No. No, no,no.

Today is going to be one of, if not the, hardest days of my life.

We've been having an increasing number of disasters with Bandit, who in addition to being diabetic is also unable to stand on his own and has been slowly losing the ability to walk at all due to a spinal degenerative disease he was diagnosed with in June but has clearly had for much longer than that. Needless to say if we don't get to him in time it can cause unpleasant issues. He's been losing weight again, he cries and cries and cries to get up, and the past couple days he hasn't been eating well. He also spends most of his time sleeping. Add that to the fact that my husband often comes home from work and has to bathe both the dog and whatever floor he was lying on, and the writing on the wall is pretty clear.

It appears that it's time for us to do the thing we hoped to never have to do.

Knowing the day and time of your pet's last moments is horrifying. It's like another line in your stupid Day Planner- Sunday, Bandit vet appointment- only it's the worst ever vet appointment and every time you look at him you break out into ugly sobbing because of the guilt you carry with you. How is this something you can just plan? WTF is this? Logan's Run?

The problem with that comparison is that Bandit is way more a Peter Ustinov than a Michael York in that scenario. He's nearly 16, which in dog years means he's almost as old as George Burns would be if he were still alive.

Knowing it's coming is one thing. Calling the vet and setting the date is completely different. You start noting the last time for everything. Last night, last bath, last meal, last Sunday. And that's why there's guilt. Guilt and questions. Did I let this go on too long? Is he miserable? I haven't seen his tail wag much lately. Has he been trying to tell us he's ready? If he could tell me something would he be upset that we came to this decision?

Being in this situation makes you want to drink. Heavily. Starting now.

I'll take two, please.

I don't want to do this. He was lying on the floor next to me as I wrote most of this last night, and is sleeping in the bedroom right now, and my heart is already shattered, I've got an unending waterfall of tears streaking down my face, and every time I look at him I either choke back a sob or wail an I'm sorry because I am. I am sorry.

I'm sorry I wasn't a better doggy mommy.
I'm sorry I ever forgot to give him insulin or any other medication.
I'm sorry for every single time I ever yelled at him.
I'm sorry that Lani is only going to have vague memories of him and that Bandit never really got to play with his boy because he's been too old.
I'm sorry that the internet research tells us that even if we had an infinite amount of money to throw at his health issues there's not really anything we can do to better his quality of life or stop this from happening and even if we found a way to keep moving on with things as they are he's living on borrowed time.

He kind of is, actually. When he started to slow down my husband thought we'd better get another dog- a puppy- to help both me and Shiva ease through the transition of losing him.

This was the day we got her. Now Rosabel is five.

Then there was that bout of Old Dog Vestibular Disease that looked like a stroke.

Then there was two years ago when we thought we were gonna lose him for sure and it turned out he only had diabetes.

I'm still not ready for this. I don't see how anyone ever could be. Bandit has been my comfort, my protector, my baby. He's the first dog I've ever had. He licked the tears off of my face on September 11, 2001 when I was sitting there watching the news in shock. He's woken my husband in the middle of the night when my blood sugar was low. He's been an integral part of our lives for well over fifteen years. He's family.

I hate this. I hate this as much as I love him and I love him a lot. I don't know how I'll handle those last moments. I keep praying and hoping and wishing that we'll get to the vet and they'll say, Oh, we can fix this. Give him this pill/shot/enema and he'll be walking again in no time. I know it won't happen, but this is what's been getting me through this horrible, rotten, tear filled weekend. A tiny, minuscule, nearly non-existent chance that it won't be his last and I won't have to go through with this.

Addendum: I wrote the above last night and edited it some this morning. Writing has always been cathartic for me and getting my emotions out between sobs helped some.

About thirty minutes ago Bandit left this world and crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I have never been this heartbroken. We were with him when he passed and I still don't think this is real. It can't be. He can't be gone. I don't want to believe it.

Life as a science experiment, part II

Had my endocrinologist appointment last month...this month? I can't remember. Anyways, the new nurse practitioner he has me working with wasn't thrilled with my 7.8 HbA1c. Neither am I, truth be told, but at least it wasn't an 11, which in this case wouldn't be a good thing regardless of what Nigel Tufnel claims. Everything else was pretty normal, though my cholesterols both went up from last time.

A little more movement on my part and being more cautious about what I eat would solve this hemoglobin issue, yet unlike the previous nurse practitioner that I worked with this one can't seem to see through my BS and see that. If I say I've been trying to be more active it means during the last three months I managed to get on the exercise bike three times...total, and not per week as I had intended. The only reason my A1c was even that good was my continuous glucose monitor.

http://type1diabetesmemes.tumblr.com/image/144301185570

This is fairly accurate except for the "What I think it is" box because the last thing that (insert chain of expletives here) CGM does is let me sleep. It beeps constantly. And wouldn't you know it, I just realized I could at least shorten the length of the beeps so it isn't quite as annoying after using one for years. There has been an unforeseen consequence of this, though, in that the beep is now so short I often don't hear it until all the alarms go off and its beeping emergency signals because I've basically been ignoring it.

Getting back to the endo, though, she hooked me up with a thyroid ultra sound I've as yet to schedule (I've complained about this before, and here we go again- no, I don't have a thyroid problem, yes I've had more than one ultra sound done on it before and as there is nothing in my blood work that indicates there is a problem why am I doing this yet again?) She also gave me a number for a diabetes educator that is probably not covered by my insurance but will be able to see through my line of BS and just tell me I need to do what I know I need to do. The alternative is being part of a "study" which has been mentioned more than once at visits that I have clearly shown zero interest in (the study, not the visits...though, let's be real- I'm not that interested in going to visits, either.)

http://type1diabetesmemes.tumblr.com/image/145758068025

Now, I'm usually all about the science, but  not when I'm the freaking project. And the more she explained the less interested I became. It's a study on a drug for Type II diabetes that they are "thinking" about using with Type I's, and there's no guarantee that I'd even be on the drug as I could be in the placebo group.

I'm sorry if I'm dense here, but how the heck is being in the placebo group going to HELP ME? 

Answer: I don't think it is.

Also, I've been asked by this person more than once if I've ever been on Metformin. Please, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that also a Type II drug? Is it actually possible the woman with whom I trust my care doesn't know the difference between the two so- completely- different- they- might- as- well- not- even- be- the- same- disease types of diabetes?

http://thediabetesheroes.com/html/pictures.html- this website is completely awesome, by the way.

I doubt that I'll go for this study thing, regardless of how I do my next visit. I really should just try exercising more and eating a little better. I'm sure it would go a long way and save me a lot of trouble in the long run. Adding another level to the science experiment that is life is something I don't need right now, and probably never will. Managing diabetes is hard enough as it is on a good day.

#accurate

The low down on the down low

It's getting really hard to turn on the news or log on to Facebook these days. It seems everything posted or linked or talked about is __ number of ______ people killed in ________ because of _____. I know I shouldn't hide from it, because I want to be informed on what's happening in our society and in our world, but if I have to actively seek out good news, or scientific discoveries, or anything positive while I weed through article after article about racism or animal cruelty, hate fueled rants against people running for President, and stories about rapists, murderers, and child molesters... eventually I just sit in a corner and I cry.

Beats me, Theoden. You ever find out let me know.

Yeah, life sucks for a lot of people right now, and I'm not usually political, but it's getting me down. Real down. Low down. It really seems like the media (in all of its forms) has honed in on the fact that people will read good news, but they will share and rant and talk about bad news until the next bad thing comes along, thereby making the media oodles of money.

Sadly, my blood sugars sure haven't been low down. When I get depressed, I eat. When I eat because I'm depressed, I usually forget to give insulin. Not even "enough" insulin. Just "at all" insulin. And last night my stupid pump setting was off (probably because I was tossing and turning all night) and I woke up with a blood sugar of 440 and eff it all. I felt awful. I was sure I was going to start throwing up and the sludge running through my veins was going to never go away. 

If you've never had a high blood sugar, imagine the most hung over you have ever been in your life. Nausea. Head aches. Light sensitive. And an overall feeling of I will never forgive myself for drinking as much as I did last night and I swear to God I will never do it again...only you didn't drink and you probably just goofed and no matter what promises you make you will goof again.

Since my last blog I have forgotten to put my insulin pump back on after showering and have made it all the way to work (which is a 30 minute drive in no traffic) before realizing it. TWICE. Who the hell walks out the door without their pancreas? 

Seriously. 

I've also rescheduled my next endocrinologist appointment twice now because I haven't had the time (read: motivation) to go and get my blood work done. My birthday was a couple weeks ago, and there was a lot of cake. A lot. Of. Cake. Also, I am not playing Pokemon Go so I am still walking as much as I ever have, which is to say about 7000 steps a day, which is enough to keep me from gaining a lot of weight but not enough to work off the multiple calorie overages I tend to make in a single day.

To say that taking care of myself has taken a back seat to pretty much everything else in my life would be a fairly accurate statement.

But...life goes on. And everyday is a new one to remember to log my calories into MyFitnessPal and make sure I get up and start walking when my VivoFit3 tells me to. And there's little else I can do about the rest other than be the best person I can be, teach the Toddler to be the best person he can be, stand up for what I feel is right when given an opportunity to do so...and post a lot more videos that are funny, because Rob Paulsen is right, and laughter is the best medicine. You can't OD and the refills are free.

So here are some videos that make me smile. I hope they make you smile, too. And tomorrow, I'll be sure to get in some more steps and not forget my pump. Baby steps.

Yakko's World from Animaniacs (c) Warner Bros.

The McCarthys (c) CBS, not they they care since they didn't renew the show :(

I can't even with how hysterical this is.

Rocksugar + Christmas = Perfection.

Too much stuff? Nah.

Today I (finally) opened a couple boxes of medical supplies that had arrived...sometime last week? Week before? Anyways, I opened them to add the contents to my diabetes shelf in the bathroom linen closet...where I found another unopened box of medical supplies.

It might sound as if I'm really not taking care of myself here. Let me explain...or, as Inigo would say...

I hoard medical supplies.

Okay, maybe I'd better 'esplain.

There's a reason I hoard medical supplies, and it may be that I have seen way too many Science/Discovery/History Channel shows that speak of the apocalypse (each one tends to focus on a different kind of apocalypse...we're pretty screwed if cable tv is to be believed.) Even under normal circumstances the one thing you never want to do when you are a diabetic is run out of supplies. I mean, what if I let myself get down to only one bottle of insulin and ran out? What if I only had enough blood glucose testing strips for the day? What if I ran out of pump supplies? It would not only be bad for me, but it would make the umpteen thousand dollar "pancreas I wear on my outside" kind of pointless.

I guess I could cosplay as a 1990's teen with a way cool beeper...

Let's put it this way- there are whole weeks that have gone by where I haven't worn a sensor simply because the one I was using went belly up after only a couple days, and I was barely making it until my next shipment using one every six days. Trying to make those last any way I could was kind of a nightmare. So today, getting a shipment of sensors in when I still have an unopened box of them was like...I don't know. Insurance utopia? Liberating? Yeah. Liberating.

Because when this happens now I don't have to wait five days to try it again.

I'm pretty sure that some of the nearly 20 boxes of blood glucose testing strips I have will go bad (they do have expiration dates after all) but I'd rather a box or two go bad than have to go out and buy one to get me through a few more days until my shipment comes in. Plus, I use the Contour both at home and on the go, so it's not like I don't use them at all.

There are other reasons I'm a bit of a hoarder, too. Some of it is just bad planning on the part of myself and my pump trainer, who guestimated how many pump settings I'd go through a month and guestimated pretty high. Even after a few years of getting too many I ended up glad that I was stock piling them- I was sent a bunch that were recalled, and if I'd been more accurate in my monthly order I'd have been without supplies for at least a week or two while the supplier replaced them. And now, even though I get a smaller quantity closer to what I actually use per month, I still have a nice cushion in case things ever get recalled again...or in case I stop getting supplies because I have a balance on my account no one bothered to notify me about. #thatsanotherblog

Sometimes I'm just not on the ball. I once had to get my pharmacist to call for a refill from my doctor because my current 'script ran out, and if I hadn't have stored up a couple bottles I'd have had to pay for one out of pocket to get me through the weekend...if I'd even been able to get it without a prescription, which I'm pretty sure I can't. I really don't think I can have too much insulin stored in my butter tray. Egg tray? I guess it depends on how your fridge is configured...

What else would you keep here?

Long story short (too late), I kind of hoard medical supplies, which is why when they arrive it sometimes takes me a couple weeks to open them.

Ramblings on writings

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about what my passion is. When I say "passion" I mean that one thing that I am always thinking about, drawn to, wishing I was doing, my inherent talent- not just, "Oh I love potatoes!" (Which I do, but this is beside the point.)

I think my passion is stories, or more to the point, creating them.

I love stories. I love writing them, I love watching them, I love reading them, and I love being immersed in them. Now, I work in a library, which is filled with stories, but I'm not exactly passionate about curating stories. Sharing them is better, and I do a lot of that in my line of work, but I think my real passion- the thing that drives me- lies in creating them. This is something that I don't do much of anymore, either in my daily work or on my off time.

I used to write all the time. If I was at home I was on my computer, music playing, my fingers attacking the keyboard as I tried to get all the words in my head out into coherent sentences. I have a back log of tales that I've created, some of them pretty good and others in need of a thorough edit, but I also have a folder on my computer of stories in progress and they don't just complete themselves. I can't seem to complete them either. The closest thing I've got going for me in regards to my passion is this blog, which is kind of just stories about me and sometimes my dog but is more often me ranting about things that probably aren't important to anyone other than me. It's not very creatively fulfilling if I'm honest, but it's better than nothing.

For those of you unfamiliar with my lone published work, Rosabel, it's a story about a girl pirate. It actually started the same way the song "Yesterday" by The Beatles did- I had a dream. And when I woke up the scene that I had dreamt was so good I jotted it down. Then I started to write. And write, And all I did when I wasn't writing was think about the characters, and where they were going and where they had come from. In the end the scene I dreamed wasn't even in the finished book but the book was finished.

Was it the next Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? No. But I'm still proud of it, and I can say that I've published a book. I cannot, however, say I did it for the money because it's cost more than I'll ever make on it! Still, I felt really creatively fulfilled with that story.

Then my friends started to clamor for a sequel and the well of inspiration dried up like an old prune.

The thing is, I think I write best when I don't have to go after inspiration. It's like the story writes itself. I'm also a lot better at writing dialogue than I am descriptions, which I attribute to reading and studying a lot of Hemingway when I was in high school and college. (If the description of the table does nothing to move the plot along then please don't give me paragraphs telling me about the nails and the screws and the type of wood used to build it. It's a table. I got it. Let's move on.) 

I also have a problem with editing...as in I think I may be addicted to it. I'll sit down with the purpose of writing and then spend an hour going over what I wrote two years ago and changing three words and adding or subtracting a comma or two. Even this blog isn't immune. I edited the second sentence in this paragraph twice before I even got to this one (and I just edited this one, too.) Blame that on being a perfectionist, I guess. 

I've thought about really writing a book about growing up with diabetes. I actually have a NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) story that I've been working on for several Novembers now that I think would be a really great book if I could just finish it. Some of what I've written I think is pretty good, some is just snippets of larger scenes to come, and some is just something something, something happens here place holders so I can keep some kind of a time line going. In short, it's a mess. I know what it's like to grow up with diabetes. I should be able to pound that story out. But for some reason I just can't seem to get it to gel. Maybe it's because it's been a while since I was a teenager, or maybe it's because I'm not sure I like the development of some of the characters and changing them would mean changing entire plot points. Whatever the reason it isn't getting done and I think I only added 1000 words to it last November because I got too bogged down in editing what I'd written the year before.

So where do I go from here with this? I honestly don't know. I'm afraid if I force myself to sit down and write then the joy I find in it will be squashed and it will feel like work, which is the last thing I want to happen. Would I like to be able to make writing a career? Of course I would. But as I mentioned earlier I work in a library. I know how many writers there are. I also know how hard it is to get a book deal, or get something published, and how expensive it is to publish things yourself. I also know that sometimes the things that need to be written (for example, books about kids with diabetes that don't harp on the diabetes thing and show them as normal and capable individuals) need to be written by someone, and I really don't want that person to be Lurlene McDaniel.

I guess maybe it's time to invest in a club.

New...and not so new

I don't particularly go for the "new year" stuff. I mean, technically it's just another day and the whole "new year" thing is an arbitrary date decided on by people hundreds of years ago. The whole reason we have April Fools' Day is that some people didn't think starting the new year in the middle of winter was a great idea so they stuck with celebrating it in the spring- you know, when everything in nature renews. You know, technically that makes a lot more sense when you think about it. Who's really the fool?

When I was a kid staying up until midnight on New Year's Eve was exciting- kind of like watching SNL was. Now staying up until midnight is still like SNL...meh. It was better when I was a kid. It's particularly not that great when The Toddler wakes up at 1 am and you just finally fell asleep.

The last time I made a new year's resolution I kept it. The resolution was to not make any more new year's resolutions. They really set people up for failure, don't they? And it doesn't really matter what time of the year you make them, either. Take, for example, my last trip to the endo, which was in November. My cholesterol was up- significantly. My HbA1C was in the mid 7's and up from the visit I'd had over the summer. My doctor was not impressed to say the least, and threatened to put me on cholesterol meds if I didn't start exercising and eating better. So I "resolved" to do that.

Um, riiiiight.

Thanksgiving...Christmas...New Year's...we're talking holiday binge time and I'm supposed to be taking better care of myself? I figured okay, I'll do five minutes on the stationary bike a day and try to avoid things like cheese and red meat until after the holidays and then kick things into high gear...

Sounds like a fairy tale to me...

Fact is, I'm just lazy and didn't want to do it, and it's 10:15 am on the first day of 2016 and my stationary bike is still covered in dust from 2014. And my eating habits have not been even remotely stellar. I had cookies for lunch yesterday. Worse still...I caught myself doing it again.

There are some things that can happen to a person subconsciously, and one of those things is "bad habits." Bad habits are easy to pick up and not easy to get rid of, and even when you think you've kicked them they can still creep up on you. In my case, my bad habit is not giving insulin purposely so that what I eat doesn't stick to my hips. It's a habit I had a long time ago and thought I had kicked a long time ago. There's even a catchy name for it: diabulimia. 

I noticed in November that I was eating poorly, sitting a lot, and still not gaining weight. I was actually losing a little. And then I realized I hadn't been changing my pump setting as often as I should have been. And while math isn't my best subject, I added two and two and got four pretty quickly. I actually caught myself justifying in my head skipping a bolus so I wouldn't have to feel guilty over that third slice of pizza one night. That was a wake up call.

There was a reason I was rail thin in high school and looked like I was a stick- I was a stick. A stick that didn't give herself insulin so that donut she had for breakfast wouldn't stick around long enough to give her curves- or, God forbid, more stretch marks (thanks for those, puberty). Seriously. I couldn't even fill out my prom dress because there wasn't enough meat on me to do it. Look:

I was also decades ahead of the vampire look. Take that, Bella.

This is an improvement over the year before, by the way. My homecoming picture makes me look like I'd never eaten anything and my hair was literally twice the size of my body (it was the 90's, shut up). I'm a little surprised no one ever said anything to me, but then again, why would they? They saw me eat all the time!

Kate Moss is famously quoted as saying this:

She has apparently never had a cupcake, or a milkshake, or mashed potatoes. I can't imagine skinny feeling good because even when I was skinny I felt awful. Jesus, my HbA1c at the time was 13! Do you know what that means? I had sludge running through my veins instead of blood. I was cranky and tired most of the time. And I still didn't think I was skinny enough. I was 5'11" and wearing a size 10!

The scary thing is, though, that part of me wishes I was still a 10. I look at that prom picture up there and think, Damn. Why can't I be that skinny anymore? And that's a dangerous thought because while I could stand to lose a few pounds I certainly don't need to lose three dress sizes. I mean, honestly, right now my chest would not fit in that dress even if the rest of me did because since that time I've acquired curves in mostly the right places, and I'm pretty fond of my curves. Mostly.

So skinny is not a good thought right now, or ever. Healthy, on the other hand, is. So thinking healthy means that instead of sitting here blogging all day, I'm going to get up off my curvy rear and go chase the Toddler around while he laughs and I start huffing and puffing trying to keep up with him. I'm going to make sure I bolus for everything I eat, and I am going to lean toward making healthier choices for meals and snacks.

And hopefully this time next year my only "resolution" will be to keep the good habits I've established this year.