Motivation, Where Art Thou?

The hardest thing about everything for me is motivation. There are twenty four hours in a day, I sleep for about eight of them, spend an hour commuting to and from work, and spend nine hours a day at work. That leaves me about six hours a day to myself, at least half an hour of which I spend getting ready for work. Then you add in making sure the dogs are fed, have their medicine if needed, and making sure I get dinner (which nine times out of ten the husband does) and that leaves me with about five hours. Five hours a day to do something for me.

Remember when we were kids, and our parents made us clean our room, and it was the worst thing ever because it took up so much of our lives to do? If all I had to do these days was clean my room, my room would be clean. I really was right when I was a nine year old on the playground thinking that third grade was as good as it gets.

...there was a little girl who thought being an adult would suck, and she was right.

 

 

In these five hours that I have to myself I usually try to write because that's my thing that gets me through the day- it's cathartic and creative and something that I enjoy doing more than most anything else- but there are days when my muse is on vacation and I literally sit there staring at my computer screen waiting for something to happen. Usually at some point during those five hours I'll exercise, and the hubby usually does that with me, so we get some together time there. I'm a big fan of multi-tasking.

Here's where motivation really comes in to play for me, though. I've been known to sit on my butt for four hours on Facebook doing nothing when there is a list of about 1,138 things I'd rather be doing that I'm just not motivated to do. Like the dishes. Or cleaning the bathroom. Or laundry. Or playing a video game. Or reading. And some of those things aren't actually things I want to be doing, but they are things I know I should be doing. It goes back to that being an adult and how so not fun it can be. One of the nice things about being an adult, though, is that if I feel like slacking on stuff like laundry and dishes, I can. Oh, and now I get all the naughty jokes from Animaniacs, too.

 

 



Seriously, how did they get away with this?

 



But when it comes to diabetes, if I'm not motivated to do what I'm supposed to, that ends up in the realm of very bad things. For a long time I wasn't motivated to take care of myself the way I should have. I was bulimic in high school, but I wasn't sticking my finger down my throat. No, I was purposefully not giving myself insulin so I could eat what I wanted and still stay skinny. Too skinny as a matter of fact. For a while after I got on the pump I was pushing 200 lbs. because I ate whatever I wanted and didn't exercise a lick. It really took me wanting to get in shape before I started to closely monitor what I was eating and how much I was exerising and find a balance. It didn't matter how many times my mom brought my weight up, or how often I dodged cameras because I always hated how I looked in pictures, and it certainly didn't matter that I knew I'd not only feel better about myself and be in better control of my diabtetes if I took care of myself. I knew what I needed to do, but I had no motivation to do it.

 

What finally motivated me? Wanting to have kids helped. Wanting to set a good example so my husband would be healthy, too, has helped. Going to Disneyland and seeing how unhealthy so many of the people around us were helped. It was a lot of things, actually, that added up to me finally finding the motivation to make my health a prioirity. And while I slack some days, and don't always get off my butt and exercise when I should, I am more motivated than not, and that's a good thing.

 

 Now if I could just get motivated to fold the mountain of laundry on the spare bed... 



Back to School!

I was kind of a nerd in my youth. I really enjoyed school once I was challenged there and not bored out of my mind. (That's another blog.) I went to a year round elementary school, so the longest amount of time I had between grades was three weeks, as opposed to the traditional three months kids get now. I never minded though, because I really did love school. I loved the smell of new paper. I loved the new pens, the new pencils, the new erasers and backpacks and lunchboxes. I loved getting a new Trapper Keeper.

 

iPad? I don't need no stinkin' iPad.

 

Inevitably, I would end up in class with at least one of my friends, and my teacher would end up being pretty cool. We'd be assigned our text books, start working on our new spelling words, load our desks with our new stuff and life would be exciting and new. Of course, inevitably, I would also end up passed out on my desk at some point during that first week, too, and likely one or two more times before the end of the year.

 

Controlling diabetes is an art. Little things can make big differences in what your blood sugar is going to do. And being crazy excited over starting a new school year is not a little thing. My parents usually went down to the school and talked to my new teacher before the first day, so at least he or she wasn't totally unaware what was going on, but I can't imagine how scary it must be to have one of your students pass out on her desk before you're even sure of everyone's name. It wasn't a picnic for me, either. I'm not the most outgoing person in the world and passing out on your desk is not the best way to make a first impression on a room full of your peers.

 

As a kid I wasn't always aware that I was going low, either, so I'd be copying spelling words or doing math or something and then the next thing I knew I'd be coming to in the nurse's office while a class of Kindergartners marched past me with wide, inquisitive eyes on their way to art class. Dad worked nights and Mom didn't work at all, and we lived less than a minute from school, so one or both of them would be there, too. I probably had my parents show up at school more than any other kid, and I was a good student. You might even go so far as to call me a goody-goody.

 

 

Look at me, I'm...never mind. I wasn't that good!



In spite of the fact that I knew a massive low blood sugar was coming I always looked forward to the first day of school. I couldn't help it. It's a fresh start and a chance to learn new things and those are things that we don't always get with that kind of regularity as adults. Most kids don't appreciate that their youth is filled with promise and hope. When I was a kid, I thought for sure I wouldn't always have diabetes. Now I'm pretty sure that I always will. When I was a kid, anything was possible, and I could be a movie star-author-astronaut. Now I see limitations and struggle to think creatively around them.  The first day of school was always the first day of the rest of my life and the rest of my life was full of possibility.

Philosophy aside, it was also the people there that that made school fun. The office staff knew me by name. My teachers were all wonderful, from Kindergarten all the way through 5th grade. I loved my music teacher, my art teacher, and I will throw down with anyone who claims to have had a better P.E. teacher than I did. I credit the school librarian with instilling a love of libraries in me that (combined with a love of Reading Rainbow) set me on my career path. I was a very lucky child and I remember being on the playground one day in third grade and suddenly realizing this is as good as it's ever going to get. I'd better enjoy it now. I did.

So, here's a big, long overdue thank you to the staff and teachers who worked at Bill Y. Tomiyasu Elementary School during the six lovely years I spent as a student there. I'm sorry for freaking you out every time I passed out in class and I promise, it wasn't on purpose!

Go Dragons!

Practically Perfect in Every Way

You all remember Mary Poppins, the British nanny who was practically perfect in every way. It's one of my favorite Disney movies of all time. There is so much to love about that movie- everything about it from the chalk pavement pictures to the tea parties on the ceiling to the music ("Feed the Birds" was rumored to be one of Walt Disney's favorite compositions). But the thing I love the most about it is that not even Mary Poppins was perfect.

I have issues just like anyone does, but one of my biggest is that I have a perfection complex. I try to be perfect in every way. Occasionally I succeed.

I said occasionally.

 



In light of the recent good news about my blood sugars being in awesome sauce control, I got to thinking about my drive to be perfect and how when my blood sugar goes even a little off I get really mad. I've been told by my husband that I am no longer allowed to get upset at myself when my blood sugar goes out of the strict range I have set for myself, but we both know that's not going to happen.

The real secret to my success with the blood sugars is two things: the insulin pump and a continuous blood glucose testing monitor. I don't think I'd be even remotely close to 5.9 if I was doing this on my own with three or four shots of insulin a day and four or five finger pricks a day. I know this, because I've only had the pump for about eight years and the continuous glucose testing monitor for about a year and a half, and my HbA1c was nowhere close to 5.9 until recently.

I probably shouldn't credit my medical devices 100%. There is this thing called diet and exercise that I've been doing. Calorie and carb counting, making sure that I am eating healthier...it's been doing wonders for my blood sugar and my weight.

Well...I've been gaining muscle.

 

The hardest part for me has actually been NOT counting the calories I consume to take care of low blood sugars. It seemed counter-intuitive to me, but my husband swore that I should not include those calories when I added up my daily caloric intake. After a little bit of research I discovered he was right, and I had to eat humble pie on that one. (No, I didn't count the calories on that, either.) Diet and exercise as a diabetic is a whole different ballgame than it is for a non-diabetic. Or at least that's what I imagine since I've only ever done it as a diabetic. There are lots of things you have to take into consideration that normal people don't- like whether or not to count the orange juice you drank to keep yourself conscious. One things that is the same for both diabetics and non-diabetics though, is that taking care of yourself, making healthy choices when eating, and doing some kind of exercise instead of sitting on the couch all night watching Top Gear and Doctor Who on BBCAmerica, is not easy.

 

I think I've been doing fairly well at keeping myself on the right track. As my friends are fond of saying, tomorrow is another day, and if I screw up today I can always start fresh tomorrow. And I really can't expect myself to be perfect if even Mary Poppins wasn't ...but like her and all her supercalifragalisticespialidociousness,  I'll settle for practically perfect.

Good news everyone!



Good news, everyone!



After this last weekend's low blood sugar episode, I needed some good diabetic news. Fortunately I already had a doctor's appointment lined up for today. To say it went well would be something of an understatement.

Before I get to that, a little info for those of you who don't know what a Hemoglobin A1c test is. Hemoglobin A1c (HbA1c), basically, is a test done to determine the mean of the last three months' or so of blood glucose readings (and if you don't remember what a mean is think of it as an average. ) Most diabetics are encouraged to keep their HbA1c as close to 7 as possible, though many of the diabetics I've known over the years, myself included, have struggled to keep it down in the single digits. People without diabetes are usually at 6 or lower on the test score.

As in golf, the higher your score, the worse you are playing the game.



Today I got my results from the last three months. I've been dieting. I've been exercising. I've been monitoring my blood glucose/sugar levels closely- maybe even too closely, if you take my doctor's word for it.

Behold!

This may be a HIPPA violation...

For those of you not adept at reading blood work results, the results above are pretty darn good.  My HbA1c is in a normal range. My blood sugars, on average, are the same as a person without diabetes. As you can see, the numbers can move around. Earlier this year I was not exercising, I was very stressed out at work, and I was suffering from mild depression. A more positive outlook, more exercise, and a better diet have paid off. My doctor was very pleased. My husband is proud. And me?

I'm hoping in November that number will be closer to 5. 

How to Scare the Sh*t Out of Your Husband In One Step

I almost died this morning.

I didn't, obviously, and it wasn't some sort of near-hit car accident or some real car accident where I miraculously walked away without a scratch. No, this had everything to do with my diabetes and an epic failure.

Epic. Failure.

*Bashhead*...for when even *doublefacepalm* isn't enough

Epic failure involves me so out of it that I apparently (because I don't remember doing it) did a blood test at 6:30 am and it was 36 and I went back to bed. Epic failure is me so out of it that I physically assaulted my alarm clock so vehemently that my husband heard it on the other side of the house but I still didn't get up (and might need a new alarm clock). Epic failure involves my husband coming in to the bedroom, telling me he loved me, and me not responding at all.

To say my blood sugar was low would be like saying the sky is up.

I was completely unresponsive and had zero control over my body. I couldn't sit up. I couldn't answer questions or even speak. I couldn't remember my dogs' names. My husband, who has dealt with this before and called the paramedics on me a time or two, knew what to do, but he's not too man to say he was scared. I was scared. Nothing is scarier than a low blood sugar like that.

No, not even this.



I cannot adequately describe what it is like to have a blood sugar so low that you have no control over your body. The closest I can come is to say it's a lot like being a sober person in a drunk person's body. I was consciously aware that something was very, very wrong, and I knew that my husband was concerned, but there was nothing I could do about it. It's one thing to be too drunk to remember your middle name, but it's another thing entirely to have your husband asking you if you remember it and screaming it out loud in your head...only to have him pour more orange juice down your throat because you just stared at him blankly and didn't say anything. I sat there thinking to myself that this might be the one that does me in, and I didn't even have the ability to tell my husband I love him. That is scary.

The thing is, I cannot remember for the life of me what I did differently last night that might have led to a low of these proportions. My husband checked my blood sugar several times, too, and even he said it wasn't that low (by the time he checked it at about 7:30 am it had gone up to 40 something.) Normally I wouldn't be a zombie unless it was significantly lower than that. So how do I make heads or tails of things and ensure this never happens again?

Sadly, I can't. All I can do is change my basal rate in the morning so I'm less likely to go low, make sure that I check it before bed and not depend on the continuous blood glucose testing device (which I've been told time and again not to do anyway), and hope that this will be enough.

Some of my best friends pitched in and got me Disney gift cards for my birthday, and while I was looking at the Disney Store website I saw this artwork. I thought it was cute (Donald is my favorite, after all) and showed it to my husband, who immediately smiled and said, "That's us."

It's now hanging on the wall in our house.

www.disneystore.com

Tomorrow is another day, one I am grateful to have, and I'm not going to let today get to me. And I'm truly grateful I don't have to do it alone. Thanks honey.

Limbo

Woke up with another low blood sugar this morning. Such is life, right?

We've been going through some changes at work lately, and I have to say I don't always deal with the stress well. In fact, I fail at that a lot of the time. I should be a more positive source of energy for my department, but it's hard to be positive for me even at the best of times. I'm like that old man in every old movie who was always carrying his umbrella because the weatherman said it would be clear skies. I try to be positive, but like Yoda said, "Do. Or do not. There is no try."

The thing about that line that has always bothered me is how will you ever know if you can do it if you don't try? I understand what was really being said there- "Luke, stop being a self defeatist whiny farm boy and believe in yourself." Not quite as quotable but a much better sentiment in my opinion. Saying "do or do not" sounds like "you're either going to do it or fail" and who needs that kind of pressure? This is why Obi-Wan was always my favorite.

Look at that...he even reads. (go to www.alastore.ala.org to buy one!)



Failure is always an option, and it is one that no one feels comfortable about, but at some point we all fail and that's how we learn and grow. We hate to fail because the first thing we in this society do is pick on other people's failures to distract others from noticing our own. Darth Vader chokes the life out of his subordinates when they fail so they can't throw it in his face that he killed his wife by accident (don't get me started). It's all about learning from your mistakes and failures and being a better person for it. Why Yoda didn't tell Luke that I'll never understand. Granted, Luke's failures could have meant the doom of the entire galaxy, but the guy was from a ball of sand about as far from the center of the universe as you could get. That's like telling a sixteen year old from Nebraska he is responsible for taking down an oppressive foreign government on the other side of the world all by himself. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Charlie Chaplin once said, "Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself." Now, if you ask me, that's the guy I want in my corner. Understanding. Clear. And able to make me laugh with more than just his impossibly proper diction.

I fail all the time with my diabetes. I try a new basal setting on my pump and either go high or low. I misjudge how much I eat and end up feeling like ick because my blood sugar skyrockets. I forget to eat after I bolus because I'm distracted by something and then wonder half an hour later why I'm a sweaty, cranky, blurry mess. It happens. And if I spent all my time worrying about those failures, I'd never learn from them. I try, I fail, I try again...and then maybe I do it.

So there, Yoda.



Blood, sweat, and fewer tears

So, the hubby and I just finished exercising. Exercise is one of those things I wish I really liked. I always feel better after I exercise. I even think better of myself when I'm doing it. Finding the drive to get up off my butt and actually do it can be tricky. Dealing with the blood sugars after can also be tricky.

Expectedly, after an intense workout (or even a mediocre one) I find my blood sugar drops. Not always a bad thing, especially if I had a slice of key lime pie for dessert like I did tonight. When I first started really exercising a couple years ago it surprised me how quickly I could go from hot and sweaty from exercise to hot and sweaty from a massive low (seriously- sweatiness is a symptom of hypoglycemia. Look: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001423/ Gross, right? And not at all a reliable symptom when it's August and you've been doing aerobics.) I can't tell you how many times I've worked off 180 calories on the elliptical machine only to consume 210 in whatever flavor juice we had in the fridge twenty minutes later.

I used to count my calories pretty religiously. Everything I ate was counted, including everything I ate to bring my blood sugar up. I once consumed 500 calories worth of Jolly Ranchers and orange juice on a particularly bad day...which seems like a lot. It seems like even more when you take into account I try to keep my calorie intake at 1500 or so. A whopping one third of my daily calories went to just keeping my blood sugar up. That's where the tears come in. I was purposefully not eating meals over 300 calories just so I wouldn't go over my daily goal with hard candy. I wasn't good about eating right so long as I was good about eating a certain number of calories.

Wait...I thought it was a pyramid. I've been doing this all wrong.

When I exercise, I don't have as many lows. I know that sounds counter intuitive, but it's true- or at least it appears to be. I use less insulin and am more likely to eat better, therefore I don't have those crash and burns. Also, being on the pump and using a continuous blood glucose testing monitor have helped in more ways than I could properly express in a single blog post. I still have days where I can't seem to get out of the 50's, but I'm much more likely now to just turn off my pump, eat a couple pieced of hard candy, and not worry about the calories than I used to be.

As much as it pains me to admit, my husband was right about not counting those calories I consumed for my blood sugar. I've had much better control since I stopped doing that, and while it probably has more to do with what I eat and the fact that I have been a lot better at exercising now that I have a partner to do it with, the mental strain that came with adding every drop of juice and every little piece of candy or glucose tablet to my calorie calculator is gone, and that's a huge relief, and fewer tears. In fact, since I counted those "diabetes calories" for so long, I can say that even not adding them into my daily totals I'm eating fewer of them than I used to, which means tomorrow I'll be getting up off my butt and exercising again.