankle that was hurting pretty badly so he sent me to a wound care clinic.


I'll admit it had me worried.  Same dang spot where I had the ulcers 20 years ago.  And with a lot less muscle mass because of that, I knew things could go bad pretty quickly.


The plan was that I would call this morning to the wound care clinic at the hospital where I've been having my transfusions.  With the hope of getting in tomorrow.  My ankle had other plans.  It kept me up most of the night with severe pain.  This morning I was so tired that I know I sounded drunk when I called my boss.  Sweet, sweet man just took it all in stride.


So I laid back down & called the clinic a couple hours later when they opened.  They could see me at 2pm so I laid back down again.  Just like the wonderful people in day surgery, the wound care clinic staff took VERY good care of me.  Seriously, I think they put something in the water at this hospital because EVERYONE in this place is so nice & happy.


I got registered, filled out my 7 pages of paperwork, & they put me in a treatment room.  My nurse, Sona, talked to me about what was going to happen & took pics of not just my wound, but of me.  She said that way everyone on the staff will know me by sight.  I hate having my picture taken, but I thought that was pretty cool.  I also heard her in the hallway later giving lessons on how to say my name.  :D


The doc came in & I immediately liked him.  He was funny, sweet, & had a very soft touch.  Once he cleaned it up, he said it wasn't as bad as it looked. No visible sign of infection but just in case, he wanted me to keep taking the antibiotics that the hematologist gave me. He decided that the intermittent swelling from my liver was keeping it from healing.  So I have to wear a compression sock from my knee to my toes.  Not very fashionable, but I'll live. 


He also discovered that the extreme pain was caused by a couple of exposed nerves in the wound. Even with it numbed, I nearly came off the table twice while he was cleaning the wound.  So he gave me pain meds. Nothing major, just codeine with the promise that I will tell him if that doesn't work well enough to let me rest so he can give me something stronger. 


I'll go once a week until it's healed.  With the option of coming in more days a week if it doesn't seem to be healing fast enough.


So that's about it.  I'm limping, but I'll live.  :)

Diabetes Advocates Offer Assistance in Accurate Reporting in the Media

”We want to help get it right,” states diabetes advocacy group

Tuesday, March 27, 2012 (BERKELEY, CA) – Did you know there are more than five different types of diabetes? If your knowledge of diabetes is defined by what you hear and see on the news or in movies then you probably don't.  Diabetes Advocates, a nonprofit program made up of influential members of the diabetes community has launched a media outreach campaign, designed to assist the media on all things diabetes.    

Kelly Kunik, a member of Diabetes Advocates, stated: “Today is Diabetes Alert Day in the US and we are trying to stress to all media sources that more due diligence is required on everyone’s part when reporting on diabetes. We want to help all sources ‘get it right’ but also stress the importance of explaining the differences among ‘all things’ diabetes.” 

Despite the fact that media outlets are reporting on diabetes more than ever, the condition is still widely misrepresented and portrayed as only one disease, when in actuality, diabetes is made up of several different diseases (type 1, type 1.5 LADA, and type 2 being the most predominantly confused). By emailing the organization at media@diabetesadvocates.org, reporters can quickly fact check, get suggestions and have a real-time conversation with the  Diabetes Advocates to ensure the accuracy of their articles. The Diabetes Advocates can also serve as sources for reporters. 

With representation from the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA) and Actor’s Equity (AEA) within the organization, the Diabetes Advocates can also serve as information sources to entertainment outlets. Entertainment outlets looking for information on diabetes can email the group as well.

“Our goal is to stop being reactive and start being proactive,” said Kunik. “When a story with incorrect information is published, the damage is done. By making ourselves available to media and entertainment outlets, we are seeking to be part of a solution.”

ABOUT DIABETES ADVOCATES

Diabetes Advocates is a not-for-profit program run by the Diabetes Hands Foundation. The program combines the resources of its members to do activities to better educate the public about all aspects concerning diabetes. For more details, visit: www.diabetesadvocates.org. 

Maybe I'm More Than Broken

I stopped at a place called My Fit Foods after several co-workers raved about their food.  They do freshly prepared, packaged meals.  Kind of like frozen entrees with out the frozen part.  They are a bit expensive, but I was curious.  And I know I need to eat better.


What I had forgotten was the near panic I have to fight when I buy a packaged meal.  I have this fear that it won't be enough food.  That I'll still be hungry when I'm done or that I'll need more protein or something.  Then I start thinking that if I do, there is something wrong with me because normal people don't need more.  Even worse is how I will sometimes overeat out of that fear.  Something I've never shared with anyone.  Ever.
Why am I sharing now?  Damned if I know, but I felt like I should.  So there it is.




BTW, the My Fit Foods meal was very tasty, but probably too pricey for me to buy on a regular basis.  Which is sad because it was VERY healthy.  I have health insurance that helps pay for the meds that I need to be healthy, but what do you do when eating healthy is so much more expensive than the alternative that you can't afford it?


But I guess maybe that's a topic for another post.

PostSecret 12/25/2011

This one really spoke to me......

And to this Random Donor, Merry Christmas from someone who needed it about 2 weeks ago!

PostSecret 12/18/2011

This one really jumped out at me. :)



PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard.

Diabetes Art Day 2011

This post is late, even though I submitted my art yesterday. I wanted to post last night, but by the time I finished my submission it was after 11pm and I knew I had a long day ahead of me. We had an event today & it was a busy day. In fact, I haven't been home very long, but there was no way I was going to bed without posting about Diabetes Art Day 2011.

Diabetes Art Day is the brain child of an amazing woman named Lee Ann Thill. This fabulous project began last year. I missed out last year because I hadn't yet found all the wonderful people in the DOC (Diabetes Online Community) yet. This year I was determined to participate.

I saved as many different diabetes related supplies that I could. Thinking that I would use them in my artwork. As it turns out, I fell back on what has always inspired me and moved me the most, words. Whether they are the words read in a book or poem, or the words sung in a song, or even the words spoken in a movie or play. They have all been important to me my whole life. But how could I make them a visual art form?

I briefly thought of writing a poem, but quickly thrust that aside when the words in my head refused to unjumble themselves into coherent thoughts. I also wanted to do something with colour and impact. Black words on a white background seemed too stark. Too well, black and white. Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING about diabetes is black and white. Hell it's not even shades of gray.

There are more colours than a rainbow can hold representing diabetes. There is the red in the blood I use to check my blood glucose multiple times a day. The deeper shade of red that is my blood drawn every few months for the endless lab work needed. The purple of my blood glucose meter. The two-tone blue test strips. The gray and blue pens that hold the two different kinds of insulin that I inject daily. The lighter blue of the World Diabetes Day logo sponsored by the International Diabetes Foundation that reminds me that I'm not alone and diabetes is a worldwide epidemic. The lavender paper I peel off of the sterile needles I attach to my insulin pens. The orange caps on the syringes I used to use. The black bottle my test strips come in. The multi-hued pills, glucotabs, and juices that I use to regulate my blood glucose and the other ailments that ran in through the door that diabetes left open.

And then there are the seemingly non-diabetes related colours that are essential in my own diabetes management. The rose of my phone that keeps me in contact with my doctors and allows me to vent/share on Facebook or Twitter. The pink of my Sony eReader and my Sansa Fuze that help keep me sane on days when diabetes is determined to do otherwise. The green bag of the sugar-free Wint-O-Green Lifesavers that make me smile.

These and many more are the colours of my diabetes management. And somehow my art needed to express that. But how? So I opened my favorite "painting" program and started adding colours. I have to tell you, it was a mess. Too chaotic even though diabetes can definitely be that. Then I thought what is the good of digital art if you can't manipulate it and even coax it into what you want it to be. So I took a thin strip out of the middle of the colour chaos I had created and stretched it. Suddenly the chaos became something else. Something almost calm and soothing.

Then I began to list the words associated with diabetes for me. The good and the bad. I began to see what resembled a circle emerging and that made sense to me. I chose the colours because purple is my favorite colour and while some of these things are not my favorites, they are important and they are a part of me.

After placing the newly made diabetes word cloud on the background I'd made I realized there were many shades of purple in that as well. I think that makes it even more about me. That even by accident I've come full circle back to something that I love. But there are also many more colours because no one or nothing can be about only one thing. So while diabetes takes up a large part of my life, it isn't all that I'm about. Because just like diabetes, I have more colours than any rainbow can hold.

But purple is still my favorite. :P


Special thanks to Lee Ann Thill for her imagination, cleverness, and willingness to share. Without her there would be no Diabetes Art Day. Please take a moment to look at the other art posted. Thanks!

Necrobiosis Lipoidica Diabeticorum

I'm going about my day when I feel that telltale sting on my lower leg and I can't stop the string of cuss words that leave my mouth. It doesn't really hurt, but I know that in moments the pain will increase exponentially. I look down and see what amounts to little more than a scratch. I watch as a clear liquid begins to seep from the wound then count to ten as the pain begins to ramp up and I try to remember how to breathe.

My necrobiosis lipoidica diabeticorum lesions look like burns and ironically when they are injured they burn like they are literally on fire. A fire that will be repeated at random times during the next week or two that it takes for the injury to heal. The length of time depends on whether or not the living tissue beneath the lesion was injured too. The deeper the wound the longer the healing time. Also, the more frequent the shooting pains through the wound.

Although my loved ones and co-workers are used to seeing the lesions, when I've injured one, they can't help but ask if I'm okay. I can't say that I blame them. The wounds look nothing less than angry. Sometimes they will puff up or swell and often they will actually look like they are infected. Even though they aren't.

For years, I had kept my legs hidden at all costs even at home. No shorts or skirts. I wouldn't even leave my bedroom in my nightgown. I was just positive that everyone would stare at my legs. That this visual evidence of my diabetes made me even more of a freak. Not all of that was vanity or fear. I'm quite pale and can sunburn in a matter of minutes. The lesions can get burned in about half that time.

Some of it is vanity though. These hideously ugly lesions have turned my once porcelain skin to an orange, red, & purple mottled mess. No lesions have moved to my feet, but the colouring has. A possible foreshadowing of what is to come. One that leaves me fearful and worried when I'm completely honest with myself.

Despite their almost disgusting appearance, I have been very lucky. Most patients have developed pits and bumps because of their lesions. For the most part, my legs are even and smooth. Only their colour and cellular make-up has been irrevocably changed by this disease. And of course my already nearly non-existent self-esteem has taken a hard knock, but not a lasting one.

I don’t remember what exactly made me change my mind about covering up my legs. But I do remember that my loved ones made an effort not to bring up the change. In fact, I remember walking into the kitchen in shorts one Saturday, and hearing my Pops’ comment cut short by my Mommy’s elbow in his side. Poor man. He did tell me later than day (when Mommy was out of earshot) that I had nice legs and I shouldn’t hide them all the time. I took that comment to heart and rarely hide them now. And on good days, I agree with him. They are nice legs. There are a lot of women I know that wish they had 24 inch thighs. Now if the rest of me just matched. :D

For those of you who aren’t familiar with necrobiosis lipoidica diabeticorum, here is an overview of it. http://emedicine.medscape.com/article/1103467-overview

And here are a few pictures of my legs and feet.

My Left Foot

My Right Foot

My Left Leg

My Right Leg

My Right Leg

That divot is not from the NLD. I had a benign tumor removed from a blood vessel there in February 2006.

My Right Ankle

Both of these are the outside of my Right Ankle. This is where the pressure ulcer was when I was diagnosed in June of 1991. I wrote about it here. The ankle is a bit misshapen because of the muscle tissue I lost, but to me it's beautiful because I nearly lost not just my ankle but my whole foot.

Still Miss You

I miss you. I keep waiting for the sharp, breath-stealing need to see you to fade, but it feels just as strong today as it did the day you left this Earth. I still get halfway through your number before I remember you aren't there to answer it. The thought of you still makes me cry and smile at the same time.

You weren't perfect and sometimes loving you was hard. But I'd sell my soul for just one minute of that hard time. You taught us that family isn't always who you're related to. That it can be those people you love enough to gather around you & hold close. You taught us to love deep and long.

You never tired of hearing every single detail of my day, even if it meant I'd talk for hours. You always tried to teach me how to be a lady and never got mad when I just couldn't manage it. You never hesitated to say "I love you" or to hug us even when moving your arms was agony for you.

You taught me to be quietly strong like steel cloaked in silk, but that it was okay to be loud when it was needed. And sometimes when it wasn't. You told me to be me no matter what anyone thought, including you. You encouraged me to use my imagination and listened patiently as I made up story after story instead of you reading to me at bedtime.

Sometimes you were harsh with Mommy and that bothered me, but I just kept reminding her and myself that it was because you loved her so very much. As the strokes became more frequent, your love for her became evident as you clung to her. Taking care of you those last seven months nearly killed both of us, but neither of us would trade one single moment. I can't speak for Mommy, but I know that I would do it all over again.

I've posted these poems before, but nothing has changed. You're still gone and I still miss you. Some people say that I should just get over it and move on. After all, it has been seventeen years. Just typing that makes my heart ache. I'm pretty sure I'm going to miss you every single day until I see you again. God willing, that won't be very soon. I love you, Grammy. Keep saving that seat next to you for me and I'll be there when I'm done down here.

**********************************

seventeen minutes

a sound draws my attention
as i move towards it
i realize its a laugh
then i recognize it
and my heartbeat quickens
i turn the corner
to find her sitting
in her favorite chair
“grammy!” i cry
and throw myself
into her loving arms
“i’ve been waiting for you, baby”
she says with that smile i miss
i feel my chest tighten
a sound behind me
makes me turn
when i look back
she is gone again
then i wake up
and for just a moment
she is still alive
if i hurry to the phone
she’ll answer when i call
dazed, i walk into the kitchen
my sister asks what’s wrong
then holds me as i cry
listening as i tell her
my dream turned nightmare
and i wonder
will it ever stop hurting
will i ever stop missing her
is she watching me now
is she proud
does she know
that i loved her so much
my heart is still breaking
even though she’s been gone
for six years
one month
sixteen days
eleven hours
and seventeen minutes

©CLP

**********************************

her

i saw a woman the other day
with her hair colour
you know the one that
miss clairol makes
and i had this urge to
colour my hair that shade
so she would be with me
each and every day
but my eyes are all wrong
hers were brown
and mine are gray
i guess the hair colour
doesn’t really matter
besides a million things
every day
make me think of her
the smell of coffee brewing
the sound of christmas carols
the taste of peanut butter
the feel of her blue blanket
the last thing she ever touched
before she died
except for me
i just wish she had known me
those last months
i waited every day
for some sort of spark
or that light in her eyes
she always had for me
or the way she had
of calling me ‘baby’
that never bothered me
even though i hadn’t been one
for far too many years
but up until her last moment
i was a stranger
i would cry in the kitchen
so she couldn’t see
and worry
i only smiled in front of her
as i put her medicines
through her feeding tube
changed her sheets
bathed her tired body
rubbed lotion on her fragile skin
and brushed her gray hair
that was once that colour
you know the one that
miss clairol makes

©CLP

Rememberance

Ten years ago, before I had a blog, I had a simple webpage that I made from scratch (because I'd just taken an HTML class). I posted my poetry. I had no followers or regular readers. So basically a lot like this blog. :P

After September 11, 2001, I was glad to have a place to freely express my grief & horror. Today, I am grateful to have this blog to do so again. Since last night's announcement, I've had a hard knot in my stomach. Like a rock weighing my whole body down. I'd thought it was dread or fear of the coming repercussions. While I am feeling both of those things, I think it was mostly an inability to express how I was feeling. And not just because I couldn't find the right words, but also for fear of being verbally attacked for my point of view.

Anyone that knows me can tell you that I'm probably the least political person they know. I just cannot wrap my head around the amount of name-calling, mud-slinging, & hate-mongering that goes on. Despite a high IQ, it's a concept that I just cannot grasp.

Since I got home from work, I've been reading a few posts on Facebook & a few of my favorite blogs. I now know that what I really want to do is remember & honor the people we lost in 9/11. I cannot bring myself to celebrate the death of anyone, even a madman. It's just not in my nature.

So I posted this quote from a well-spoken man that I greatly admire as my Facebook status: "I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that" — Martin Luther King Jr

Then I found my spirits lifted by two of my fellow members of the DOC (Diabetes Online Community). Kelly over at Diabetesaliciousness wrote this Today and made me realize what I really wanted & needed to do today. And Simon from the 70's made me even more proud to be an American with his Lest We Forget post. Thanks to both wonderful authors for always writing from their hearts.

Now for my less eloquent words. Mere days after 9/11, I wrote a poem about how I felt. A year later, I wrote another one. I'm posting both of them here. In a way, they both still ring very much true for me today.



lest we forget

the sound of freedom
as it rings
or the feel of tears
as they fall
or the demand for justice
as it is cried out

we will forever
keep a prayer
in our grieving hearts
for those fallen
sacrificed for our great land
civilian and soldier
young and old
men and women
all without blame
innocents taken
against our country's will
by a monster
made of cowardice
and hatred
evil itself
without conscience
or morals
but destined for defeat

our hearts
will rise
our spirits
will shine
our flags
will be flown
our courage
will be great
and our fight
will be unending

©CLP
09/14/2001




one more year

nothing much has changed
one more year of tears
one more year of fears
that’s a whole lot of nothing

innocents turned heroes
heroes turned victims
free people became prisoners

prisoners of a war we can’t see
prisoners of a war we didn’t start
but is it a war we can win?

nothing much has changed
one more year of terror
one more year of fighting
that’s a whole lot of nothing

hope turned into grief
mourning turned into resolution
a divided world tried to become whole

people around the world
stood beside us in word and spirit
maybe it will last

nothing much has changed
one more year is past
one more year since the last
and that’s a lot more than nothing

©CLP
09/09/2002