My, my...How time flies!

Really? Has it been since January? I have no excuses. This year has been kind of empty for me. My dad dying took a lot out of me. A lot. I wouldn’t say it stole my joy, but it took a significant portion of what I had been allotted. I miss him. Everyday. I have this picture and it just makes me SMILE:


That, my friends, is what JOY looks like. How awesome is that photo? My dad looks so happy with that fish! I have it posted on my wall here at work, and it just makes me smile!

Life IS good. It is so important to remember that, especially when circumstances try and convince us otherwise.

Special Jewelry

There is a very special niche out there for the special jewelry to which I refer. I have always been fascinated by it since I got my first ICD (Implantable Cardiac Defibrillator) to accommodate my OTHER pet disease, Long QT Syndrome.

The jewelry of which I speak is none other than medical ID jewelry. I received a brochure from an ID jewelry company about a month after my surgery. I flipped through the catalog and immediately threw it away. NO WAY, I thought. I already had a big scar on my chest and I certainly wasn’t going to add insult to injury.

Fast forward to 2007 and I was on Google today, as I often am, and I ran across a website with these quotes from many a satisfied customer:

"I just received the (Medical ID) bracelet... it is beautiful!"

"I was so excited to finally find a nice website that had beautiful diabetic bracelets"

"This medical id bracelet is just so beautiful and fits great...thank you so much for something "different".

"After 25 years of not wearing any medical id, I finally found something I will wear.”

HUH?????????????

Hmmm…CLEARLY this called for further investigation. I have yet to run across a ‘beautiful’ or ‘different’ medical ID bracelet. One that doesn’t make me feel 60 or one that doesn’t shout, ‘Hey look at me, I have a disease!’ There is just no subtle way to wear jewelry that marks you as a diabetic or a heart patient.

And I have certainly never seen any jewelry that would move me to write a letter of thanks to the company. So, upon further investigation, it was as I thought. Pretty beads, charms and clasps set in sterling silver delicately surrounding A BIG UGLY medical ID tag.

Although it is a valiant effort on the companies part, I just don’t like them. I don’t want to wear them even though I know I should.

BUT, in the spirit of ‘when hell freezes over’, if I did wear one, I have narrowed my picks to the following:

This one would be for the days I was feeling sporty:

And this gorgeous number, inspired by a Tiffany & Co. Design, would be my 'everyday' choice:



So, in the end, I am afraid my opinion of medical ID jewelry has not changed.

Perhaps Jacob the Jeweler will come out with some fabulous diabetic bling, but until then, I will take my chances.

Update: Upon awaking here in Norway, I had an email from Sara of the Nefariouspoo blog and she gave me this link and to a great diabetic bracelet.
http://insearchofbalance.wordpress.com/about/
Now that is one I would wear! It is very pretty in an eclectic kind of way.

Thick Waisted

Sadly, I took my measurements and my waist was 37 inches, officially making me ‘thick waisted’. I know that women with a waist circumference of more than 35 inches have a dramatically increased chance of developing Type 2 diabetes. I don’t know why I have never measured my waist before. I think I am still clinging to the days of high school when it was 24 inches.

Of course a lot of things were different in high school and I wouldn’t go back if you PAID me, although the music WAS good (80’s you know). Remember this guy?? Who could forget the flock?





So, I started Weight Watchers to shrink my waist. Oh, and also to get healthy. But I’m not going to lie; a strong motivator is to be a skinny little hottie once again.

kinda like her...only different.





















But that’s NOT my focus. (Although I am sure Gisele is now probably yours!)


Not that I have ever been skinny, skinny. Although there is a picture of me from a dance recital when I was 12 looking like I had twigs for legs. I was a late bloomer!! But AFTER I bloomed, I was a muscular gal. My uncle once called me ‘stout’. I still get annoyed by that memory. Use that word to describe beer, not a woman!!

I’ve never really worked out or dieted, and I have gained weight steadily and proportionately since I was 18. I did lose about 20 pounds before my wedding, and some of those pics are on the blog a few entries down. Then I moved to Norway and gained it all back. Suddenly I was a diabetic and now I discover that I am thick waisted.

2 inches too thick.

Suddenly there is a reason for my mysterious Diabetes. 37 reasons. I’m officially on the ‘high risk’ list. I’m a code RED.

So, I am doing something about it! I’m shrinking my waist and most likely, the rest of my body will shrink with me. And I do promise, faithful reader, not to end up looking like this:

Move along now little one, move along...

Yes, it has been a difficult 6 months to say the least. Thank you all so much for your kind words during this ordeal with my dad. It's been a month since he died and I still can't quite get used to the fact that I cannot pick up the phone and call him whenever I want. Here him say 'Heeeey Baby!!'
But I do know that I have to 'move along'. Slowly, but surely.

One of my New Years resolutions is to post more regularly. We'll see how that goes, but hey, it's a goal...I also want to lose 25 pounds. A girl can dream can't she? Maybe I'll be really crazy and post before and after pictures and every thing! Let's not hold our breath!

But for now...I am thankful for the simple things like this sunset on December 23rd in Oslo, Norway. It took my breath away and I got teary eyed. It reminds me that with all of the brutality in life...beauty remains...

Peace and happiness to you all this New Year...

Saying Goodbye

My dad, September 2006

The words are hard to come by.

If you have lost a parent, you will understand. There is a feeling of hopelessness that enters your heart as soon as they die. It's almost like a panic. You cannot remember a time of not having them, so a life without them is unfathomable.

Yet it happens. I suddenly feel very vulnerable. Very insecure. I get those sobs that sneak up your throat and just come out before you can stop them. It's like a moan or a wail. It hurts.

It happens.

And it happened to me early Sunday morning, somewhere around 2am. The picture in this post was taken by my little sister about 2 months ago. He was 2 months into the fight and still hopeful.

We all were.

I will miss my dad and my heart aches with the knowledge that he is gone because I just don't know how I can possibly say goodbye.

Life Changes so Suddenly.

This is me, my sister Kindel and my dad.

Kindel and my dad.

This is me and my father dancing on my wedding day.

About 3 months ago he was diagnosed with Stage IV esophogeal cancer. His name is John. He needs a miracle.

Please pray for him. Pray for healing. Pray for strength. Pray for mercy.

Thank you. So much.

The Nose Knows

Please be forewarned. I am about to talk about bodily functions. IF you have a problem with having bodily functions discussed, as though they should be kept in secret, please skip ahead.

My name is Kathryn and I have a gift. Like most superheroes, I didn’t know I had a gift until someone pointed out that it was something that most people didn’t have. Now, it’s not the most impressive of powers and I could have a hard time being certified at superhero school. I can’t fly or shoot fire from my eyes or have webs spout forth from my wrists, but my gift, if utilized properly, is a powerful one.

I have an uncanny sense of smell. Always have. I also associate taste with smell, which apparently is pretty rare according to an article in the New York Times a few months ago. For example, if I taste something I might say ‘Oh, this tastes like honeysuckle smells’, or something like that. I have always been able to smell wines and perfumes and analyze the different layers of scents, tastes and extracts with astounding accuracy. I don’t know where I got it from; it’s just always been like that. This is not something that many people would be jealous of, and it’s nothing that I have ever imagined could be used for the betterment of mankind. Until recently.

I was on an airplane somewhere over the Atlantic. It was mid-flight. The meal had been served, the first movie was underway. I had to go to the bathroom. I took my place in line and began to wait. Finally, a middle aged man emerged from the bathroom. We nodded in that friendly, almost apologetic way people do when they know you have to use the airplane toilet after them, and, like a gentleman, he held the door for me. I stepped into the airborne porta-potty, shut and locked the door, and as the automatic fluorescent light flickered on, I was hit by an odor that was very familiar.

I SMELLED MY ARCH-NEMESIS, DIABETES! It was lurking in that bathroom. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the sweet man who held the door for me had “sweet blood.”

(This is the part I warned you about at the beginning. Do you know how your urine smells after you have had asparagus?? If you don’t, let me tell you, it STINKS! If you are diabetic and your condition is unmanaged, your urine has a very distinct odor to it. It is from all of the excess sugar your body is not processing that spills over into your urine. I have always been able to tell whether or not my blood sugar was high by the smell of my pee and I am always right.)

I smelled the smell now. I had a mixture of reactions here. My first reaction was one of disgust that I had to smell someone else’s pee. As I overcame the first reaction, I was filled with a weird excitement that I could actually “smell” a disease in other people and not just myself. I mean, there has to be a market for that, like a drug dog, only different! And my third and final reaction was, "What should I do now that I was armed with this powerful tidbit of information?"
My initial impulse was to find the man and calmly let him know that I thought he could be a diabetic, but I had a hard time imagining how that conversation might go.

“Hi, excuse me sir, I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m the girl from the restroom up by first class who was waiting when you came out the door…Oh, good, you do remember me…Well, I just wanted to let you know…What’s that? This is your wife? Hi, it’s nice to meet you… Yes, I used the restroom after your husband a few minutes ago.”

(At this point the wife is probably wondering what exactly her husband was doing in the bathroom and the husband is wondering who in the heck I am and why I have come to find him.)

“I know this may be awkward, but I was just curious to know whether or not you had discussed with your physician whether or not you could be diabetic…Excuse me? No, no sir, I am not a psychic, although I can see where you might have come to that conclusion. I am simply an olfactory technician (every superhero has to have a cover) and I noticed that you left behind an odor in the restroom that is consistent with that of high blood sugar. So, I think you need to get this under control and consult with your doctor to figure out a plan that is right for you. Now, enjoy the rest of your flight.”

I know that was a bit sarcastic and far fetched, but SERIOUSLY, what would you say??? I did feel some sort of responsibility. I mean, I had been given this gift and I didn’t want to let mankind down. What would Spiderman do? I think he would march right back there and find that man and let him know that he could have a serious health problem.

I went back to my seat and considered informing my husband of my plan, but I knew instinctively that he did NOT think that was what Spiderman would do. He probably thought Spiderman would come and sit back down and respect the man’s privacy. He probably would have had the same response when asked what would Wonderwoman do, what would Aquaman do, what would the Wondertwins do, what would Superman do, etc, until I ran out of all of the superheroes names I could remember.

Feeling somewhat defeated and a little guilty, I thought to myself, “What would GI Joe do? GI Joe always says that knowing is half the battle. This man deserves to KNOW.” At this point I had informed my husband of the ‘I smell diabetic people’ situation and he pretty much knew I was going to do what I wanted to do and there was little he could say to dissuade me. I think he had decided that he would just act like he didn’t know me and meet me on the other side of immigration once we landed.

The truth is, the longer I sat there, the more chicken I became. The thought of what to say in a good, diplomatic way eluded me. In the long run, I said nothing. I don’t know if that was the right or the wrong thing to do, but it was certainly the most comfortable thing to do and superheroes rarely do what is most comfortable for themselves, but rather what is ultimately best for mankind.

So, I suppose in truth, I am not a superhero after all. I’m just a diabetic girl with a really good sense of smell who wanted to help a man on an airplane who was a lot like me.

I guess that makes me human.

No wonder it's so hard!

I once had a post about trying to make a diabetic friendly pizza. It was long and had many different options. Bottom line was that there is no such thing. You should just exercise and be healthy and every once in awhile indulge in the real thing. So worth it. I also wondered why I had an increase of pizza eating since moving to Norway. Well, I found this online today and thought it was interesting:

"Norway is the Scandinavian country with the highest pizza consumption per capita. There are statistics indicating that the average Norwegian eats more than 50 pizzas a year, a figure also including frozen pizzas bought from supermarkets. 100% home delivery/takeaway was the fastest growing consumer foodservice sector in 2004."

That is a lot of pizza per person! I also read somewhere else that Norwegians consume more hotdogs per capita than any other country in the world. I will try to find the number, but it is probably close to the pizza number.

That means that for about 100 days out of the year, statistically, those of us in Norway are eating pizza or hotdogs.

hmmmm....

Just found that interesting.

The Day It All Made Sense

As anyone who has been following this blog knows, I have been sick an abnormal amount over the last two years. It has been a constant source of frustration for me, as I never had this problem before moving to Norway.
As you also may know, I have been somewhat of a 'Daredevil Diabetic' as well. My definition of a Daredevil Diabetic, is someone who knows they have the disease, but continues to live as though they didn't. Someone who still eats what they want, doesn't exercise much and basically refuses to make any lifestyle changes to accomodate their new found 'friend'. I have been one of those kinds of devils.
My diagnosis has never made sense to either myself or my doctors. I am not obese. I don't fit the usual demographic of those who develop Type 2 Diabetes at the age of 32. I have undergone a battery of tests, trying to rule out everything from pancreatic cancer to Type 1 Diabetes, because the diagnosis just didn't 'make sense'.
A few weeks ago, I went to the hospital to receive the results of the final round of testing. Genetic testing. My doctor just said, in a nicer way, 'Sorry, you just have bad genes when it comes to Diabetes. There is really nothing else to do or to test for. It's up to you.' My particular brand of the big D is genetic. Plain and Simple.

So my dance of denial continued. Partly because for me to acknowledge a disease, I need to SEE it. Everyday I KNOW I have LongQT Syndrome because I can FEEL the pacemaker/defibrallator implanted in my chest. I KNOW it's there. All Diabetes did was hang the POTENTIAL threat of amputation, stroke, blindness and other nasty things, over my head as something that MIGHT happen 15 years down the line. MIGHT happen. I have personally had too many other things that HAVE happened because of LongQT. I had SEEN my little sister die at the age of 24 from it. I had SEEN my other sister have to deal with losing her identical twin because of it. I had TWO heart surgeries in 4 years because of LongQT.

So forgive me Diabetes, if it was hard to take you seriously, but another more agressive disease has had me enthralled.

Until now.

May 23 was a big day for me. I was sick. AGAIN. I was talking to my husband on the phone and I said 'I wonder if it could have anything to do with Diabetes?'. So I pulled up Google and typed in the keywords that would change me: 'High Blood Sugar Immune System'.
The first thing that came up was an article about how unmanaged Diabetes destroys the immune system. Killing white bloodcells and leaving you vulnerable to sickness.
My heart sank. Suddenly I SAW what Diabetes could do. Not only what it could do, but more importantly, what I had ALLOWED it to do to me. For nearly a year, I haven't done a thing. I randomly take my medicine. I eat what ever the heck I want. I exercise sporadically. I have been a diabetic nightmare.
And now, I finally understood the consequences. I was sick. My body was sick. All because I chose to ignore something that just didn't seem real.

I am tired of diseases ruling my life. It took me years to get to a place of feeling like I could beat LongQT. To not feel threatened by it. Yet deep down, the fear remains. The fear that it will kill again. Me. My little sister. I didn't want to give Diabetes a place in my life. The disease department was full, but I knew, in that instant, that things had to change. But for the first time, I wanted to change. I want to be strong. I want to be healthy. I want to be beautiful. I want to vibrate with energy.

I want to LIVE.

I may have these diseases, but they WILL NOT have me

LIMBO

Have you ever wondered why it is SOOOO easy to be bad? This has been my biggest downfall since being diagnosed with Diabetes nearly a year ago. I KNOW what I should do. I KNOW how I should eat. Yet, it is so easy to make bad choices. It takes one second of failed will power for me to get my bloodsugar so high up that I feel like I am about to slip into a power nap of fairytale proportions. It’s the kind of nap that I never totally wake up from and end up walking around in a stupor for the remainder of the day. I am basically throwing minutes, hours, days, months and possibly years away, shaving off precious moments of my yet unlived life. Does that scare me? Sure, in theory.

I have learned a lot over the last 9 months. I think I have read, in some form or another, every book on Type 2 Diabetes available, or at least brief summaries of them. I think I finally understand why so many people can never get Diabetes under control.

It’s hard.

The vast majority of people with Type 2 diabetes are overweight and as a result have developed the disease. So, your doctor tells you that you have it, hands you a brochure, prescribes some form of medication and just like that, you are expected to walk out of the doctor’s office a changed and enlightened human being. BUT the reality is, you walk out feeling totally overwhelmed, scared and ashamed. There is an unspoken mentality that people who are fat ‘did it to themselves’. I once read a comment on a blog that said ‘all of those type 2 fatties are making the rest of us look bad’. Apparently this person was a type 1, and judging by his comment, was also probably thin. So, my biggest struggle has been this:

How do you change a lifetime of eating habits?
How do you quit years of food addictions?
How do you go from taking comfort in food to looking at certain foods as your enemy?

And believe me, when you suddenly have restrictions where before there were none, food can become your enemy. Every book I read gave me a list of what I had to STOP immediately. Every book I read was very clear in pinpointing all of the wrong elements in my life. Is it any wonder to see why so many people fail at controlling it? Why so many people feel overwhelmed?
I felt like I was doing EVERYTHING wrong and I felt hollow inside. Really. To the point where some days, I just say ‘forget it’. I can’t take the pressure anymore. I eat what I want. I don’t take my medicine. I feel sick and tired. And frankly, I am sick and tired. I am tired of the rollercoaster. Of having a great day and then ruining it by making a bad choice at the end of the day. I suppose I could start taking insulin, but for me, it would be an enabler. And I want to get this under control. I guarantee that the majority of type 2 diabetics want to get it under control but have the same feelings of confusion, of being overwhelmed by shame when they blow it…again. It’s not fun, but a powerful thing I do have is the power of visualization.

I can SEE myself happy and healthy and strong. I can see it so clearly. I want it so badly. I don’t want that girl to just live in my mind. I want her to come out of me. To EXPLODE out of me. To be a reality and not just a dream.

And on most days, it’s that girl, the beautiful diabetic, who gives me hope.

The Baby Carrot Scam

I am sorry it has been some time since I updated the blog, but I started a new job and my body is still recovering from being forced back into the 'real' world! I have joined the ranks of commuters everywhere and take the subway back and forth to work, and that, dear reader, is where this sad tale begins. It was early, about 6.30 am. I like to go to work early, first, because I am a morning person and get much more done BEFORE lunch than I do after lunch, and second, because I hate being packed into a subway car like a sardine.
So, here I was going to work in an almost empty train car and so I pulled out my guilty pleasure, O magazine. Oprah magazine, in my humble opinion, is one of the best magazines being sold today. I always feel good about myself after I have spent time reading it and I always learn something. So I was reading an article on nutrition, and the writer was spending the day with Marion Nestle. She is a famous nutritionist apparantly. The subject of 'baby carrots' comes up, and here is where things become disturbing. Let me preface this by saying, I have never liked baby carrots. I don't like 'adult' carrots either. Something about them. I think they have a slightly bitter taste to them. It's hard to describe. I have friends who have sworn that baby carrots are sweeter and better than regular carrots, but I have never thought so. (Strangly, even though I don't really like them, I ALWAYS put them in chicken and dumplings and curry. I do it because those 2 things are SUPPOSED to have carrots. Weird, I know. AND, I LOVE carrot cake!)
So, why have I never been able to tell the difference between adult and baby carrots? Here is why, and I quote:

' A pound of organic baby carrots costs 2.99. Turns out the little fellers don't grow that way. They're sculpted out of mega carrots by machines. That's why, Marion says, they turn white when exposed to air.'

Am I the only one who didn't know this? I was shocked!! They DO turn white! For some reason I felt like I was part of scam. Like a big con had been pulled. I still don't know why I am so annoyed. I guess I had just always assumed that they really WERE baby carrots. I took the manufacturer at their word. And it really isn't a BIG deal, but it kind of is to me. I have always carried a strange guilt for not liking carrots. Maybe because I grew up being told that carrots would make me see better and improve my night vision. Maybe it's because I really loved Bugs Bunny growing up and used to pretend Cheetos were carrots and I would gobble them down and say 'Eh, what's up doc?'. But they have always been something that I really wanted to like, but just didn't, so I am always trying to give them another chance.
Anyway, I guess it doesn't matter that much because carrots are not considered to be the best vegetables for diabetics, high in sugar. So, oh well!!! But I just thought I would share that little piece of information with all of you who read this!
By the way, I go back to the endochronologist in the morning to get the results of all my tests from 3 weeks ago. I should know for sure whether or not I am a type 1 or 2 by this time tomorrow. I will let you know.

Holy Land Artichokes

A Diabetic Delight!

My new obsession. I couldn't believe it. Now, I have been hearing about these Jerusalem artichokes for some time, I just assumed they were like regular artichokes but with a Holy Land pedigree. So, I never sought them out. Now I am kicking myself over all of the opportunities missed!!!
Oh, dear diabetic (or non) reader, have you yet discovered the miracle that is the Jerusalem aritichoke? If not, today, you will be enlightened.

This wonderful tuber is deceiving. First, it is not an artichoke, but rather from the sunflower family. Second, it is not from the Holy Land, but apparantly originated on the East coast of North America, probably Jersey. Just kidding, but you might find them growing there. Here is what they look like:

I know! It looks like ginger root! Who would have thought it was a tasty bit of magic wrapped in a plain and ugly package???? Not me! I don't know why I decided to pick it up today. I was at the market, and I had just learned the Norwegian word for it, and I saw it and somewhere in the back of mind, I remembered it was VERY low on the Glycemic Index, like a ZERO, and after getting over the initial shock that it wasn't an artichoke from the Holy Land, I picked a piece up and went on my way.

This is GREAT news for Diabetics and for those living a low carb lifestyle. Here is why:

"unlike the potato (where the carbohydrates consist of amylose and amylopectin), the Jerusalem artichoke's starch is in the form inulin, a polysaccahirde. So, a benefit of storing starch as inulin is that Jerusalm artichokes are very diabetic-friendly, and apparently Jerusalem artichoke flour is good not only for diabetics but also people with a wheat allergy" (Kara!!). Inulin?? If you are like me, you immedietly saw the similarity to insulin, but it really is Inulin. To credit where I got this information: http://cooksister.typepad.com/cook_sister/2006/01/jerusalm_artich.html
She has some great recipes for Jerusalem artichokes, including a yummy soup.

ANYWAY, back to ME!!
So, I bought ONE, and I came home and, after an initial examination, I chopped it in half and boiled it for 30 minutes. Then, I mashed it with some butter and sour cream, salt and pepper, and, WOW!!!! It really did taste a bit like artichokes! But they are a GREAT substitution for mashed potatoes! I still can't believe it! They were so good, I ate them all before dinner and had to have sugar snap peas instead!!
So what are you waiting for???? Go get some Holy Land Artichokes and rediscover your old favorites! Mashed potatoes! Chips (yes, you can fry them!!!) I just can't believe it!! It's a miracle!!!

And suddenly, my life changed...

I have been having an affair of sorts. Like some affairs, mine started out quite innocently. If you have been following this blog at all, you are now well aware of the fact that I have several names for myself including:

1. The Daredevil Diabetic
2. The Denial Diabetic
and
3. The Diabetic Disaster

These names are well earned. I am the first to admit that I have not been a Diabetic Poster Child. This has been very hard for me. Hard to change my eating habits. Hard to remember to take my medicine. Hard to start going to the gym.
And this is where it all began. Every weekend here in Norway, I look forward to the Saturday edition of the Dagsavisen because it has an excerpt of the New York Times in it! I read it cover to cover, even if I could care less about the subject content, simply because it is in English, and newspapers are one of the things that I miss tremendously! There was an article in the paper talking about the revolution of combining workouts with MP3 players. Where personal trainers record workouts designed for stationary equipment, yoga, pilates, ballet, sculpting, you get the idea. So, I went to www.cardiocoach.com, and I was hooked instantly. I read all of the reviews and downloaded Volumes 1-3 and uploaded them to my MP3 player. The next day, I headed for the gym, which in itself is a small miracle. It was there that I met Sean OMalley for the first time. His voice filled my head as I played Volume 1. Giving me detailed instructions on what to do and when. It was as if he could read my mind. At one point, I found myself wanting to lower the speed, and suddenly he said 'Now, I know you probably want to lower your speed, BUT DON'T'!!!
HE WAS TALKING TO ME!!!
The entire workout took 30 minutes, but the time FLEW by! And at the end I was dripping with sweat! I was so excited! Even more amazingly, I couldn't wait until tomorrow to go back and do it again.
So, I went home and all my sweet husband heard was 'Sean this and Sean that and Sean says'. It had to have been annoying.
So each day I was faithful in going to the gym, for me, it MAKES a huge difference feeling as though someone is there watching me. I'm sure it all stems back to my performance issues, but that is another post.
Sean and I were happy for a time, but then I began to grow restless. It wasn't Sean's fault, when it comes to the gym, it takes ALOT, not only to keep me excited and focused, but also, just to keep me there.

And that is how I met Grace....
Grace was over at www.itrain.com. Grace Lazenby, trainer to the stars and now to Kathryn in Norway. I joined itrain for 9.99 a month and for that 9.99 I get 5 workout downloads amonth. I downloaded:
1. I tread with Grace
2. I sculpt with Grace
3. I ballet sculpt with Grace
4. I strength with Nick
5. TBD

So, Grace and I worked out the next day together. Actually, I worked out and Grace just yelled 'GO!!!' alot. But it was a good workout and I was throughly worked out at the end. Then I did the I sculpt with Grace, and let me tell you, I worked muscles I had forgotten I had. It was wonderful.
Since then I have been going back and forth between Sean and Grace, like a child from a broken home.
Now, Sean doesn't know about Grace and Grace doesn't know about Sean, and I actually feel a strange conflict about it. It is the same feeling I get when I switch hairdressers, kind of like I am cheating, but I think it's ok.
Now, this is the sort of thing that is WONDERFUL news for people like me! I am not a naturally 'sporty' person, so having these people coach me is so motivating. It has helped me take on another aspect of managing my Diabetes that I was dreading. On top of that I am having fun doing it! My blood sugar readings are getting lower and I am feeling better about myself, not to mention, dropping a few of those pesky pounds.

So, I have two new people in my life. Sean and Grace. I haven't worked out with Nick yet, I just don't have any room in my life for him and juggling 3 trainers might prove beyond my capabilities.
And my wonderful husband is very understanding and supportive because, as he says: 'Why would I be jealous when I am the one getting all the benefits?'

True. So true.

Elly and Flash

So, let me introduce Elly and Flash. They are our psuedo-children and between the two of them weigh in at around 10 pounds! These are the first pets I have ever owned independent of my parents and my husband was never allowed pets as a child due to an allergic sister, so, really, the change, for us, has been like having children. And yes, we do dress them. We HAVE to. We live in Norway you know and 5 pound chihuahuas are no match for a heavy weight winter. I usually think animals in people clothes is RETARDED, but I have to admit, I find myself leaning towards the purchase of a 'Born in the USA' shirt for them. Elly is our girl dog. she is on the top. Flash is our boy dog. He is on the bottom! Ok. So there they are. Two chihuahua's, spirited away from the intense Texas heat to snowy Northern Europe. Who thinks they might be confused?

So, more about Diabetes next time, for now, it feels good not to write about it, mainly because I am a Diabetic disaster. No self control. I think it may be referred to in Medical circles as denial.

Until next time.

My Very First Diabetic Flu

Let me tell you, I have been one sick diabetic. My husband got sick the day after Christmas and, like a good wife, I quickly did the same! My husband, Christopher, is a stoic sick person. He never complains. It really annoys me. Only because, I am a big complainer when I am sick. Well, I wouldn't say I am a complainer, more of a whiner. Simply put, when I am sick, I want my mommy. Unfortunantly my mommy is continents away in a country called Texas (don't you now we Texans secretly hold on to the hope that one day we will once again be known as the great Republic of Texas???) I digress.

So, I have been sick. For a week I was convinced I had the bird flu, or as I like to call it, chicken fever. I had been reading about how it was slowly creeping into Europe and taking over Turkey. Now, I find that ironic. TURKEY having an outbreak of the BIRD flu. Hmmm. The saddest part being that it was all these little children getting sick. One of the little girls, a 4 year old, got it from hugging and kissing dead chickens. Oh my. That is really sad. Well, of course I didn't have the bird flu, but I think you already knew that.

So, when I am sick, if I can't have my mommy, I want comfort food. Luckily, I did not have the throwing up kind of flu, (I am a horrible vomiter. There is nothing else in this world that i dread more) so I was able to make all kinds of foods that I consider to be of the comfort variety. So, once again, I failed miserably at being a model diabetic. Everything I ate made my blood sugar spin wildly out of control. Here is a short list of what I have had since I have been sick: (remember, this is only a short list)
1. Homemade cinnamon rolls.
They were heavenly. Ooey and gooey.
2. Homemade macaroni and cheese
Need I say more or go into detail?
3. Homemade chicken noodle soup
Ok, here I did use whole wheat organic noodles.
4. For breakfast one morning I had:
Fishsticks and macaroni and cheese.
Yes, for breakfast.
5. Pizza one night.
With extra mozzeralla. Ok, Ok, and added pepperoni.
6. Chicken and rice soup.
7. Creamy tomato basil soup.
Yes, with heavy cream.

To top it off, I have turned into an orange addict. I don't think that is too bad though. I am eating them all the time. They are so good, and now our two Chihuahua's think that oranges are the food of the gods. They freak out when I start to peel one and about kill themselves begging for little pieces. It is really quite charming.

So, my very first diabetic sick experience turned out to be a total failure. I tend to treat Diabetes like a special diet. Something that I can go on and off of. I am like a Diabetic Jekyll and Hyde. On most days I am a diabetic. On holidays, I am not. On weekends, I am not. On other special occaisions, I am not. When I am sick, I am most definately NOT.

Does anyone else have this problem? I don't know why I can't get my mind around it. I have no problems grasping Long QT Syndrome, but diabetes just doesn't seem real to me.
Maybe I should see a therapist.
Seriously.
It is something to consider.

My Very First Diabetic Christmas

I had a great Christmas. I had great food. I had great company whom I made the great food for.

Alas, I was not a great diabetic.

I had intended to be, but as the song says, 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions.' I am so frustrated with Diabetes! I want to eat what ever the hell I want to eat! I want to bake all of the things you are supposed to bake at Christmas and more importantly, I want to eat them! I want stuffing! I want egg nog! I want the sweets! I am starting to HATE the South Beach daily emails I receive in my Inbox. The ones with titles like 'Beach Friendly Holidays' and 'Guilt-free South Beach Christmas'. DELETE. DELETE.

Confessions of a daredevil diabetic:

1. I made egg nog with vanilla icecream, Jack Daniels, and sweetened condensed milk and I DRANK IT!
2. I made homemade stuffing with WHITE bread and I ATE IT!
3. I made a batch of heavenly lemon bars with sugar and butter and I ATE THEM TOO!

Oh, I feel sooooo naughty! BUT I AM NOT SORRY!!

No, I am not.
Did I feel sick at all? Yes, a little.
Would I do it again? Most likely.

Strangly, Diabetes has created in me an intense desire to forge a healthy relationship with my body. To understand it better. To work with it. To fine tune it. To make it strong. So why do I punish it with sugar and starch? Good question. Scary answer. RAW LUST. Lust for food. I simply LOVE creating things in the kitchen. Here is a change: I can make smart food choices from the menus at restaurants, a picture perfect diabetic, but left alone in my kitchen, I am trouble brewing. Cooking fascinates me. The fact that I can open a cabinet and take out a bunch of unrelated ingredients and within an hour or so have homemade baguettes with fresh pasta and homemade pesto is AMAZING to me. I love doing it! CREATING. Cooking is my art. It is something at which I excel. It has become my passion.

So really, here is the deal. My analysis. My 'two cents'.

My head is around this whole diabetes thing, but my heart is slow to follow.

In my head, I understand the enormity of the condition. I understand the importance of having harmony and peace within my body. I understand I have to take responsibility and make smart choices.

In my heart, however, I find a certain freedom that blossoms when I am cooking. I feel alive. I feel sharp. I feel satisfied. I feel challenged. And I feel sad when I don't have total freedom in food. The very thing that once had unbridled potential, now suddenly has limits. I am heart sick you could say.

And I suppose it just takes time. Time to embrace a new lifestyle. Time to learn new methods. Time to discover wonderful things with all of the right food combinations. And I know that there are all sorts of SCRUMPTOUS diabetic meals just waiting to be created by me. But the heart is slow to follow. It tends to dwell on the days of old. It tends to linger, just a little, behind my head.

Does that make sense? It does to me. And reading what my head seems to know sure seems to make my heart feel better.

The Truth About Pizza

As I pay more attention to the things I eat and their effects on my blood sugar, this is a truth I have learned of late: anytime you see an article with the headline 'The Truth About....', there is a VERY high chance that the article is going to tell you why that thing is so bad for you. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, but for the most part, it is usually something like 'The Truth About Fried Foods', or 'The Truth About Potatoes '. If you don't want to feel guilty from that point forward, DO NOT read past the headline. Usually, by the end of the article, you are armed with all of the reasons WHY dairy products will indeed cause your untimely death. Now, since becoming a person with Diabetes, I have learned which foods I can have that will keep my blood glucose low and I have also learned which foods will cause it to climb completly out of control. Sadly, pizza is one of these 'out of control' things. Now, I LOVE pizza. I cannot look back on my life and remember a time without it. Seriously. The earliest time was when I was about 5 or so. I remember my parents had a friend who owned a Pizza Inn restaurant. I remember eating pizza there. I remember the smell of the place. I also remember that for many years after that, whenever I saw a Pizza Inn, I thought my parents friends owned it. Later on, when I was about 11, we had moved to Houston. I walked to a Pizza Inn near our house with a friend, and proceeded to tell the manager that I knew the owners and they wouldn't mind if we were given a free pizza. He was very kind and smiling, and he did indeed give us a free pizza. I looked very cool in front of my friend, but it turned to embarassment later on when I found out that Pizza Inn's are franchises and our family friend only owned the ONE store. I guess the manager just felt sorry for the arrogant and mis-informed 11 year old, and looking back on it, the 'manager' was probably the owner. I remember having pizza parties. They were all the rage back then, right up there with roller skating parties. Chuck E. Cheese pizza parlor. I even have a picture of me in my little cheerleading uniform with my mom and sisters and a person dressed as a giant RAT (who was supposed to be Chuck E.) at a Chuck E. Cheese pizza party. Then, for awhile, we all loved Mr. Gatti's. Then Godfather's. Then I remember when Pizza Hut came out with a stuffed pizza. I so clearly remember eating that. As I grew older and became involved in drama, we had the cast parties at my house and we always had pizza. In college we had Pizza Hut at least once a week. A large pepperoni, thin and crispy, cooked just so the outer edges of the pepperoni were slightly brown and crisp. OHHHH, just thinking about that sends me into complete ectasy. I LOVE PIZZA! Until recently, I had never had frozen pizza. There was no point, since I lived in America, a vast land of endless pizza eating opportunities. (Well, I had tried pizza rolls back in the 80's, remember those?) Then I married a Norwegian and moved to Norway. Here, everything is expensive. You can get pizza, but it is really not any good and it costs a small fortune. As a result, the Norwegians have a HUGE assortment of frozen pizzas. Like I mentioned before, I have been sort of a frozen pizza snob. They were just sub-standard in the world of pizza. Not being able to afford a 40 dollar pizza, and faced with no other options, I had no choice but to try a frozen pizza here in Oslo. I remember pouting about it in the grocery store. My husband assured me that they were really good, so begrudgingly, I chose one called 'Ristorante Speciale'. It had mozzarella, mushrooms and pepperoni, the all important thin crust AND the mandatory Italian sounding name. So, we bought them and trudged home with our frozen pizzas. Suprisingly good. That is what my verdict was. I'm not sure if it was because it had been so long since I had had a 'thin and crispy' pepperoni pizza, or if it was really that good, but irregardless, it became clear that my pizza eating would go on uninterupted here in Norway.

Then came Diabetes. Pizza and Diabetes are like Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker, Tom and Jerry, God and the devil, you know, arch enemies. Not just plain old enemies, but ARCH enemies. After having pizza, my blood glucose is so CRAZY high that I often think, 'surely my meter is broken' and test again, but no, it's not broken, my glucose is just CRAZY high. So, what's a girl to do? I truly cannot imagine not being able to eat pizza. Well, I decided to try 'alternative' recipes for pizza. Here is a summary of each of those attempts.

1. Dr. Lindbergh's Low Glycemic Pizza
Here in Norway, Dr. Lindbergh is kind of like the South Beach doctor, Dr. Agaston, except he is not a cardiologist, but an endochronologist. He is a Diabetes doctor and has created an entire diet based on a Low GI approach. Slow carbs they are called. I think elsewhere in the world he is called 'The Greek Doctor', because he is originally from Greece. Anyway, he came out with a frozen pizza for those of us trying to lead a healthy and responsible lifestyle. Well, I tried it. It tasted like cardboard. As I ate my 'special' pizza and my husband had his 'normal' pizza, I found myself getting very grumpy. His looked and smelled 1000 times better, and I knew from experience, that his tasted better. Maybe if we had both been eating the 'special' pizza, it would have been ok, but the low GI pizza simply could not compete. It was not a good experience. But my glucose reading 2 hours afterwards was NORMAL.

2. The Zucchini Crust Pizza
I got this idea off of a South Beach Diet forum. It sounded very promising. So, I whipped up my pizza crust made of zucchini and egg, baked it and topped it with pizza toppings and voila! I had pizza! Except it wasn't. It tasted more like pizza toppings. I think if you are one of those people who just likes the toppings, this is a GREAT alternative. (I have never understood those people who leave the crust when eating pizza. I LOVE the crust. I am a crust girl and am always the one who says 'Are you going to eat those crusts? No? Can I have them?') It was a great idea, but just didn't give you that pizza eating feeling. Plus you had to use a knife and fork. Again, I tested my blood glucose two hours afterwards and it was NORMAL.

3. The Low Carb Soy Flour Crust Pizza
When I found this recipe, I was very excited. The author said that everyone who tried it was saying stuff like 'this is soooo much better than normal pizza!'. I knew it was too good to be true, but I am a sucker for the faint possiblilty that it just might be better. No. It was not. I ended up just scraping off the toppings and eating those. Maybe European soy flour is different, or maybe, it's just mind over matter. Even more annoyingly, 2 hours later, my blood glucose? Yep, NORMAL.

How annoying right????? I think we can all conclude from these experiments that it is the crust on the normal pizza that causes the whacked out blood sugar! The toppings are all the same. Why oh why, must the crust be evil? That is my very favorite part! Clearly it is not the toppings. It's the flour. The beautiful, soft, innocent looking flour. So what is the conclusion? Must I go through life with only my memories of pizza to sustain me? I think not.

Here is my solution. I think this whole Diabetes thing is about a lifestyle. Especially for us Type 2's. We must have a lifestyle change in how we eat. So, that is what I have done. Well, for the most part, that is what I have done. My theory is, if I am good and eating right for 29 days out of the month, there is NO reason why I cannot have a treat on the 30th day. 29 days of good clean eating surely must outweigh one day of NASTY eating right? So, I look forward to day 30 (or sometimes day 31). That one day, enables me to EMBRACE the other 29 or 30. Knowing, that if I can just get through those, my reward awaits me. PIZZA. Real pizza. With a crunchy, crispy crust!!! So, in order to have it, I must make sacrifices elsewhere. What's your 'pizza'? Don't let Diabetes steal your joy in food! Instead, find a way to incorporate your favorites into a new healthy lifestyle. It is worth it and you will be amazed at how much better your favorite food will actually taste when you are not having it everyday!

So, the truth about pizza?? Well, the truth is that there is just no substitute for the real thing.

Prick Your Friends Wisely

In the first few months of my diagnosis I walked around in a state of denial. It was very hard for me to believe that I could have Diabetes. I was only 33. I was not obese. So, no, of course I didn't have Diabetes. Yet, of course, I did. At this point I was not on medication, BUT I did get a prescription for one of those Blood Glucose Meters. The meters themselves are pretty cheap, but watch out for those strips! My jaw dropped when I heard how much they cost! (If you don't know, you can basically have EITHER an Ipod Shuffle OR 2 boxes of testing strips.) So, my first task was to choose which meter I wanted. Now, I have never spent much time in the Pharmacy section of drugstores. I love going to drugstores, but just not for drugs. I go for make-up and hair products, and occaisionally, just for laughs, my sister and I have been known to make use of the free blood pressure cuff that is standard in drugstores throughout America. So, when I was shown to the 'Blood Glucose Meter Section', I was shocked! It was like walking into a Circuit City or Best Buy, an entire facet of previously unknown fancy electronics lay before me. And, like most people my age, I wanted the smallest, thinnest, most technologically advanced meter I could have. If, by chance, it could also hold my phone numbers and important dates, all the better. So, after careful consideration, I was the proud new owner of a 'Freestyle Mini'. I was imagining myself being the envy among diabetics, nonchalantly pulling it out and someone asking,
'Oh! Wow! That is one HOT meter! Which one is it?'
To which I would reply,
'Oh, this old thing?? It's the Freestyle Mini. You can take it for a test drive if you want!'
When I heard
'Excuse me, Miss??'
Startled, I was like,
'Oh, sorry! I'm just new to this whole thing and was thinking about how to use it!'
That got me a sympathetic look and a,
'Well, let me show you how it works.'
So we sat down at the counter and he pulled out my box of Lancets. I know, the word 'Lancet' conjures up all kinds of imagery. I imagine Sir Lancelot, wielding his lance to defend the fair maid Guinnevier. Or Lance, pedaling powerfully through the mountains in the Tour de France. Yet I could find no flowery images for these lancets. A more truthful name for them would be 'very small darts'. And you take these deceptively colorful darts and you LOAD them into, what is, in truth, a very small dart gun. Then, once loaded, you pull back the plastic thing, as though you were cocking a gun, until it clicks, and then you proceed to push a button, and like LIGHTNING, the small dart gun propels the small dart foward, and STABS you, and, if you're lucky, a single drop of blood will appear on your finger. If you are not so lucky, like me, you will continue to bleed for at least 3 minutes, while you ponder the reality of doing this 5 or 6 times a day.
'Now you try' the pharmacist said with a little too much pep in his voice.
'How about I try it on you first?' I said. He thought I was kidding. I wasn't. So, as I loaded my dart gun, I tried to think happy thoughts of lancets. Lance in the mountains. Lance in the mountains. Lance in the mount......POW! I drew blood on my first try! Trust me, doing it to yourself is psychologically MUCH easier than someone doing it to you. I filed that information away for future use. So, I left the drugstore with my new meter, lancets and strips, much less enamoured than I was 1 hour ago.

The Pricking obesession:

My husband was my first victim. I tried to act like it was a spontaneous sugesstion, but truthfully, I had been rehersing it all day. As I was checking my blood sugar I acted like I 'suddenly' had an idea,
'OH! Why don't we test your blood sugar as well? Doesn't your mom have some hypoglycemia thing?'
To which he responded somewhat hesitantly,
'Yeeesss'
and then, with what has become my favorite question,
'Will it hurt?'
Now here is where you can really have some fun with people. I have a few answers I am prepared to give, depending on the person being pricked.

1: 'Nooo! Well, I mean, not really.
Or
2: 'Well, I'm not going to lie to you, it'll sting a little'

Then, after they have agreed to getting pricked, I make a big display of changing out the lancet. Dramatically twisting off the plastic covering of the new needle, then holding it up to the light as if I am checking for flaws on the needle, sometimes I say,
'Just checking. I would hate for it to get caught on your skin on the way out.' And then I wink at them while they become even more nervous and panicked. Now, it is important to note, I have NEVER forced anyone to get tested with my meter. 100 percent of the time, people have WANTED to. All I have to do is say something like,
'Hey, doesn't your dad have Diabetes? Do you want me to test you?'
Or something along those lines. Bottom line is, people have a fascination with things that have to do with their bodies. They think it is cool that I can prick them, draw blood, and within 10 seconds they can know what is going on with their blood sugar. AND, I ALWAYS am sure to say,
'This is NOT a diagnoses or 100 percent accurate. If you feel you may have Diabetes, or be Pre-Diabetic, please seek the advice of a medical professional.' See how responsible I am? Here is a short list of some of my friends and family and their results:

Christopher (my husband): normal
Andreas: normal
Hanne: normal
Christopher (my friend): normal
Lars Peter: normal
My Dad: High. I advised him to see his doctor.
Kindel (my sister): refused repeated requests of being pricked.
My mom: Same as Kindel.
Kari (my mother in law): high normal, but she already knew that.
Hans Peter (my father in law): normal
Janice (my aunt): high normal, but she had a banana about 2 hours earlier.
David (my uncle): normal
I could go on, but I think you get the point. Now why do I do this you may ask? Well, on a superficial level I could say that I am providing a service to the community, early detection. But I think reality is, everytime I test someone, I secretly find myself hoping that someone else will be high like me. That I will have someone I can share this with. Because sometimes I feel alone in all of this and having someone who could say, 'I know what you are feeling', would make all the difference in the world.

I'll Have the Special Meal Please!

Since being diagnosed with Diabetes, I have made various attempts to radically change my eating habits in an effort to FORCE my body into having low blood sugar readings. My intentions are always good, but I find it brutally hard to stick to lean protein, low carbohydrate, low fat and sugar free choices. I love food. I love cooking. I love using olive oil and butter and cheese. I love pasta. I love baking bread and cakes and cookies. I love wine. So,while reading one of about 30 books on how to live with Diabetes, most of which have different opinions on the best ways to control it, I read how the author had not had a piece of fruit for about 30 years. I immedietly put the book down. I cannot live like that! What discipline this man had! I have nothing but admiration and respect for him, but it made me sad and it scared me. Is this what I am destined for? To never eat a piece of fruit again? It's not like I am a huge fruit eater mind you. I am famous for spending several minutes picking out beautiful specimans of fruit at the market, only to have them languish in the fruit bowl at home, never to be eaten. (I know I am not alone in this! How many of you throw away fruit and vegetables on a regular basis? Admit it!!!!) So, it's not like I am a fruit eating machine, I just want to have the CHOICE of whether or not I WANT to eat fruit. This is unbelievably hard. Of course I want to do what is best for my body, so, prior to a recent overseas trip, I got all responsible on myself, and without thinking it through, I phoned up the airline and requested a 'Special Diabetic Meal'. I hung up the phone and spent several moments feeling quite pleased with myself. I had turned over a new leaf! I was, once again, taking responsibility for my health! I was going to get this Diabetes under control! The moment lasted for about 20 minutes.
So, fast forward a month, and I of course had forgotten all about my 'Special Meal' request. I had even made myself some 'Diabetic Snacks' for the flight because I wanted to be smart and prepared, knowing the adverse affect airplane food might have on my condition. So, I was somewhat surprised when a flight attendant came to my seat and leaned over, and with great discretion and a very low tone, said,
'Hi, I just wanted to confirm that you ordered a special meal for today's flight'.
My wistful thoughts that she was coming to give a complimentary upgrade to Business class were quickly shattered. My husband looked at me, eyebrows raised, as if to say 'Special meal my ass', and I looked at the flight attendant and smiled and said, with great discretion and an equally low tone,
'Why yes, I did, thanks for asking.'
We shared a conspiratal moment of eye contact and she went off to continue her mission of searching out the other special meal passengers. I gave my husband a smug look and said
'I'm being responsible! I have to get this Diabetes under control!'.
'OK' he said, and I just knew he was thinking about the pizza we had the night before.
'I can change' I said, a little too defensively.
He knows me too well.
So, about an hour later, after the first beverage service, a different flight attendant came down the aisle carrying a stack of what I could only imagine were special meals. He got to our row and looked at me and said, in a not so low and not so discreet tone, 'Special meal??' 'Yes, Thank you.' He set it down in front of me and on the fancy foil cover in black magic marker was a HUGE letter D. D for the Diabetic in seat 27F. I noticed other passengers in the immediate vicinity looking over at me. I know what they were thinking. I used to do the same thing before the big D:
'I wonder what's wrong with her that she got a special meal?'
'She is probably a vegetarian, or a strict kosher Jew.'
And to make matters worse, the meal service for the non-special meal folks had not even started. It was very awkward. I didn't want to be the ONLY person eating in my row. I wondered if all of the other special meal people felt the same.
'You can go ahead and eat' my husband said. He thought I was just being polite, waiting for the others to get their meals. In truth, I was just embarrassed and angry. And getting angrier every time I looked at the big, black D on the foil in front of me. Who was I angry with? Diabetes. Special Meals. The loud flight attendent. The people looking at me. Me, for ordering the stupid special meal.
So, knowing I couldn't avoid it, I lifted the foil and entered the world of the special diabetic meal. Mmmmmmm, chicken. On rice. The brown kind. Broccoli. No sauce, but two generous lemon wedges. My mood was spiraling quickly. I also got a salad. A wholewheat roll. No butter, but some heart-healthy spread. Water and about six red grapes for desert. I couldn't find my salad dressing or salt and pepper, although there was a complimentary pack of 'Mrs. Dash'. I rang my call button and the flight attendant came and I said
'Yea, hi, sorry, but I can't find my salad dressing'.
Without missing a beat she said with a big smile, 'You ordered the special meal'.
As if that answered my query. Then I suddenly realized that nothing was missing. I didn't get salad dressing. This was an intentional part of the diabetic meal. That was apparantly why I was given TWO lemon wedges instead of ONE. One wedge for the salad and the other wedge for the sauceless chicken, brown rice and broccoli. I was poking at the chicken thinking violent thoughts when the regular meal service came through.
'Chicken or Beef?'
'Beef' my husband answered. He got a choice. Beef tips in a red wine sauce with pasta. A salad, but his had a packet of Ranch dressing on the side. Not only did he get a roll, he also got cheese and REAL butter. His desert was not fruit, it was some cake thing. It all looked amazing. Was I hallucinating? Was I lusting over an airplane meal? Apparantly so. I was on the verge of tears, when my sweet, darling husband offered me the Ranch salad dressing. 'What about you?' I asked
'I don't need it' He said sympathetically.
I fell in love all over again. I used that packet of ranch dressing sparingly. It was important to ration it out so that it would last the entire meal and cover everything that I put into my mouth. Against all odds, I achieved my goal and begrudgingly ate the grapes. I did it. I completed my first special Diabetic meal. That sense of pride was sneaking back in, but I quickly tamped it down, less it compel me to consider requests of special meals on future flights.
8 hours into our 10 hour flight, I was starving again and looking forward to snack time. I panicked when I saw the special meal flight attendent heading towards me again. I had nowhere to run. He handed me a tray. Are you kidding me? There are Diabetic snacks? I just thought it was the meal service. It was turkey with lettuce on whole wheat bread, fat free mayonaisse and a red apple with a big bruise on it. Overall not that bad. Then my husband got his 'snack'. Some hot cheesy stuffed sandwich, a bag of Ruffles and some chocolate covered nut thing. I did not want my snack. I wanted his. I proposed a trade. My apple for his Ruffles. 'I'm allergic to apples' he said, as if to imply he would have gladly gone through with the proposed trade had it not been for that pesky allergy. 'Yea, well isn't THAT conveinient??' I thought. I was in SUCH a bad mood at this point. All I wanted was to get off of the plane in Texas and find a Whatabuger. Stupid Diabetic meals and snacks!

Now, isn't this interesting? Countless times in my life I have had meals just like this. In all of my various 'get in good shape' spurts over the years chicken, brown rice and broccoli were a staple in my diet. So what about the chicken, brown rice and broccoli was making me so angry now? Simply put, before, I CHOSE to eat that way to get into shape and lose weight. I didn't HAVE to, I WANTED to. It was no longer a way I COULD eat, but the way I HAD to eat. It was what I HAD to do to save my body from this disorder, that, if left unmanaged, promised horrific consequences down the road. I felt like my choice had been taken from me. My joy in food had been stolen. I was suddenly handed a new set of rules. Rules I had not made nor had I chosen. So i wasn't angry about the meal. I was angry about what it represented, lack of choice. How could I regain control and still find joy in food? Do you know what I mean? Have you ever felt this way? Yet somewhere in all of this, I managed to call and confirm that I had a Special Diabetic Meal on the return flight. Baby steps, my friends, baby steps.

Fresh Start

So, I guess a better name for this blog would have been 'The Invisible Diabetic'! Two months since my last post. I wish I could say that I have been incredibly and importantly busy, but no. I haven't. So, I will make this post a 'Catch you up on the last two months' post. So, now I will condense into ONE post all of the things I think have been important/fun/interesting and blog worthy.

1. Diabetes:
In a word, FRUSTRATING. I had a really bad experience with the doctor who initially diagnosed me and had to change doctors due to what I can only describe as incompetence. And to be fair, a MASSIVE language barrier. The final straw came when I questioned him on the drug he put me on in relation to the drug my Cardiologist has me on in regard to potential drug interactions. (With a dead sister and cousin, I feel it is my responsibility to ensure that all drugs which enter into MY body can exist harmoniously!) When I told him I found literature on the drug makers website that urged 'extreme caution' when combining these two particular drugs, he reacted in a way that I would say was a little less than professional. He called me (and my sweet husband) liars. Said that if we wanted to question his recommendations that we needed to go to medical school. He then said he believed the majority of my problems where emotional and I should just sit my husband down and say 'I need you to LISTEN to me so I stop acting out with imagined medical conditions!' (As if heart disease and Diabetes can be faked!) He then recommended that I take it easy for a couple of weeks and talk with friends and cook a little. OH!!! And the best part was 'You worry too much! It is not your job to worry about your health, that is for me and your husband to worry about!'
AAUUGGHHHH!!! I couldn't believe it! Was this for real?? I looked closely at the plants and paintings in search of the hidden cameras, fully expecting Ashton Kutcher to burst into the room and say 'You got PUNKED!!' But sadly, no, this doctor was 100 percent serious about what he was saying to me. 2005 and I was being told my health problems were imagined due to emotional imbalance and I needed to be a good wife and just cook and chat with friends while my husband worried about my health.

I smiled politely and HIGH-TAILED it out of there and promptly found a new doctor who politely listened to the whole sordid tale and at it's conclusion shook his head in silent disgust and said 'I am so very sorry you had to go through that.'
I felt justified and cleansed. When a medical professional casts dispersions on your character, no matter how ridiculos his rantings, it really does mess with you a little bit.
So, I love my new doctor. He suggested that we just start over. So we did. Based on my blood work he didn't think things looked right. My first A1C test with him was 6.2, 3 weeks later he took another A1C test and it was 5.1. He promptly took me off the Amaryl that the previously mentioned doctor had put me on. Either the Amaryl was causing me to have bouts of super low hypo-glycemia that was driving my A1c number down, or I was having really high high's and really low low's that were balancing each other out. He also wanted to test my pancreas for Insulin output to determine whether or not I could be a Mild Type 1 Diabetic. Started me on Glucophage, which is much better for me than Amaryl, and all and all made me feel like a human being again! I love my new doctor!
So, as of today, I am still a Type 2. My insulin production is on the low end of normal. I am not producing extra insulin like most Type 2's, so we are doing further research. Medically it has been an interesting 2 months.
Now, what have we learned today??

• It is NEVER ok for a doctor to talk to you like you are insane.
• It is ALWAYS ok for you to do independent research on your own and to ask your doctor about it.
• You must ALWAYS do whatever it takes to FULLY understand ANY diagnoses you recieve from a doctor.

And finally, and I believe most importantly:

• OWN your disease..Do NOT let it own you!!! Our identity should not be defined by being diseased, but rather by how we LIVE with that particular disease. In the end, it's all about living. Living well. Living completly. Living. Period.