Today is my 28th birthday. Which each passing birthday, that same old question gets thrown around: "Do you feel any different?" The answer is usually no, unless it is a particularly special year that brings along much anticipated privileges such as driving, voting, drinking, etc. Turning 28 doesn't bring along any special perks, but I do feel different today.
Today, I am more in control and feel more like myself than I ever have. I woke up today and gave myself a minute to appreciate that. For years and years I harbored the burden of uncontrolled diabetes all by myself, unwilling to share or open up to anyone, ashamed of the person I was. It was easier to ignore and deny it than to face it or to force the heaviness of it onto people I loved. I maintained a happy and controlled facade, but was spiraling out of control on the inside. As I blew out my candles on each birthday, I secretly wished that the coming year would be different. That I would find the strength to get a grip on something, anything, diabetes-related. But each year, I let myself down.
Except this year. A new doctor reached out to me 6 months ago. She helped me find help and she helped me help myself. It has been a long, bumpy road and I'm still walking it. But I don't walk it alone anymore and I know I won't ever have to go back to being the girl that uses bright birthday candles for such dark wishes.
Today, I will blow out my candles and send off strength to others who are still fighting my old fight. I will do a blood sugar reading, I will carb count, and I will bolus. I will enjoy every bite of that piece of cake, as it is no longer sprinkled with guilt. I am a born-again diabetic :) And I'm planning an even bigger celebration on May 5th, the 19th anniversary of my diagnosis.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Patiently Doctoring
Today is day 17 of the Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge and the prompt is: Learned the hard way.
I have been reading these HAWMC posts this past week and finally decided to jump on the bandwagon. Better late than never, right? This prompt is loaded, and I could take off running in many different directions. But it didn't take long for me land on the topic I most wanted to settle on.
I knew for a long time that I wanted to pursue a career in medicine, as most physicians do. Perhaps it was my early exposure to medicine, being diagnosed with T1 in elementary school. Perhaps I was always destined to be in the field, regardless of my own personal health roller-coaster. A lot of doctors will tell you that earning those two little letters behind their name is no easy task, and they're right. Sacrifices are made on a daily basis for the benefit of the patient. Long hours in the library, unhealthy habits, neglected family members, a mountain of debt. I batted my way through those things, but they do not comprise "the hard way."
The hard way of learning how to be a doctor was to be the patient. It still is, as I'm learning every day. I ended up choosing the specialty of Pediatric Endocrinology because I know, beyond the books and the lectures, what it means to be diabetic. I learned by hospitalizations (not just rotating through the ward), injections (not just administering them to others), and despair (as the nonadherent patient, not the frustrated physician).
And in the future, when I have the most difficult, hard-to-reach diabetic patients out there, I might not be equipped with all of the solutions or a cure. But I will be armed with one phrase that I believe is immensely poignant and has the power to reach people:
"I understand exactly what you're going through."
I may have learned to be a physician the hard way, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I have been reading these HAWMC posts this past week and finally decided to jump on the bandwagon. Better late than never, right? This prompt is loaded, and I could take off running in many different directions. But it didn't take long for me land on the topic I most wanted to settle on.
I knew for a long time that I wanted to pursue a career in medicine, as most physicians do. Perhaps it was my early exposure to medicine, being diagnosed with T1 in elementary school. Perhaps I was always destined to be in the field, regardless of my own personal health roller-coaster. A lot of doctors will tell you that earning those two little letters behind their name is no easy task, and they're right. Sacrifices are made on a daily basis for the benefit of the patient. Long hours in the library, unhealthy habits, neglected family members, a mountain of debt. I batted my way through those things, but they do not comprise "the hard way."
The hard way of learning how to be a doctor was to be the patient. It still is, as I'm learning every day. I ended up choosing the specialty of Pediatric Endocrinology because I know, beyond the books and the lectures, what it means to be diabetic. I learned by hospitalizations (not just rotating through the ward), injections (not just administering them to others), and despair (as the nonadherent patient, not the frustrated physician).
And in the future, when I have the most difficult, hard-to-reach diabetic patients out there, I might not be equipped with all of the solutions or a cure. But I will be armed with one phrase that I believe is immensely poignant and has the power to reach people:
"I understand exactly what you're going through."
I may have learned to be a physician the hard way, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Not Diabetic Enough
For the past week I have been mildly obsessed with Twitter and the Diabetic Online Community (DOC). I did not know it even existed before then, and I completely jumped into the deep-end, cannon-ball style. I check the site throughout the day, following people and reading their blogs. Clicking their links that take me on a meandering course through the internet. I cannot stop and have little desire to do much else.
Perhaps I am making up for lost time...all of those years that I completely ignored my diabetes. I couldn't even call it MY diabetes because I took zero ownership of it. Complete submerged in this denial, I floated through years of my life blissfully unaware of what it was really like to live with the condition. I took my insulin, sure, but guessed my way through boluses and could go over a month (!) without ever checking a blood sugar. I am embarrassed to even type that, but I refuse to hide anymore.
Though the whole time I thought ignorance was bliss, I was simply fooling myself. I harbored a deep-seeded guilt that reared it's ugly head before Endo appointments that I desperately tried to cancel and re-schedule. And floating my way through the years is a bad description; I mainly trudged my way, feeling tried and grumpy and bogged down by sky-high sugars.
So over the past 7 months I've been slowly walking from those dark days into the light. And many days it felt blinding, overpowering, intimidating and I was tempted to hide again under the sweet, soft, dark comforter that is denial. But with each blood sugar I tested and each number I forced myself to face, I changed a little part of me. I learned that they're just numbers, and they can be corrected. Each day I got a little bit stronger and a little bit more determined to beat this thing into submission.
I always hid from my diabetes because I thought it was freeing me from the burden of it all, but the truth is that by owning it, I finally became free. No more overwhelming, ugly, shameful guilt. No more hiding who I really am.
So in my silent stalking of all of these online people with diabetes/type 1 diabetics, or whatever they choose to be called, I feel inadequate. For the first time in my life, I do not feel inadequate BECAUSE I am diabetic, but because I do not feel diabetic ENOUGH. These people seem to have such amazing control over their numbers, such openness with their issues the times that they do not, and such confidence in how they conquer the everyday, monotonous tasks. They know about CGM's, and fancy pump settings, and strategies to cover the craziness that ensues after eating pizza. They throw around puns and funny t-shirt designs. They are cool, knowledgeable people with diabetes. I feel so behind and so desperate to be a real part of it all, like a little sister stepping on the heels of her old sibling, trying to keep up and imitate all that she does.
Despite being diabetic for 19 years, the shedding of my denial phase has made me feel like I've gone through a diagnosis all over again. I'm not sure I even really went through it the first time around, the way many do when they are diagnosed at an older age. I also feel like an extreme newbie because I have only been on the pump for 1 week. The entire process is foreign and a constant adjustment.
So I'll keep looking to these sweet strangers for input, experience, and opinion and weigh it against my own as I build more of it. What a fantastic resource - and despite feeling so "little sister" about it all, I sure am grateful to be able to look up to all of these people.
Perhaps I am making up for lost time...all of those years that I completely ignored my diabetes. I couldn't even call it MY diabetes because I took zero ownership of it. Complete submerged in this denial, I floated through years of my life blissfully unaware of what it was really like to live with the condition. I took my insulin, sure, but guessed my way through boluses and could go over a month (!) without ever checking a blood sugar. I am embarrassed to even type that, but I refuse to hide anymore.
Though the whole time I thought ignorance was bliss, I was simply fooling myself. I harbored a deep-seeded guilt that reared it's ugly head before Endo appointments that I desperately tried to cancel and re-schedule. And floating my way through the years is a bad description; I mainly trudged my way, feeling tried and grumpy and bogged down by sky-high sugars.
So over the past 7 months I've been slowly walking from those dark days into the light. And many days it felt blinding, overpowering, intimidating and I was tempted to hide again under the sweet, soft, dark comforter that is denial. But with each blood sugar I tested and each number I forced myself to face, I changed a little part of me. I learned that they're just numbers, and they can be corrected. Each day I got a little bit stronger and a little bit more determined to beat this thing into submission.
I always hid from my diabetes because I thought it was freeing me from the burden of it all, but the truth is that by owning it, I finally became free. No more overwhelming, ugly, shameful guilt. No more hiding who I really am.
So in my silent stalking of all of these online people with diabetes/type 1 diabetics, or whatever they choose to be called, I feel inadequate. For the first time in my life, I do not feel inadequate BECAUSE I am diabetic, but because I do not feel diabetic ENOUGH. These people seem to have such amazing control over their numbers, such openness with their issues the times that they do not, and such confidence in how they conquer the everyday, monotonous tasks. They know about CGM's, and fancy pump settings, and strategies to cover the craziness that ensues after eating pizza. They throw around puns and funny t-shirt designs. They are cool, knowledgeable people with diabetes. I feel so behind and so desperate to be a real part of it all, like a little sister stepping on the heels of her old sibling, trying to keep up and imitate all that she does.
Despite being diabetic for 19 years, the shedding of my denial phase has made me feel like I've gone through a diagnosis all over again. I'm not sure I even really went through it the first time around, the way many do when they are diagnosed at an older age. I also feel like an extreme newbie because I have only been on the pump for 1 week. The entire process is foreign and a constant adjustment.
So I'll keep looking to these sweet strangers for input, experience, and opinion and weigh it against my own as I build more of it. What a fantastic resource - and despite feeling so "little sister" about it all, I sure am grateful to be able to look up to all of these people.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Presence of the Pump
It's been a while since I've written and SO MUCH has transpired. My pump delivery was held up because Animas experienced a glitch with some pumps on leap year day (2/29/12) that messed up some pumpers' date/time. This delay stretched on and on, but I finally got my very own pump on 4/03/12! Still pondering a good pet-name for my pump!
I attended my first pump class the very next day and spent the following week pumping saline. I had a few highs and lows during that time (emotional, not BG), mostly grappling with getting used to something "attached" to me 24/7. After 19 years of shots, I am happy to see them go but am taking a while getting used to the presence of the pump. I find myself waking up every hour or so, slightly panicked that I broke it in my sleep.
My second challenge came on 4/11/12, when I replaced the saline with insulin. I felt so excited and confident in the second pump class, and then as soon as the crowd cleared and my husband left me to go back to work, I suddenly felt so alone, so tiny, and so enveloped in my anxiety. But I talked to myself and reminded myself that beginnings are scary, but I'll get used to it with time. How many new beginnings have I gone through these past 19 years concerning my diabetes? So many. I got through them all, and this will be no exception. And after my pep talk, I started feeling pure confidence. I also felt so much pride that I thought I might burst unless I shared that I was now a pumper! I went back to work, proudly told several close colleagues, and felt like a certified super woman.
I can do this - and I'll do it well!
I attended my first pump class the very next day and spent the following week pumping saline. I had a few highs and lows during that time (emotional, not BG), mostly grappling with getting used to something "attached" to me 24/7. After 19 years of shots, I am happy to see them go but am taking a while getting used to the presence of the pump. I find myself waking up every hour or so, slightly panicked that I broke it in my sleep.
My second challenge came on 4/11/12, when I replaced the saline with insulin. I felt so excited and confident in the second pump class, and then as soon as the crowd cleared and my husband left me to go back to work, I suddenly felt so alone, so tiny, and so enveloped in my anxiety. But I talked to myself and reminded myself that beginnings are scary, but I'll get used to it with time. How many new beginnings have I gone through these past 19 years concerning my diabetes? So many. I got through them all, and this will be no exception. And after my pep talk, I started feeling pure confidence. I also felt so much pride that I thought I might burst unless I shared that I was now a pumper! I went back to work, proudly told several close colleagues, and felt like a certified super woman.
I can do this - and I'll do it well!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Opening Up and Spilling Out
Since taking on this personal challenge to dissect my own diabetes history and get to the bottom of my long term denial, I have not been discussing any of it with my parents. This was partly due to the encouragement of my therapist, as she explained that this is about me and not my parents. That I need to work on my own feelings and not be so concerned about hurting their feelings or pleasing them. After the first session or two my mother tried to get me to open up to her over the phone and I shut the idea down. She tried to push further and I held my ground with conviction and confidence that was new to me. And since that time, they have kept their distance in regard to this issue. I think they recognized how desperately I needed this change and growth and were willing to respect my attempt to save myself.
I'm sure this was amazing hard for them, as I am an only child with an incredibly close relationship with both of my parents. I cannot recall a time in my life - especially one as difficult as this - that I have not shared with them.
So last night my mother lightly asked how I was doing. I could have said "fine" and moved on, but I felt I was at a good point in this journey and wanted to share. She put me on speakerphone so my father could listen, and I told them about how I had a follow-up with my doctor and my A1C went from 10.4% to 8.6%. That required me confessing that my A1C's were higher this past year than I had led them to believe. I told them that I applied for the pump and approved, so far. And how I was excited about it.
I talked about how some of my issues with food are likely related to my previous high blood sugars, and that some of my other issues with food may be related to the fact that I had to be so restricted at such a young age. Then that led to talk of how my diabetes care used to go.
Through all of these therapy sessions, I found myself trying to remember back to the time when I was in good control. I have absolutely no recollection of the time when my parents were REALLY involved in my care. I just remember getting diagnosed (when we were in Mexico...on 5/5/93 according to my dad) and learning shortly after that how to inject myself by practicing on an orange on the floor of my parent's bathroom. And crying for hours about it until finally just doing it and finding out out it wasn't that bad. Then the next memory I have is our move from Mexico to Florida about 2 months later. My father performing a glucose reading on me at 2am while I was asleep in our temporary apartment while we were looking for more permanent housing. I was 9. I don't remember anything else until roughly 4 years later, when my control started to wane. When I started menstruation. I remember my Endocrinologist explaining that glucose becomes harder to control with the storm of emotions brought on by periods.
And then I remember the struggles, fights, yelling, lying, sneaking, and crying that followed for years on end. The empty promises I made to work harder, the desperation in my parents' faces when they listened to my lies and looked at my sky-high A1C's and believe me when I told them that I was doing everything as I was told, and that the system was failing me. That I wasn't failing myself. But it was a little of both, I see now. I could have done way more, this is true. But the system DID fail me. When asked, my parents responded that psychology services were never suggested to them. My doctor knew I was lying to him, as I found out when I confessed everything in one of the first appointments I went to alone. That was not until I was 17. Why did he not ask my mother to step out of the room, even if for 5 minutes, from the beginning of those appointments to talk to me one on one? Kids are willing to be honest, just not with everyone.
Through my discussion with my parents, I learned that they had kept meticulous records of my readings for years. I don't doubt this, I just don't remember it at all. As I grew older and more independent, my parents allowed the responsibility to shift to me more and more (as was suggested).
At one point during this conversation, my mother got incredibly defensive. She was audibly upset and teary, and went on the usual speech about how she loves me more than anything and would do anything she thought was right for me, and I'll only understand that when I'm a mother myself, etc etc. She went on about how painful it is for her to go through this, and if she could go back in time to change things, she would. I put a stop to this immediately. I told her that this conversation is necessary because it is why I'm driving to Boca for an hour each way, every week, paying out of pocket to get to the bottom of where things went wrong. I told her that this is about me, not her, and that in order for me to heal I cannot get distracted by feeling the need to assuage HER feelings. I also told her that many diabetic children lie to their parents in order to protect them from difficult feelings and stress, and that I was done with that. My father also helped talk my mother down, being the more level-headed/rational one. It worked, and our words got through to her, and the conversation continued very calmly and productively.
Overall, I am very happy that this all transpired. It was difficult and exhausting, but ultimately cathartic. I feel like the last bit of the diabetes denial slate has been wiped clean.
I'm sure this was amazing hard for them, as I am an only child with an incredibly close relationship with both of my parents. I cannot recall a time in my life - especially one as difficult as this - that I have not shared with them.
So last night my mother lightly asked how I was doing. I could have said "fine" and moved on, but I felt I was at a good point in this journey and wanted to share. She put me on speakerphone so my father could listen, and I told them about how I had a follow-up with my doctor and my A1C went from 10.4% to 8.6%. That required me confessing that my A1C's were higher this past year than I had led them to believe. I told them that I applied for the pump and approved, so far. And how I was excited about it.
I talked about how some of my issues with food are likely related to my previous high blood sugars, and that some of my other issues with food may be related to the fact that I had to be so restricted at such a young age. Then that led to talk of how my diabetes care used to go.
Through all of these therapy sessions, I found myself trying to remember back to the time when I was in good control. I have absolutely no recollection of the time when my parents were REALLY involved in my care. I just remember getting diagnosed (when we were in Mexico...on 5/5/93 according to my dad) and learning shortly after that how to inject myself by practicing on an orange on the floor of my parent's bathroom. And crying for hours about it until finally just doing it and finding out out it wasn't that bad. Then the next memory I have is our move from Mexico to Florida about 2 months later. My father performing a glucose reading on me at 2am while I was asleep in our temporary apartment while we were looking for more permanent housing. I was 9. I don't remember anything else until roughly 4 years later, when my control started to wane. When I started menstruation. I remember my Endocrinologist explaining that glucose becomes harder to control with the storm of emotions brought on by periods.
And then I remember the struggles, fights, yelling, lying, sneaking, and crying that followed for years on end. The empty promises I made to work harder, the desperation in my parents' faces when they listened to my lies and looked at my sky-high A1C's and believe me when I told them that I was doing everything as I was told, and that the system was failing me. That I wasn't failing myself. But it was a little of both, I see now. I could have done way more, this is true. But the system DID fail me. When asked, my parents responded that psychology services were never suggested to them. My doctor knew I was lying to him, as I found out when I confessed everything in one of the first appointments I went to alone. That was not until I was 17. Why did he not ask my mother to step out of the room, even if for 5 minutes, from the beginning of those appointments to talk to me one on one? Kids are willing to be honest, just not with everyone.
Through my discussion with my parents, I learned that they had kept meticulous records of my readings for years. I don't doubt this, I just don't remember it at all. As I grew older and more independent, my parents allowed the responsibility to shift to me more and more (as was suggested).
At one point during this conversation, my mother got incredibly defensive. She was audibly upset and teary, and went on the usual speech about how she loves me more than anything and would do anything she thought was right for me, and I'll only understand that when I'm a mother myself, etc etc. She went on about how painful it is for her to go through this, and if she could go back in time to change things, she would. I put a stop to this immediately. I told her that this conversation is necessary because it is why I'm driving to Boca for an hour each way, every week, paying out of pocket to get to the bottom of where things went wrong. I told her that this is about me, not her, and that in order for me to heal I cannot get distracted by feeling the need to assuage HER feelings. I also told her that many diabetic children lie to their parents in order to protect them from difficult feelings and stress, and that I was done with that. My father also helped talk my mother down, being the more level-headed/rational one. It worked, and our words got through to her, and the conversation continued very calmly and productively.
Overall, I am very happy that this all transpired. It was difficult and exhausting, but ultimately cathartic. I feel like the last bit of the diabetes denial slate has been wiped clean.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Finally Pumped Up!
So I let two months go by without a word here. And so much has transpired! I went to Africa for 2 weeks at the end of January and managed to pay more attention to my diabetes there than ever. I realized that my vacation would be so much more enjoyable if I wasn't so consumed with drinking water and finding places to pee. I ended up doing 5-6 readings per day to make that happen, and I didn't mind one bit.
And through it all, I started to appreciate how the pump could really help me. I still do not love the idea that I will have this tangle of tubing hanging off of me, and worrying how to conceal it...especially when I already have enough body issues to deal with on a daily basis. But I will deal with it.
So I submitted by pump papers and got word that my insurance plan covers it all. Now I'm just waiting on my doctor to send some information back to the pump people and one final round of insurance approval and the pump will be all mine! I actually feel excited about it. Never in a million years did I think I'd be saying that...I've come a long way :)
And through it all, I started to appreciate how the pump could really help me. I still do not love the idea that I will have this tangle of tubing hanging off of me, and worrying how to conceal it...especially when I already have enough body issues to deal with on a daily basis. But I will deal with it.
So I submitted by pump papers and got word that my insurance plan covers it all. Now I'm just waiting on my doctor to send some information back to the pump people and one final round of insurance approval and the pump will be all mine! I actually feel excited about it. Never in a million years did I think I'd be saying that...I've come a long way :)
Friday, December 23, 2011
Not Pumped Up
I had a big emotional break down a few nights ago. After weeks of being more attentive to my diabetes than I have ever been, I think it all caught up to me and I felt incredibly overwhelmed. It was probably the first time I had overtly/wholeheartedly/unabashedly felt sorry for myself, which is ridiculous considering the horror stories I see at work on a day to day basis. Every fiber of my being felt heavy with the burden that is managing this disease. Over the course of an entire day I grew teary at random intervals, with no real trigger to be recognized.
It is odd the way it started, considering I had been so very positive in the days preceding the collapse. I felt so good in fact, that I actually wanted to wear the trial Omnipod pump that my diabetes educator had given me. This alone is a huge accomplishment -- a few months ago I couldn't have been paid to even consider wearing one. So I stuck it on my abdomen and wore it proudly under my scrubs, almost bursting with pride that I had taken this decisive step. I soon forgot it was there, wearing it throughout an overnight call, sleep, and showering. No big deal.
But it was a big deal on the third night, when I had to change from scrubs into real clothes in order to meet my old college roommate for dinner. After trying on the outfit I had originally planned to wear, I looked in the mirror and could only fixate on the small alien life-form attempting to rip itself from my abdomen from underneath my tank top. I threw a cardigan over it, but each move in the mirror seemed to accentuate the pump's presence. I quickly changed into a second outfit, then a third and a fourth. Feeling dejected, I put on the first outfit and walked downstairs. I looked at my husband and burst into a torrent of tears. He, of course, did not notice the pump. I blamed this on him being a typical male who doesn't notice anything, and was still convinced I looked like I was growing a second head from my torso. I was devastated that this Omnipod, the one pump I was excited about using, had let me down. The Omnipod felt omnipresent -- I was unable to escape it. I hated it all of a sudden, and had to fight the urge not to rip it off before going out to dinner.
I pulled myself together enough to have a really nice time at dinner with my old college roommate, one of my very best friends. We a great talk and I shared with her that I have been going to therapy in order to get a grip on my diabetes. She thought it was a great idea, as she recalled what a stressor it had been for me in college when I had to talk to my parents about my lack of control or in the days leading up to a doctor's appointment. After all of this, I mentioned the pump and how I had completely lost it before meeting her, and she confessed that she hadn't noticed it all at. I will not tell my husband this, as it would be admitting defeat :) But I was happy to hear that my pump hadn't become the giant plastic elephant in the room. Even though my loved ones hadn't noticed, I learned that the Omnipod wasn't as idyllic as I had hoped and am now considering other pumps that are a bit easier to hide. I know I do not need to hide my diabetes anymore, but I would still like to wear a form-fitting outfit without feeling like a walking diabetes billboard.
Despite the fact that my night made a bit of turn-around, I found myself very sad and teary the next day at work. I think maybe I was just tired - physically, mentally, emotionally. The holiday weekend brought along some vacation days and I spent a large part of it sleeping. I feel better about things again, and know that I will keep moving forward with it all. I just have to take it one day at a time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)