tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52343797391640531002024-03-13T08:55:59.603-04:00Tomorrow comes a day too soon...whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-64247739925624869762014-07-22T23:05:00.000-04:002014-07-22T23:06:21.771-04:00How many pieces of technology does it take to replace a pancreas? <br />
In this case,<br />
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<li>an iphone</li>
<li>a tablet</li>
<li>two continuous glucose monitors</li>
<li>one insulin pump</li>
<li>one wireless hotspot</li>
<li>a pump meter/remote</li>
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A couple weeks ago I got a call about participating in an Artificial Pancreas System trial at UVA, and being that the dates fit perfectly into my summer schedule and I've been wanting to participate in one since I first heard about the system, I of course signed right up. After the checks to make sure I was alive and not pregnant, I was screened in to the trial. This meant a week of data collection at home, and then two stays at UVA each lasting about 30 hours. <br />
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For 30 hours I got to watch as the devices I listed above worked collectively as my pancreas. I watched (somewhat in disbelief) as the system time after time corrected predicted highs and lows to keep me within range for the entire time I was there. Through meals, sleep, and exercise, I maintained normal blood glucose levels. While I get some good days here and there when that happens, it is usually because of very careful calculations on my part, or just plain luck. At one point one of the nurses said "Who would have thought math could do something this great?" In my head, I responded, "Me Lady! Of course math can do this - math can do anything you ask it to do!" But I understood her point - after five years of treating my body like a science experiment, I was hooked up to a system that was making all the decisions for me - and making all the right ones. <br />
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While at UVA, I had zero high blood glucose values, and zero lows. The following day at home, I experienced one high, and five lows (three of which were overnight). Getting to see the system in action gave me hope - I can say with certainty that this will become a reality for home use in my lifetime and will make diabetes management so much more effective and less of a mental and emotional burden. That is also what made it difficult to go back to "just" my cgm and pump. It is hard knowing there is a system out there that is safer and more effective than the guessing game I do all day everyday, but also knowing I have to wait, and wait, and wait for it to become available. If you know me, you know waiting isn't really my thing.<br />
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In addition to my rejuvenated hope and faith that this will get easier in my lifetime, I also walked away with a few pieces of information that I think will improve my current methods. <br />
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<li>My body seems to do well with an 80% bolus upfront for meals, with the other 20% given over a half hour, one hour, or two hours (depending on the fat content). </li>
<li>It had been way too long since I strictly carb counted any meals, which meant that my estimates were getting further from the truth. </li>
<li>While I cannot make a decision about my insulin needs every five minutes all day and all night like the Artificial Pancreas can, I can test more often in the two hours after meals to see what adjustments I need to make in response to my mealtime guess. </li>
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Sorry for the blur - but this is what an entire day of in range glucose values looks like :) </div>
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I head back on Thursday for another 30 hours of closed loop diabetes vacation! It is nice not having to devote any brain power to diabetes management, but I honestly didn't really know what to do with free time where I couldn't run, bike, or kayak. </div>
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whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-37514691027723001342014-04-13T22:13:00.000-04:002014-04-13T22:14:31.680-04:00Thoughts on NYT article It has taken me awhile to decide how I want to respond to the article<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/06/health/even-small-medical-advances-can-mean-big-jumps-in-bills.html?_r=2" target="_blank"> "Even Small Medical Advances Can Mean Big Jumps in Bills" </a> published by the New York Times about a week ago. The article as a whole addresses some important issues relating to the high cost (in the U.S.) of chronic medical conditions like type 1 diabetes. While the article addresses several underlying issues that contribute to the high costs (medical industry being business/profit oriented, high cost of research, pumps/meters having proprietary accessories, planned obsolescence), it still leaves the reader with an overall feeling that the patient is a contributing factor to driving up the costs - that patients are seeking out frivolous equipment that the entire country has to foot the bill for. <br />
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Here are a few items that I would have liked to see the article address that it did not. <br />
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1. We are informed of what treatment options are likely best for us medically and based on our lifestyle. From there, most of us make a choice based on what we think is likely to give us the best overall outcome with the fewest complications (that might lead to additional medical expenses, loss of work/income, eventual need for disability income). Patients are usually not made aware of the total cost of a treatment up front. They might be quoted an estimated amount that they will have to pay out of pocket, but likely won't see what was billed to insurance until receiving an Explanation of Benefits Statement after the treatment (or device) was already billed for. This means that there isn't the same opportunity for comparison shopping that there is for other big purchases. I don't chose to wear an insulin pump and cgm just because I can - or because my insurance covers it - I use them because they keep me alive - hardly frivolous. <br />
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2. The "cost" of medical items is generally inflated with the understanding that insurance companies are only going to allow for a fraction of the billed amount. This makes it impossible to determine what the true cost of a prescription drug or medial device is since the out of pocket cost is so significantly marked up (profit is clearly still gained from the much smaller amounts that insurance companies allow and cover). This system seems to only the costs more difficult to cover for the uninsured, and also adds another layer of opaqueness to price transparency in the medical industry. <br />
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3. The article does not address at all the role that the FDA plays in complicating the medical device industry. While planned obsolescence is a business practice that has been profitable for companies like Apple, and it may very well be a part of the business model for pump and meter manufacturers, the FDA also slows down the release of devices, to the point that by the time one model is finally released for sale in the U.S., the next model has already been developed. In addition, there is no generic insulin because it is a biological drug, and until recently the FDA had not addressed regulation of <a href="http://mperrottet.hubpages.com/hub/Why-Isnt-There-A-Generic-Insulin" target="_blank">biosimilar drugs</a>.<br />
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And then there were a few items in the article that left me completely bothered.<br />
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1. This quote: <span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: nyt-cheltenham-sh, georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 12px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 16px;">"People don’t need a meter that talks to them. There’s an incredible waste of money."</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: nyt-cheltenham-sh, georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;"> DR. JOEL ZONSZEIN, director of the Clinical Diabetes Center at Montefiore Medical Center</span><br />
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Not everyone needs a wheel chair ramp, but we have them. And guess what? People who aren't in wheel chairs benefit from them. Ever used one for a stroller or a bike? That isn't why they are required to be there, but the ramps sure make it easier! How exactly is someone who is blind or has low vision supposed to use a blood glucose meter effectively if it doesn't talk to them? I'm not an expert (only someone who actually has the disease), but I'm pretty certain that vision complications can occur with diabetes. Or, as the article stated, diabetics are living longer, and generally as people age, their vision declines. Should people just stop testing once their vision goes? This article shows a comparison of talking meters including cost <a href="https://nfb.org/images/nfb/publications/vod/vod_24_1/vodwin0910.htm">https://nfb.org/images/nfb/publications/vod/vod_24_1/vodwin0910.htm</a> So $16.79 is too high of a cost for it to be worth it for a diabetic with a vision problem to be able to monitor their blood sugar? I can't imagine that it is more expensive than the cost of covering the complications and related expenses if the person's blood glucose levels are no longer well controlled due to not being able to monitor. <br />
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2. And then this quote. "<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">Most of the increase is attributable to Type 2 diabetes patients, whom manufacturers are encouraging to try insulin treatment and glucose monitoring, even though that is rarely medically required." </span><br />
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Again, not claiming to be an expert here (I have t1, not t2, so what could I possibly know right?) but if by "glucose monitoring" they are referring to testing and monitoring blood glucose levels, this is absolutely medically necessary for people with t2. Perhaps their doctor has not recommended that they test as often as I do (recommended by my doctor - not just for fun), but I am certain that testing is a part of their recommended treatment plan - whether it be multiple times a day, daily, or weekly. If the author is actually meaning use of a continuous glucose monitor, then perhaps she should be more specific in her wording. I was never contacted by a manufacturer prior to making my decision (along with my doctor) about use of a cgm. Perhaps the mailing list and phone list for that sort of soliciting only has patients with type 2 diabetes, but despite all the junk mail and robo calls I get, none are trying to sell me additional diabetes bling to wear/use just for fun. A cgm and insulin can't be obtained without a prescription, so perhaps if the manufacturers are influencing people to make decisions that are medially unnecessary, we need to address the doctors that are writing the prescriptions and what motivations they may have if they don't believe the meds/devices are needed. <br />
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My final bit of irritation came from a <a href="http://mobile.nytimes.com/blogs/publiceditor/2014/04/11/an-uproar-over-a-diabetes-article-with-a-back-story/?_php=true&_type=blogs&emc=edit_tnt_20140411&nlid=20990071&tntemail0=y&_r=0" target="_blank">response</a> to the DOC's reaction to the article. I have no issues with points 1, 2, or 4. But point 3 - the assumption that the strong opinions this article evoked were influenced by receiving mail from the JDRF I find ridiculous. Despite having participated in events that benefit the JDRF, and being someone w/ t1d, I managed to not make it on to this mailing list either. Unless of course this email was filtered to my junk mail, where it would have sat without me reading it anyway. The idea that I could be swayed so easily be receiving an email telling me what to think about a particular article is frustrating. Diabetes affects my pancreas, not my ability to read and develop an informed opinion on my own. <br />
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<br />whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-62800812340735511112012-06-21T10:20:00.000-04:002012-06-21T10:38:05.702-04:00CGM studios presents....New Robot Parts!I love tracking packages - it is one of my favorite things about Christmas time....I get to watch all the things I've ordered make their way around the country to my doorstep. If you ever want to ship me something, send me the tracking information and it'll likely make me more excited than whatever is inside the box. In this case I was pretty darn excited about what was inside too. <br />
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So a few weeks ago, I went to my endocrinologist and we discussed some new options in my diabetes management. My A1c was 7.0, which was higher than every other time with the exception of my first appointment after my diagnosis. For those of you who aren't lucky enough to get this test done every 3 months or so, it is a test of your average glucose levels over the past 2-3 months. An A1c of 7 means that my average glucose levels over the past few months were around 154 according to the lovely wikipedia. Fasting glucose levels for you normal humans should be under 110, and 2-hrs after a meal should be under 140. <br />
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There were many contributing factors to me losing some control over my diabetes management in the past few months. My doctor attributes some of it to the "honeymoon" phase of my diabetes being over - meaning my body is likely not making any of its own insulin anymore, making it much harder to manage and much more unpredictable. I was also under a lot of stress at work and in my personal life, and was having trouble not giving in to stress eating when I was surrounded by people who were. Anyway - an option that we discussed for regaining control, especially since I've had a lot of difficulty lately maintaining normal levels during exercise, was a continuous glucose monitor. <br />
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It took a week or two to get all the insurance stuff sorted out - but finally I got what I wanted....A FedEx tracking number! (Seriously, you could get me just the tracking number for my birthday and I'd be happy). <br />
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I had a slight panic on the day that it was delivered because I received a notice that it was delivered....and left on my doorstep. The notation was that no signature was required. This made me concerned for a number of reasons - quite a few dollars worth of medical devices/supplies were inside. Packages are normally dropped off at the leasing office when nobody is home, not left on the doorstep. To make maters worse, I had to drive to Rockville to get my fingerprints done for my new job and couldn't go straight home. Luckily, when I did finally arrive back at my place, this was waiting for me:</div>
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Opening it up felt a little like Christmas morning....the excitement of a new gadget. So at this point I had received e-mails from a clinical specialist from the company that makes the continuous glucose monitor (CGM - aka my new frienemy) asking me what training options I would prefer. I could do the self-training using the cd or the online tutorials, I could do training over the phone after viewing the tutorials, or I could wait and set up an appointment to do training at my doctor's office. If you know me even a tiny bit, you know there was no way I was waiting to try this thing out. If you know me, you also know that I watched every minute of every tutorial before I even decided that I wanted one. If you REALLY know me, then you know that when I say I watched every minute, I actually mean I listened to it in the background and half paid attention while doing ten other things. </div>
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So back to Christmas morning and opening the box (which soon became a Christmas present for the cats) - I hadn't even made it completely through the front door before I started pulling off the packing tape. And inside was another box, and another box, and another box....it was like a set of nesting dolls, but in box form (ok, so maybe it wasn't that extreme.....). Here is what was inside:</div>
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There were three of these boxes. And inside each of these boxes were four sensors, and inside each sensor there were five golden rings. There was also an additional box that had instruction books (mine is still in the plastic weeks later - to preserve its freshness of course), cables, power cords, the receiver, etc. I pulled out all the parts that I needed and plopped myself down in front of my computer. </div>
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Here I'm holding up the package with a new sensor and the device for inserting it. In the background you can see the tutorial up. Despite watching it and taking meticulous notes the first time (never would anybody refer to the notes I take as meticulous - and it would have been impossible to take notes while playing sudoku on my phone), I felt it would be best to play the tutorial again while I went through the steps of getting my CGM all hooked up for the first time. </div>
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Here I've taken the backing off the tape on the sensor and applied it to my skin. I paused before actually inserting it to take this picture - I mean come on, who doesn't want a photo album of their first days with their new robot parts? So the next steps are to remove the safety thingamajig, push down on the plunger, pull up on the ring, and then you are one millionth of the way there (easy as 1, 2, 3.....). </div>
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So here is where all those (1,000,000 - 3) other steps come in. You remove the insertion device (this was the most difficult/awkward part for me the first time), snap in the grey transmitter, snap it in with the extra hangy tab thingy, and then remove that by twisting it away from your body. So at this point I was pretty pumped - I got the damn thing in there. Now came the worst part.....wait three hours before it actually does anything. I have patience for a lot of things, but waiting to play with a new toy is not one of them. </div>
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So here I am with everything attached - pump on the left side of the picture, and cgm and cgm receiver on the right. After a day I decided I couldn't take the bulkiness of that carrying case for the receiver and ditched it. </div>
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Here is the operation with just the two sites - pump on the left side of the picture and cgm on the right. Cyborg status complete. </div>
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So the first night I wore this, the alarms went off and woke me up 9 times - 3 overnight lows, with additional alarms because I was dropping quickly right before each. This was a little scary because it had likely been happening for awhile and had been going unnoticed. I made some changes to my insulin rates and things have been ok, but as I said above, this new little device is more of a frienemy than anything else. I like having the extra security of knowing alarms will go off if I'm too high or too low, and I like that it tells me when my glucose levels are rising or falling quickly. What I don't like is that I tend to overcorrect - as soon as I see those dots heading for the top line I start giving myself insulin. Which would be fine - except that when it doesn't come down right away I tend to get frustrated and give myself more. And then more. And then I end up low. So sometimes I end up with this rollercoaster looking trend graphs. I'm hoping this is just a newbie tendency and I'll grow out of it. </div>
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Graphs like this are much happier - everything is between the lines, and the arrow shows that I'm holding pretty stable. </div>
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So, every ten days I go through the steps above....lather, rinse, repeat. I'm on my third sensor now and was able to put it in without watching the tutorial again, which was pretty sweet. Almost like losing your training wheels. </div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-33107081332106666752012-06-12T22:39:00.003-04:002012-06-12T22:39:35.644-04:00Thank you Bradley Airport TSAOne of my friends was just telling me about how she is stressed about upcoming travel. Another friend told me the same thing last week. I'm pretty sure this is a common occurrence. Stress about what to pack, the cost of the trip, whether the dishwasher has been run, and the trash has been taken out. Sure I stress about these things too, although I probably care a bit less than some of my neat freak friends about making sure every inch of my place has been vacuumed so that it will be clean while I'm gone. <br />
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......and here is where the post will probably end up getting me on a no fly list.....<br />
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My stress level shoots up a hundred times higher right before I go through airport security. And here's why:<br />
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I took a weekend trip up to Connecticut with my family in May. We drove up on Saturday (woohoo, five plus hours in the car with five adults - luckily we also had 5 smart phones to keep us from killing each other), attended graduation on Sunday, and my brother, sister-in-law, and I flew home Sunday evening. <br />
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Normally I don't start getting anxious until I approach the front of the line for security - especially at those airports where your order in line is going to make a difference between walking through the metal detector or walking through the giant zappy thing (technical term). <br />
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But for this particular trip, the anxiety began even earlier. We had spent all morning sitting in an unbearably hot tent watching the entire college graduation first video streamed onto a screen from another larger tent, and then the smaller ceremony in the tent itself. It was so hot that the red and white stripes on the tent started blurring together and I had to take breaks outside to not pass out. We had lunch outside following the ceremony, and the food was great, but it was still hot out. We were going straight from lunch to the airport, which meant no time to change out of the dress I wore to graduation. I was hot, sweaty, cranky, and uncomfortable, and heading to the airport. <br />
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When we arrived, I couldn't find my confirmation number in my email on my new phone to print my boarding pass. I ended up having to play around with the email settings to get it to load earlier emails, and then wait around for it to load a zillion of them. At this point I was cursing at the new phone and wishing I had hit up an airport bathroom to change before bothering with the boarding pass. I tell my brother and sister-in-law to go ahead to security and the gate and I'd meet up with them. I knew security was bound to be a pain, and I still wanted to change clothes. They waited around instead for me to get my boarding pass situation worked out, which was very nice of them. <br />
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We all jump in line for security, and it is moving pretty quickly - I like this - lets just get it over with. There are a few airports where I know what to expect - for example the one I fly out of most regularly at home has metal detectors that my pump doesn't set off. There are a few other airports where I know when I walk through the metal detector my pump will set it off and I'll be in for a pat down. I like to know which way it is going to go ahead of time - nobody likes a pat down surprise. When I get to the front of the line they point me to the left. I hadn't even had time to check out which lines had metal detectors and which ones had giant zappys. I look up and notice that my line has a zappy. Great - guaranteed pat down (it is recommended that my pump not be subjected to any x-rays). I look over to the line my brother and sister-in-law are in and notice its a zappy line too, and so are all the others. Good to know - Bradley is a guaranteed pat-down airport for me. Not that its likely that I'll ever fly in or out of there again.<br />
<br />
So it is almost my turn to go through - I approach the TSA guy directing traffic toward the zappy and inform him that I'm wearing an insulin pump and I can't go through. He motions towards the grey bins and tells me I have to take my shoes off. I explain that I know that and once again tell him that I can't go through. He motions for someone else to come over, and I have to explain for a third time to her that I'm wearing an insulin pump and therefore can't go through her machine. She states that they have never had anyone tell them that before and that their zappy machines wont cause any problems. I look at her, look at the giant x-ray sticker on the side of the zappy, look back at her, and tell her I wont be going through. Finally she calls for another tsa chick who drew the short straw and gets to pat me down. <br />
<br />
So I explain to this girl for now I think the 5th or 6th time that I'm wearing an insulin pump, it is attached to the back of my arm and clipped to my dress, and I can't go through the machine. So she does her pat down, which was particularly awkward given that I was still in a dress, meaning the leg feel up was much more invasive. So this chick finishes, but never pats down where the pump is, never asks to see it (its covered by my sweater) and goes over to the other lady and says she's done. She gets sent back to do a "visual inspection" of my pump, and then has to test her hands and my hands for explosives. All the while, my brother and sister-in-law are standing around waiting for me....again. <br />
<br />
I'm finally deemed underwear bomb free and allowed to leave the cattle corral I've been kept in while this is all going on. I am now determined to change into shorts and a t-shirt that I had longed to change into prior to our airport arrival. We head to our gate and as soon as we get there, my brother asks if I'll watch their stuff for a bit. I only had to wait five minutes, but after three hours in the tent, an hour outside at lunch, the new phone drama with the boarding pass, and the TSA feel up in a dress with an audience of the entire Bradley airport, it felt like forever!<br />
<br />
I'm sure I looked like a little kid or a bum traveling with my brother and sister-in-law who were still all dressed up, but I was so past done with the dress-up clothes, the airport, and traveling in general. I was so relieved to be going home. <br />
<br />
tune in next time for news on my new CGM. and other crap no one cares about.whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-34928131517662743132012-04-05T10:28:00.002-04:002012-04-05T11:10:10.885-04:00That one time I went to a bridal show....<span ><span style="font-size: 100%;">Anyone who knows me well....or has known me for a minute, knows that me at an indoor bridal show on a spring weekend when the weather is beautiful is an unlikely scenario. What you didn't know about me is I'll do just about anything for big money.</span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">My current rate for offering my photography expertise (I have none), carrying gear in and out of the car, and handing fliers out to the enemy is a granola bar, half of a mushroom & olive pizza, and a bottle of water. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">What I didn't realize is that I would also be provided with an incredibly entertaining day filled with voodoo witch photographers, boys afraid of spiders, and men who had no idea what they had been dragged to. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I have learned the following about bridal shows:</div><div><ul style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><li><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Always get a booth near the food (the reason is two-fold - make friends and get snacks all day, and if I had tracked the path of most clients, it would have shown a beeline from one food table to the next, with a glance at whatever happened to be on either side)</span></li><li>Get to know your neighbor - not only are you likely sharing a very tiny space, but they may provide necessary entertainment during the lulls in the crowd (at this particular show, our neighbors ran to the middle of the room w/ their laptops and bags when they noticed a bunch of spiders running around in their corner)</li><li>greatest.people.watching.ever. (this requires more detail than I feel comfortable putting in parentheses, so please read below)</li></ul><div><span >(The following people attend bridal shows:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><b>Type A personality bride:</b> She arrives with her mother who appears to be dragging an entire mobile office. Her wedding is over a year away and she has planned every detail. If you don't believe her, you can look in her binder which is organized by product/vendor type and then alphabetically. Within each section, she has notes from the interviews she has conducted with prior clients. In fact, she is only at the show to second-guess all the decisions she has already made. She refuses to use your pen and brings her own. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><b>The "Oh Shit, I'm getting married....I should probably plan something" bride:</b> She brings 6 friends, who all agree on nothing. In fact, this group can't even go out to lunch together because they can never come to a </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">consensus</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "> on where to eat. Her wedding is in 6 months, or something....she thinks. She has a location probably, maybe, picked out. It isn't until she gets to your photography booth that she realizes that maybe she should have one of those. She asks one of the contentious </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">cronies</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "> she brought with her to write "photographer" down. They realize they brought nothing with them to write that on. You offer them a napkin from the mini </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">crab cake</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "> you just got from the food vendor neighbor. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><b>A man (yes, just one):</b> He is dragged up the sidewalk by a woman, and has the same look on his face as someone who wakes up in a hospital after a coma. As they enter, receive a door prize, and a bunch of free stuff is shoved in his hands to carry, he asks, "where am I?". He then turns to the woman and says, "you said we were going to get lunch." She quickly ushers him to a food vendor, and says, "see, lunch." Every time he tries to ask another question about why he is there, the woman dragging him shoves another caprese skewer in his mouth. When they arrive at your table and you ask her when her wedding date is, he nearly chokes on the toothpick. She informs you that they haven't quite figured that out yet, and you take note of the lack of engagement ring on her finger. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><b>The crazy: </b>She arrives dragging a protesting teenage child. You are already confused, but thinking perhaps this is a second marriage, you ask when the woman is getting married. She gives you an even more confused look back. She informs you that she is here to plan a birthday party. How stupid could you be for not figuring that out? Confused, you walk over to the registration table to pick up a brochure, just to make sure you are, in fact, at a bridal show. While you step away to grab the brochure, mom flips through the albums you have out on the table. You arrive back at the table just in time for her to proclaim her irritation that all the photos are wedding photos, and for her to ask, "don't you have any of birthday parties?" Unsure of how to respond, you shake your head until she disappears. </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><b>The competition:</b> They send ninjas to steal your advertising brochures to try to get a leg up on you. Always be on the lookout for ninjas. They have been known to use tactics as low as trying infiltrate your corner with robot spiders programmed to drag away your business cards.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">The End)</span></div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-53537745371848687172012-01-31T20:02:00.002-05:002012-01-31T21:01:20.321-05:00Sometimes Life is Gross<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; ">So, it's been a little while....have to wipe the cobwebs off the blog...</span></div><div><br /></div>Do you ever feel like your body responds physically to what you are feeling emotionally?<div><br /></div><div>There have been a few times that I've been pretty run down mentally and emotionally, and it seems that my immune system picks that exact moment to run and hide in some deep dark corner somewhere, leaving me to muddle through a cold on my own. That worked out nicely when Karlyn and I were sick for three months last year. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today I felt like I experienced a complete physical manifestation of how I've felt in recent weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Things at work have becoming increasingly complicated and stressful, and with each new challenge I'm presented with, I feel like a little piece of me gets chipped away and I start to feel more numb each time. Each time a roadblock is put in front of me, I get over it or get through it, but with less and less feeling. </div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks ago, Cory and I were down in Cary, N.C. visiting some friends, and we played a game using the xbox kinect where we were in a glass tank and fish kept knocking holes in it, and we had to plug up the holes using our hands and feet and whatever parts of our body we could as fast as we could. The game gets progressively more challenging, finally requiring you to use your whole body at the end. I feel like this sums up how my work life has been the last few weeks - a problem arises, I block the hole, and at least for the time being, the problem is solved. Until the next thing crops up. And the next. And the next. And now it is at the point where I'm using everything I have to stop the water from pouring in, but I know any second a new hole will appear. </div><div><br /></div><div>So how did this manifest physically? (yes, I know I rambled off topic with bad analogies for awhile...that's what I do best)</div><div><br /></div><div>Today I sprung a leak. Literally. </div><div><br /></div><div>So after picking up my 2nd borrowed car in a week (thanks to the deer that caused $3000 in damages) and running various other after-work errands, I was finally home and getting ready for bed (at 7pm). After washing my hands at the sink, I turned to dry my hands, but I got snagged on the cabinet door handle. For those other insulin pump wearers out there, this is more common than we'd like. So as is habit now, I quickly took a look at my pump site, just to make sure everything was still attached. The tiny bit of bruising I first noticed at the site yesterday had grown enormously. Knowing that my site likely wasn't working too well with all that bruising, I yanked it out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Apparently that was the last thing holding me together. </div><div><br /></div><div>I spent the next ten minutes holding a paper towel to my side trying to apply pressure, while simultaneously trying to insert another site on the other side of my body and fend off the cats who by now couldn't understand what could possibly be holding up their dinner. The bleeding finally stops long enough to throw a band-aid over that site and quickly insert one on the other side. The needle goes "thunk"...and when I pull it out, it is more bent than the back of my car after the bambi attack. Chances of bruising at the new site too? Pretty high.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FzmUHKPjTpI/Tyicm53YtII/AAAAAAAAADw/-IIaZGegtKU/s1600/gross.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FzmUHKPjTpI/Tyicm53YtII/AAAAAAAAADw/-IIaZGegtKU/s320/gross.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703981120246822018" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm wrapping myself in bubble wrap and wearing my pfd and kayak helmet to work tomorrow. I feel like the extra protection can't hurt. I'm just juggling knives and spinning plates and chewing gum and plugging leaks and managing diabetes. No big thang. </div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-10041114194684578602011-09-11T21:42:00.002-04:002011-09-11T23:35:28.893-04:00Moving forward doesn't mean forgetting the past.<div style="text-align: center;">9/11 - 10 years later</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Today, my facebook news feed was filled with statuses sharing what people remember from 10 years ago today. If I were to try to think back that far to any other Tuesday, I doubt I'd be able to remember a thing (who am I kidding, remembering what I did last Tuesday is hard). But just like most others my age, my memory starts much the same way - I was in my senior year of high school, and at the time I was in European History working on a group project. Mr. Ditman left the room for a minute to get something from the printer for one of the students in our class. When he returned, he told us that he knew there wasn't supposed to be a place for religion in public schools, but he knew what he needed to do it. He told us that a plane had hit the world trade center in New York, and that he would like us to gather together to pray for those inside. I personally am not very religious, but I stand by the choices Mr. Ditman made that day - we needed guidance from an adult, and he provided it in the form of his prayer. Right around 9:00 am, he turned on our classroom television, and we, like many others in the school, watched in silence as the rest unfolded on the news. When news broke of the Pentagon attack, many students began to panic, and many classroom teachers forwent the normal rules and allowed students to try to call home from the classrooms. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>My reflections in the days and weeks that followed have remained largely the same when I think back on the events of that day. Ten years ago, my thoughts were about how unsafe it now felt to be in our country - and about how children in war zones must feel that all the time. I was in awe of the outpouring of pride in our country, in being an American, but also saddened by the hatred that was blanketed over a group of people simply because a few extremists happened share some commonalities. And I felt swells of emotion when I thought of all of the first responders that day, most of whom knew the tragedy that lay before them, but reported for duty anyway. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I recently visited the Faces of Ground Zero: 10 Years Later at the Time Warner Center in New York City, and while in New York, I caught my first in person glimpses of Ground Zero in person. Some of the very same emotions went through my grown-up mind now 10 years later, as those that traveled through my teenage brain in 2001. I feel mixed emotions about the wars our country has been fighting since that attack. I feel the same swell of emotion for those who have reported for duty, which I think can be summed up with a line from the Bixby letter that George W. Bush read today "and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom". I feel a tremendous amount of indebtedness to those who serve or have served our country - they have signed up for a job that requires great courage, and they have gone forward with the knowledge that they may not return. When I think of the wars our country is fighting, I still can't help but think of how more innocent people continue to lose lives - a hurt that is so universal - a hurt that is not unlike what people felt when they lost loved ones on that day 10 years ago. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Ten years later, I continue to feel saddened that my fellow countrymen continue to show hatred or discrimination towards people simply because they are Muslim, or are of Middle Eastern decent. There are extremists in every religion, every sect. Nobody deserves to have to take the blame for something one person did just because they share the same hair color, or eye color, or overarching religion. Extremists can interpret ANY religion to justify ANY poor decision, and it shouldn't put the entire group under an umbrella of shame. I was relieved to hear today that there would be interfaith remembrance events, because this event didn't leave a single American untouched - and what makes me proud to be an American is that I can call myself that regardless of my race, religion, gender, or country my family originated from. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Sadness is not all I feel on this Patriot Day in 2011. I also feel hopeful. And this reason is two-fold. We have stuck by two sentiments that we heard countless times in the days and weeks that followed 9/11. We must move forward, and we must never forget. I observed both of these things many times over today. Moments of silence, memorial ceremonies, and sharing stories of that day occurred all over the country. But normal things happened too. Some of which were as normal as what may have been happening on September 10th, 2001. I laughed with friends. My dad watched football. My best friend boarded a flight to head home. Cory photographed a wedding. My day with friends was speckled with moments of reflection and remembrance. Football games all began with tributes, and players and coaches wore hats and ribbons to honor those lost. And while there was a heightened sense of uncertainty in airports and on airplanes, to have planes in the sky this evening, unlike this day 10 years ago, we are saying we cannot be brought down. And for the couple that got married, many would say why today? But really, what day better to share your love and devotion to one another? On this day 10 years ago, we were reminded to love - to feel it deeply, share it openly; this tragedy reminded us of the fragility of life. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>My hope for the future is that we continue to live life with more purpose than before. That we face our differences with more compassion. That we appreciate our family and friends with the knowledge that we can't plan when we go, or when they might leave us. And, that we never forget the events of that day. We can't forgot those who we lost, we can't forget the feelings we had. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>One last thought that I walk away from today with - sometimes the rules are meant to be broken; sometimes you have to just do what's right. A hero is someone that knows when to make those tough calls. For me, being so far removed from the tragedy, those heroes were the teachers that knew we needed to know, but knew we also needed their support in digesting this news. At ground zero and the pentagon, the heroes were the people that led others out of those towers even when people were told to stay put, and those who were told not to go back in who went searching anyway. The heroes are those on flight 93 who made the decision to fight back. The heroes are those who can pray alongside someone of another religion, fight alongside someone of another race, and combat fear with notions of peace. </div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-64138186545152118592011-08-13T13:28:00.005-04:002011-08-13T15:51:56.685-04:00It has changed the way I view the world....or at least the items in my shopping cart<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">I would love to say that I've remained completely unchanged since my pancreas stopped doing its job almost 2 years ago, but that is hardly the case. I've acquired necessary insurance fighting skills, I've become much more aware of what goes in my tummy (not at all meaning that I always eat healthy food, just that I know the consequences when I splurge), I try not to walk around barefoot (the key here is that I <i>TRY</i> to be better about this), and I see nearly everything differently.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">One of the scariest symptoms before my diagnosis was that I went to</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" > bed with 20/20 vision, and woke up unable to read anything far away. I couldn't read any street signs on my drive home from New Jersey (making it difficult to spot the hundred rest stops I needed to stop at to us</span>e th<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e bathroom</span><span class="Apple-style-span" > on my 3 hr rid</span>e), and I couldn't s<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e</span>e anything far away at work (which as a middl<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e school t</span>each<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">er, is far scari</span>er than not b<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">eing abl</span>e to s<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e</span>e on th<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e turnpik</span>e). </div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div>Luckily, that isn't want I m<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ean at all about s</span>e<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">eing things diff</span>er<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ently. Thos</span>e symptoms only com<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e back wh</span>en my glucos<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e l</span>ev<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">els ar</span>e way out of whack, and according to my doctor (whom I hat<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e m</span>er<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e</span>ly b<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ecaus</span>e sh<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e dilat</span>es my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ey</span>es onc<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e a y</span>ear)<i> </i>I hav<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e maintain</span>ed 20/20 vision, and hav<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e no signs of diab</span>etic r<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">etinopathy. But I do s</span>e<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e things diff</span>er<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ently.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">I now s</span>e<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e pock</span>ets as on<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e of th</span>e gr<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">eat</span>est things <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ev</span>er in<span class="Apple-style-span" >v</span>ent<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ed, and as on</span>e of th<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e gr</span>eat<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">est it</span>ems that mak<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">es this dis</span>eas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e manag</span>eabl<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e (although my pump and insulin p</span>ens ar<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">en't half bad </span>eith<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">er).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">Tak</span>e th<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">es</span>e running shorts for <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">exampl</span>e:</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hmBS4NpjhXw/TkbPIfijl7I/AAAAAAAAACo/SVZC0tFeYZ4/s320/shorts.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640423328140466098" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div></div></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; ">Normal </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ey</span>es s<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e</span>e:</b> a pair of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">running shorts. </span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">Normal </span>ey<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">es on a body that has s</span>e<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">en its shar</span>e of running s<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e</span>e:</b> a pair of running shorts w/ anti-chaffing built in lining. </div><div><b>Diab<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">et</span>es <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ey</span>es s<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e</span>e: </b>a pair of running shorts w/ anti-chaffing built in lining and <b>pock</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; "><b>ets</b> that allow m</span>e to cut down on th<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e numb</span>er of dork b<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">elts (mor</span>e on running w/ dork b<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">elts in anoth</span>er post) I hav<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e to w</span>ear to carry all of my g<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ear. </span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hInt9ze13KI/TkbSIfHFnKI/AAAAAAAAACw/g7LV1RJagWI/s320/shorts1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640426626560138402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >back zipp</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">er pock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">et p</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">erf</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ect in siz</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e for holding a GU or som</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e glucos</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e tabs</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">
<br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZYAYkwFKba8/TkbSr-Cjj-I/AAAAAAAAAC4/BY5KNqWxPAc/s320/shorts2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640427236158050274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">
<br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">hidd</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">en pock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">et insid</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e th</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e lining, just th</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e right siz</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">e for s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ecur</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; ">ely holding my pump without too much bouncing. </span></b></div><div>
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; "><span class="apple-style-span"><b><i><span style="font-family: Georgia">F<span style="background:white"><span style="background-image:initial; background-attachment:initial;background-origin: initial;background-clip: initial; background-position:initial initial;background-repeat:initial initial">E</span></span>MALE</span></i></b></span><span class="apple-style-span"><b><span style="font-family:Georgia"> Diabetes eyes see: </span></b></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:Georgia">TH<span style="background:white"><span style="background-image:initial;background-attachment:initial;background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial;background-position:initial initial;background-repeat: initial initial">EY WERE ON </span></span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">SAL<span style="background:white"><span style="background-image:initial;background-attachment: initial;background-origin: initial;background-clip: initial;background-position: initial initial;background-repeat:initial initial">E</span></span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="background-image:initial;background-attachment:initial;background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial;background-position:initial initial;background-repeat: initial initial">!!</span></span></span></p>
<br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-71118109660206852642011-07-14T20:21:00.002-04:002011-07-14T21:00:01.665-04:00Kayaking CuresI took some time off from writing (publicly at least) because I had misplaced my positive mindset for quite awhile. While I know some find it therapeutic to share when they are down, I find it even more so to share when I'm upbeat - that way when I look back and reread, I have some of my own thoughts to keep me going in the positive direction. I apologize for the hiatus, but even more so for the nerdy 'betes and kayak jargon that fills this post - its summertime, so that's really all I've got going on :)<div><br /></div><div>Tuesday night I went out on the Potomac to practice my paddling skills, and was excited that we would be spending more time on moving water than we normally do. The two practices I had gone to prior to this one both had their diabetes moments, and I was sure that this one would too. At each of the earlier practices, other kayakers had noticed my pump - the first asking me if it was a fancy waterproof cell phone, and the second (in the medical field and use to work in an endo's office) asking if they finally made waterproof pumps. The first experience made me laugh a little, but gave me a chance to give a quick diabetes info session. The second made me happy just because someone knew what it was - I love that feeling when someone gets it!</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I checked my pump before I left to make sure I had enough insulin - 6 units remaining, but plenty to get through a few hours of kayaking in the evening (my basal rates are really low at this time of day, plus I knew I'd be cranking down the temp basal anyway). I checked my blood sugar - just over 200 - a tad on the high side, but I only give myself a quarter of my correction, knowing I'll be burning up glucose like crazy on the river. You might wonder why I don't just take my pump completely, since I use so little insulin then anyway. I've done this before, but I really prefer to keep it on during exercise so I have the benefit of the tiny doses of insulin so my body can access and burn up the carbs that I take in. I tossed a spare set of everything in my bag knowing that after 3+ days and 3 hrs of kayaking, my infusion set probably wasn't going to be too keen on staying adhered. Got my gear, made sure my rash guard was tucked in over my site to protect it, put on my spray skirt, pfd, and carried the rest of my gear down to the river. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had just started using an <a href="http://www.otterbox.com/otterbox-2500-cases/otterbox-2500-cases,default,sc.html">otterbox</a> the week before (I figured it might be good for me to have a spare meter with me when I'm out for longer paddles), so I stashed that in the back of my boat before hoping on the water. We practiced rolling on flat water, and then headed upstream to play in the chutes. We paddled upstream for awhile, and then stopped to rest for a bit - this is when I felt around and noticed that my infusion set had come out completely. So, knowing I didn't have many options, I pulled that sucker off the rest of the way and shoved the whole thing in my pocket. We were 30 minutes in to our 3 hours on the river.</div><div><br /></div><div>For the next hour we practiced rolling our kayaks in the rapids - normally rolling is a great way to cool off - but with air temps at 100, and water temps over 85, it wasn't much of a relief - but it was great fun! We did a bunch of ferrying drills, and practiced some peel outs, and generally exhausted every muscle in our bodies. I took a break for a few - feeling worn out, but also feeling like my lips and mouth couldn't possibly be more dry. I wanted to drink the whole potomac, except that I'd likely grow a third eye, or suffer from <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/11/11/AR2009111118805.html">hormone overdose</a>. So now I'm thinking about how I was 200 before getting on the water, and that I've been disconnected for at least an hour, but likely longer, and I haven't felt this thirsty since I was in the hospital. I sip some water from my now warm bottle that has been sloshing around in my boat, and I decide its time to play in the waves a little more. So I pretend to be brave for awhile, and ferry back and forth across some of the more tame waves while watching some guys in playboats do some pretty wicked tricks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our instructor asks if everyone is down for staying out later tonight - and I find myself nodding with the rest of the crew, despite thinking in the back of my head that I really need to hook myself back up to an insulin source soon. Since we've all agreed to stay, I jump back in to practicing, and we go back to spotting each other for more rolling practice. I finally force myself to take a rest, thinking that I'm likely in the 300s, which isn't the greatest time for vigorous exercise. I dig my otterbox out of the stern of my boat, nearly flipping myself over since my muscles are kind of shaky and unstable at this point. I open the box, dry off my fingers with the tiny towel I keep inside, and I fish a test strip out of the container and shove it in my backup meter (thank goodness the aviva strips are bigger than the ones I use on my regular one-touch - so much easier to handle out on the water). Prick, wait 5 seconds, and up pops a 99! Can't get much more perfect than that! So, disconnected for at least two hours at this point, but my blood sugar hits the mark spot on - glad that site got ripped out, otherwise I would have ended up quite low. I guess the exercise and adrenaline cancelled out perfectly - pretty sure this is a sign that if I just stay out on the water all the time I'll be cured! I even got to down some juice when I got out of the water and keep my pump off til after my shower without going too high. I was clearly meant to be a fish - with a working pancreas :)</div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-89710677674975578942011-06-28T22:42:00.002-04:002011-06-28T23:16:48.268-04:00A frustration I cannot escapeYes, this post will likely turn into a rant. <div><br /></div><div>Today I went to the pool instead of doing the hundred things on my neatly written to do list (read sloppily scrawled list on the back of an empty opened envelope that was promptly lost immediately after writing). After all, it is summer, and I spend 10 months working at least 12 months worth of hard so I can have two months off to read by the pool.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today is no different than any other day at my apartment complex pool - the pool is full of children, at most one of whom can swim. They are all clad in swimmies and floaties and noodles and such so that their parents can feel safe enough to ignore them for the rest of the time at the pool.</div><div><br /></div><div>Enter rant phase.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps I do not yet understand because I do not have children of my own. Perhaps spending endless hours with young children makes one crave adult attention/conversation so much that ignoring those very children at any opportunity to interact with another adult becomes necessary. As I said, I'm not there yet, so I can only try to understand as an outsider looking in.</div><div><br /></div><div>So today's case of "I had kids so that I could ignore them" went like this:</div><div><br /></div><div>Enter two moms each with two boys. And two water guns. And four inflatable rings to put the kids in. And two coolers full of sugary snacks. After much insisting from the moms that all four boys put on their "floatie" rings to stay safe, the kids are allowed in the pool. The three older boys swim off happily, with two water guns to fight over between them.</div><div><br /></div><div>The moms cling together as if this may be their last opportunity for adult conversation. ever. They talk about their husbands being deployed. They talk about working out at the gym, and about the steam room. and the steam room. and the steam room. If that woman said one more thing about how great they were, I would have thrown my book at her. </div><div><br /></div><div>Boy gets out of pool and asks mom for towel. She waves her hand in the direction of the table with all their junk, but continues her conversation with other mom. Other boy keeps shouting across pool while looking at his mom "why can't I go anywhere??" I want so badly to tell him because that stupid "floatie" is getting in the way of your arms moving and if only your mom had taken the time to teach you to swim, you could be zipping around this pool. But I think better of it, and quietly pretend to keep reading my book. </div><div><br /></div><div>I grow tired of my people watching, and roll over for a nap. I wake up to one of the boys putting his towel on the lounge chair next to mine, bumping in to me repeatedly. I silently groan, sit back up, and go back to reading my book. Boys are bored - never a great combination. So out of boredom comes this new game - shoot all the ants with the water gun. This apparently included ants that were crawling under my backpack, ants near my book, oh and there must have been ants on me. Not really frustrated with the kids, as they are just using their creativity to try to enjoy their day - I shoot some angry glances towards the moms in regard to all of my stuff getting soaked. Oh wait, they weren't even looking. Having no clue that their children were going around the pool soaking everything and everyone with their water guns, the moms were discussing the college perks that the military provides. </div><div><br /></div><div>I dry off my stuff, and go back to reading my book. I hear the boys attempt to get the moms attention again - and again, no response from them. Fast forward to all the girls in the pool screaming, because the boys have now taken to stealing all of their toys. Sigh. Perhaps if the moms had engaged the boys in some sort of game, or, I know this is crazy, but spent the time in the pool teaching them how to <i>swim</i> perhaps they wouldn't have been such terrors.</div><div><br /></div><div>The part that made me cringe the most today is when mom 1 asked mom 2 if the smallest boy was sleeping through the night. When mom 2 said no, mom 1's advice was "you know, tylenol every night will cure that problem". Really? This is the motherly advice they were sharing at the expense of interacting with their children? It makes me shudder even more to think that these boys' fathers are fighting hard and sacrificing time away from them, and are probably wishing more than anything that they were able to throw a ball with these boys or play a game with them, and here are two moms that have that opportunity, and are choosing to ignore it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I see this in the grocery store, I see it at the pool, I see it at work. I see it every.day.</div><div><br /></div><div>So my question to the world is...why have children if you have no desire to truly interact with them - to not just be in the background of their childhood, but to shape their childhood? </div><div><br /></div><div> I'm frustrated because I know of people who want so badly to have those moments with a child - to read them bedtime stories, teach them to swim, let them help with the grocery shopping (even though they know it will take longer), but they can't have children. And then I see on a daily basis those people who put about as much energy into raising a child as it would have taken to avoid having one in the first place. </div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-37707537718434564712011-06-24T22:49:00.002-04:002011-06-24T23:20:15.812-04:00The Big D and MeWho gets to be the Big D today?<div><br /></div><div>I'd like to think that more days than not, I get to be the Big D. It is a title that is awarded to the winner for the day - and the contenders for the title always stay the same.</div><div><br /></div><div>Will Dana be the Big D today? or will Diabetes win the title?</div><div><br /></div><div>Most days I feel like I'm in control - with New Pancreas at my side and enough test strips to completely cover my floor, I manage to keep diabetes in check. By testing often, I can keep those highs and lows at bay and come out of the day feeling victorious. One of my favorite victories is when I test and I'm out of range, but the suggested correction factor is exactly equal to the amount of insulin my pump says I have on board - this is a good sign that I've bolused to near perfection. These are the days that Big D stands for Dana - the one who says, "diabetes, I see your lack of insulin production, but I raise you one pump and one meter" and diabetes folds.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish I could say that I've had a an undefeated season, but I'm not sure that's possible in this sport. On the plus side, I have a better average than my dear O's. There are days when I'm caught off guard - when I don't bring my A game to the show. These are the days when diabetes gets me, and I have to hand over the Big D title. Waking up low in the middle of the night, having to end a workout early to have some juice, or correcting and correcting and correcting again for those highs that just wont quit are all sure signs that diabetes has me beat for the day.</div><div><br /></div><div>The good thing is that the fight starts over each day, giving me a fresh start to reclaim my title. </div><div><br /></div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-65184701238879534782010-10-20T22:40:00.004-04:002010-10-20T23:19:11.787-04:00You're Replaceable<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Dearest Pancreas, <div><br /></div><div>We hope you have enjoyed your first 365 days of retirement. Perhaps we would have thrown you a party or given you a 25 years of good service plaque or some other ridiculous token of appreciation had you given us any notice that you were quitting. It has taken some time to adjust to your abrupt departure, but after a year of searching,</div><div> we have found a suitable replacement. </div><div><br /></div><div>As with most things in life that show signs of diminished productivity, we have found a way to replace your basic functions with a smaller, shinier piece of technology. Frankly your appearance was rather dull compared to your replacement, which dons a metallic blue exterior. New Pancreas (NP), also plays riveting monophonic tunes (reminiscent of the early cell phone days) to alert us to its needs; you didn't even bother to leave us a note that you were in need of assistance. NP can perform all of your basic functions with a touc</div><div>h of a few buttons, and a few that you never could. For example, NP has a database of the nutritional values of all of our favorite foods, thus allowing us to keep careful track of our carb, fat, protein, and fiber intake. We just might end up more healthy without a working pancreas than we were when you were on the job. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't get me wrong, NP has its drawbacks just like any employee does. When you were still functioning we never had to worry about the cat trying to attack you, whereas the tubing on NP has a striking resemblance to a piece of string in the eyes of Jackson. The tubing is also short enough that we have to unclip NP from our belt in order to lower our pants and we then have to determine an appropriate resting spot for NP. Back when y</div><div>ou were still on the payroll we never had to ponder where we were going to rest our pancreas while going to the bathroom. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sure you felt like it was the right decision for you when you decided your career was over, and we truly hope you are enjoying a cocktail on some Florida beach with all the other wrinkled has-beens. But if you thought we were just going to shut down and cease to exist without you, you must have grossly overestimated your significance in the overall performance of this body. We will be functioning better than ever with the addition of NP to the team, and with all of its bells and whistles, we doubt we'll ever look back to the antiquated days of your existence. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sincerely,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Dana's working organs</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TL-wfGwRqaI/AAAAAAAAABw/hgb6uaRqbVQ/s320/pump1.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530332915869788578" /></div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-78945826629089933352010-10-12T20:38:00.003-04:002010-10-12T21:51:12.920-04:00If you say it in a eulogy, you're saying it too late.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TLUQc6WvDNI/AAAAAAAAABo/W4TPaJdhmqM/s1600/1984DecemberBillDanaRuth.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 296px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TLUQc6WvDNI/AAAAAAAAABo/W4TPaJdhmqM/s320/1984DecemberBillDanaRuth.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527342206554148050" /></a><br />I thankfully have only lost a few loved ones in my lifetime, but in the few funerals I've attended, I've come to the conclusion that eulogies consist of all the things we wish we could have said. Hopefully this post doesn't come across as morbid, but I'd rather get these thoughts out there now - I don't want to have to wait until my grandma is gone to tell the whole world how awesome she is. As any of you who have met them know, I have had the pleasure of growing up with two sharply opposite grandmothers, but both entirely amazing. But this particular post is reserved for sharing my thoughts and feelings about my Grandma Ruth, while she is still here on Earth doing what she does.<div><br /></div><div>If you have ever had the experience of meeting my grandmother, you might be struck by her thick accent, or her relative shyness (particularly in comparison to my other grandmother), or her ability to hold a conversation in her 4th (?) language while watching jeopardy and playing solitaire.<br /><div><br /></div><div> To understand the significance of my Grandma Ruth's life, you first have to understand a bit about the background of her life. She was born in Bern, Switzerland, but left her family and everything she knew behind when she married my grandfather and moved to Lebanon. My mom and uncles were born there, and then the family made the big move to the United States. The family grew to include five children, and my Grandma Ruth kept them fed and clothed, but not the lazy way that we do things now - things were made from scratch. I can't comment much on things from those times, but I'm sure if they didn't happen much the way they did, I likely would not be here writing this. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>According to pictures, Grandma Ruth was in my life from the time that I got here, but her mark on my was really made on my life when she moved in with us when I was five. Grandma retired from her job at Rand McNally, sold her house, and moved down to Columbia. It was a symbiotic relationship - Grandma wasn't living alone and had a continued sense of purpose after retirement, and my mom had someone to help her with her family childcare business and to help with the three of us. Grandma being home was the best of everything; I gained a friend and confident, but she also instilled morals and responsibility in me. </div><div> </div><div>Grandma Ruth isn't making an impact on our lives by giving us everything we've ever wanted, by letting us get away with things our parents never would, or by otherwise showering us in extravagance. Instead, Grandma has given us something even better - time with her. My Grandma has 12 Grandchildren, and has spent multiple years living with and helping to raise each of us, with her making her last round now down in Key West. Many grandmothers are able to see all of their grandchildren on a regular basis - but we have always lived in at least 4 different states spread out over the country at any given time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think each of the 12 of us can say that our childhood and thus who we have become as adults would be very different had she not played a part in our lives. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some of the greatest moments with Grandma Ruth were the simplest - we would go for walks to the pond, or I would stretch out on her bed while she watched her "shows", or she would teach me a card game or I would teach her one. I also used to run down to her room crying anytime my parents did or said something to upset me. And the greatest thing was she listened, but without ever taking my side over my parents. She would help me feel better, but also help to enforce what my parents thought was best. </div><div><br /></div><div>Grandma also has an amazing memory. I would not be as connected to my own heritage without getting the opportunity to sit and listen to her stories. As an 80+ year old woman who recently suffered a stroke, you would think recalling the details of her childhood would be difficult. I was blessed with the chance to sit with her and document names and dates for all of her family photos that we scanned. She was able to recall even minute details of events from the past, and thus provided me a connection to my ancestors. This is even more significant due to the fact that I have no relationship with my grandfather, so what she shares with us of his family is really all I know. I am lucky to still have the opportunity to tell her how much she means, and how glad I am that she chooses to give us knowledge of our grandfather. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm glad for each day that I am given to be able to call my Grandma up and tell her that I love her - to send her letters thanking her for what she has done for me. I would much rather the whole world know now how great she is - but don't all rush down to key west all at once to meet her :). I would also much rather send this to her now than read it to a wooden box down the road. </div><div><br /></div><div>Love you Grandma!</div><div>Keep up your fight against the challenges that have been set before you - and know that you have left a lasting impression on not only your family, but all of the children you have helped along the way - from the neighbors' kids in Queens to the daycare kids in Columbia and Long Island.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-49445145438581492362010-08-10T22:12:00.008-04:002010-08-11T23:30:21.131-04:00RoDaBeBe: A Gastronomic Exposé<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TGIHiFwjgZI/AAAAAAAAABY/SQZ2T2K0VMo/s1600/rodabebe2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TGIHiFwjgZI/AAAAAAAAABY/SQZ2T2K0VMo/s320/rodabebe2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503969976842944914" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Perhaps you are one of the lucky few who was given the opportunity to read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">RoDaBeBe: Trying to Understand the Problem</i>, written by Becky Ward during our first year of college (I apologize in advance, as this snippet does not even come close to her caliber of writing).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or perhaps you have come to know one or all of us through our various adventures in life.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The third and most unfortunate group you might fall into is the group of people who are thinking to themselves, what is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">RoDaBeBe</i>? No matter which group you fall into, I promise that you will walk away from this with an entirely new understanding of who we are.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">RoDaBeBe is a dietary restriction nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>RoDaBeBe is a vegetarian, a diabetic, a lactose intolerant, and a kosher.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Allow me to take you on a RoDaBeBe tour of the food pyramid. If the four members of RoDaBeBe were to gather for a meal, the grains group can only appear on our table with a side of insulin.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Anything from the dairy group is accompanied by a lactaid pill, or eliminated from the table completely, as we also have an anti-cheese among us.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The meat group is all but wiped about between the vegetarian, the kosher, and the picky.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While that group also contains nuts, eggs, and beans, who can make a meal out of just those? </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I know what you are thinking – what’s the big deal? Stick to fruits and vegetables and you all will be good to go.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We don’t do anything that simply.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Fruits and vegetables are all fine and good, as long as roasted red peppers are not a part of the dish.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And while you are at it, add kiwi and apple allergies to the list too.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I would normally say that dessert is the best part of a meal – after all, who doesn’t have at least one dessert that they find to be delicious?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Try to name one that doesn’t have dairy, sugar, gelatin, or turn your tongue a funny color.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Amazingly enough we are able to walk into almost any restaurant and all find something we can eat.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>From time to time we even manage to cook a few dishes together that manage to meet all of the above requirements and restrictions.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It only ever gets to be a tad bit challenging when we are guests somewhere and someone else has prepared food for us.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Good thing our prodigious personalities make up for what our plates lack!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Oh yea, in case you still don't understand, RoDaBeBe is a name Robyn came up with in high school to refer to the four of us - it is made up of the first two letters of each of our names. </p>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-69012098621705862082010-06-07T13:51:00.004-04:002010-06-07T15:27:42.566-04:00The perfect relationship<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TA1DnrdAeDI/AAAAAAAAABQ/jTsz7mfd9yk/s1600/tomato-goat-cheese-stack.jpg"></a>In my humble 26 years of life, I have learned a thing or two about good relationships. <div><br /></div><div>First, both partners need to be unique individuals with their own characteristics and identity. Admit it - we all roll our eyes at the couple that consists of one partner and their clone, and we can all identify at least one friend who changes who they are and what they enjoy based on who they are with. Nobody wants to date themselves. Thats boring, and weird. <div><br /></div><div>With that being said, it is important that the partners complement each other. It is crucial that the two are able to support each other regardless of the circumstances and environment they encounter. When you have someone you can rely on, the unknown is less scary. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is important that each member of the team be tolerant of the other's tastes and aspirations despite coming from different backgrounds or growing up in different areas. That isn't to say that one must like and agree with everything the other does - just respect those differences. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, it is important that both partners are willing to devote time to each other, enjoy each other's company, both contribute to the integrity of the relationship, and both feel that they are a meaningful part of the pair. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the very last key to a great relationship is humor. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>...and now I would like to announce the relationship of the century award...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It goes to ......</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>CHEESE AND TOMATOES </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/TA1DnrdAeDI/AAAAAAAAABQ/jTsz7mfd9yk/s320/tomato-goat-cheese-stack.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480110670538111026" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>This pair has going for it what all of us hope to have one day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheese and tomatoes are nothing like each other. Each is completely unique - not even from the same food groups. They are cultivated completely differently, and while there are many varieties of each, cheese and tomatoes share few other similarities with each other. </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite coming from such different backgrounds, cheese and tomatoes are able to come together in such a variety of ways. Put cheese on bread, grill it up, and tomato soup or ketchup become the perfect complements. Change it up a bit and put the cheese on a tortilla instead, and now salsa is the supporting sidekick. Make another alteration and this time and stretch out a nice round bread-like substance, spread with tomato sauce and sprinkle with cheese, and now you have one of the finest combinations ever. Take out the carbs completely, and tomatoes and cheese do just fine together without any other ingredients to tarnish their taste. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now see the key here is that a tomato without the cheese is edible - and it serves the purpose of making people wonder what gets classified as a fruit and what as a vegetable. And cheese is similar. Sure, pair it with a cracker, and you've got something that can last for a little while, but pair it with a tomato, and there is no telling how long those flavors can continue to appease you. Cheese is here to prove to us that the word coagulation can lead to delicious. That's right, nothing is more appealing/appalling than coagulated milk proteins. So, each item, tomatoes, and cheese, can get through a few situations when paired with other items. Just like we can get through parts of life in mediocre relationships. But if you want a combination that can make any meal work, put the tomatoes and cheese together - and now you have a meal that will succeed despite the time of day, the type of meal, or the fanciness of the occasion. </div><div><br /></div><div>Each has a reason for existing alone, but the greatness of each is amplified when you put them together. </div><div><br /></div><div>No better place to amplify such greatness than in my belly :)</div><div><br /></div><div>And in real relationships, people need to complement <b>AND</b> compliment each other. </div><div><br /></div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-50253461746108510052010-05-02T19:30:00.006-04:002010-05-02T20:28:56.861-04:00Some things should not be sold door-to-door<div style="text-align: left;">and just to name a few...</div><div><br /></div>1. children<div>2. medical advice</div><div>3. sex</div><div>4. false teeth</div><div>5. <b>religion</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>I returned home one day a few weeks back to find this little booklet rubber-banded to my doorknob. I have become accustomed to all sorts of junk mail being left at my door, but this was a whole different type of ridiculous advertising. I opened the book to find this picture/story:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/S94QZ6qyxtI/AAAAAAAAABI/u_S-ROfYCPw/s320/Photo0103.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466825035105879762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>Some of you may find what I have to say next offensive. I will say in advance that I'm sorry that you feel that way, but I'm entitled to my opinion too. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have yet to be convinced by the fliers left on my door and on my car to hire a cleaning service. I have not used any of the menus that have been left for me to order dinner. I am certainly not going to suddenly turn to new religious beliefs because a book about God loving me was left on my door. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not saying that I have anything against the followers of the King James Version of the Bible who published the book, nor do I have anything against people who practice an organized religion. I'm not even against people trying to spread their religious beliefs, but how many people become religious converts based on a book on a door? Especially one with such horrendous pictures. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those who sort of know me know that I don't attend church, I don't own a Bible, and I celebrate Christmas in the purely American sense that I give and receive presents. </div><div><br /></div><div>Those who know me well know that I am often curious about religion, that I talk tough things out with a "higher being", and that I'm still undecided on what, if any, sort of afterlife exists. Like many other people growing up in our country in this time period, differences in religious backgrounds in my family history made way for a lack of formal religious following. My grandfather was raised Muslim, my grandmother was raised Catholic, and my other grandparents were brought up in other sects of Christianity; without one clear-cut answer as to which religion to follow, I grew up in a family with no conventional religious practices. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was still raised in a family with strong moral beliefs, I was still taught to always try to do what is right, and I learned the importance of helping those who are less fortunate. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have largely been satisfied with my freedom to research various religions on my own and to choose my own beliefs. I'm sure some situations would have been easier had I had a strong religious connection to believe in, but I also think that I am stronger because I've found things that work for me. As confused as I have been about religion, and I'm sure there will continue to be moments in my future where I'm not sure where I'm going or who I am or what I believe in, I doubt that I will at any point make these sorts of decisions based on a pamphlet left on my door.</div><div><br /></div><div>and to those of you that finish this and think "she's going to hell", just so you know, according to my "religion" I have to believe in such a place to be able to go there :)</div>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-65061539889176183192010-04-21T21:57:00.002-04:002010-04-21T22:06:43.627-04:00EARTH DAY EVERYDAY?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/S8-vHic0RnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/G-ZKVu47Rbw/s1600/colorado.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/S8-vHic0RnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/G-ZKVu47Rbw/s320/colorado.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462777417065318002" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size:13px;"><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>April 22<sup>nd</sup> is Earth Day, a day designed to appreciate our most beautiful planet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>At least I must assume it is the most beautiful, as I have yet to visit any others.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So tomorrow many will try to be a little more earth friendly, a little more aware.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m glad we have a day like this, but I also wish that I was better at being earth friendly everyday.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I find it difficult to keep in the forefront of my busy mind the many ways that I a can leave less of a negative impact on this lovely place we live.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>One effort that I have decided to take on this year is walking anywhere I need to go that is within three miles.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My hope is that I can do this at least until winter, when hopefully Mother Nature will not dump another bunch of twenty inch snowstorms on us.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I live within a mile of a grocery store, and the walk there is not bad at all.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I also found that I buy less crap when I know I have to carry it all back.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The closest MOM’s Organic Market is about four miles away, and although I have not ventured there on foot yet, I’m sure it’s a bearable trek as well.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>It is certainly nice to know that I am damaging the environment less by using my car less, and I feel accomplished after walking to these local establishments, but I have found that the biggest benefit has come from knowing that when I eat, it is something I have worked for.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The food is much more enjoyable, and I’m in better shape too.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I think that one of the contributing factors to obese <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">America</st1:place></st1:country-region> is that few people do any work for their food anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Humans used to hunt and gather, expending most of their energy to acquire more food and thus more energy to continue the cycle.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Eventually this turned into various methods of farming, which still required a significant expenditure of energy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Even after many people abandoned farming people still spent a considerable portion of their day cooking and preparing food before consuming it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But now we are at the point that if it requires more than five minutes of sitting in our car in the drive thru, we had to work too hard for our food. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">So what if everyone gave up paying for a gym membership each month, got off the treadmill, elliptical, and various other exercise gadgets, and instead simply walked to the grocery store, farmers market, or restaurant for their next meal?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p></span></span>whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5234379739164053100.post-9324416813954551312010-04-19T21:59:00.003-04:002010-04-20T21:36:05.974-04:00Six Months Clean<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/S85WVLZCjKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/USxBDe1Iuw8/s1600/Photo0035.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i9uaKNySFc8/S85WVLZCjKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/USxBDe1Iuw8/s320/Photo0035.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462398319882046626" /></a><br />One hundred eighty two days ago my life changed for the better; that was the day that I gave up my sugar high. Like most people who make such a life change, I feel happier, healthier, and more alive. In contrast to most addicts however, I had to pick up the needles in order to clean up my act.<br /><br />Six months ago I drove to an urgent care place for an 11pm appointment. For two weeks I had been drinking like crazy (water, people…water!). I couldn’t get through a lesson without drinking a full bottle. And the obvious result was that every hour I couldn’t get to the bathroom fast enough. I don’t exactly have a job where it’s acceptable to be leaving constantly to pee, especially when the nearest bathroom is nowhere near my “learning cottage” of a trailer. So when I started getting pain in my kidneys, I made the appointment that landed me in a swine flu infested doctor’s office at almost midnight on a school night. <br /><br />Like most junkies, all it took was some pee in a cup to see that I was positive. The urine test led to a blood test, and the rest played out like a scene in a crappy lifetime movie. The tech pricked my finger and read me the glucose monitor result of 500; she then hurriedly left the room. I already knew what this meant, but being that I was in a doctor’s office (of sorts) I was waiting for someone to give me an official diagnosis before trying to process anything. For those who know me, although I wasn’t trying to process anything, my brain was already moving at 5,000 miles an hour. <br /><br />My official diagnosis came in the form of the tech and the doctor’s conversation outside of the hardly soundproof exam room door. It went sort of like this “500? Really?” “We don’t get people like that here.” “I don’t think we’ve ever had to tell someone that.” As much as it sounds like something that would only happen on TV, this conversation went on for must have been at least another ten minutes. And then another ten minutes passed. Finally the doctor came in and the great words she managed to come up with after her 20 minutes of planning were, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have diabetes.” Really? That’s the best she could come up with after all that build up? This was followed up with, “Did you want us to call an ambulance, or did you have someone who could drive you to the hospital?”<br /><br />So, not really knowing what else to do, I called my parents’ house, woke them up, and gave an explanation about as brief as the doctor’s diagnosis was. They of course agreed to drive down, but that meant another forty-five minutes of sitting in the exam room waiting. To make things easier, the doctor and the tech took turns coming in every ten minutes to ask me how I was doing. This was honestly the most irritating part of the whole event. I was doing just fine; after all, I had had a whole extra twenty minutes to digest my diagnosis before they even gave it to me.<br /><br />Fast forward twelve hours, and I was walking out of the hospital a new person. Or a slightly cranky, tired, and hungry less than perfect version of my new self. I had spent about four hours in the ER waiting area (again surrounded by the hamthrax) with a poorly placed needle in my arm connected to absolutely nothing. Apparently they do this when you first get there so that when they finally see you days later it will be that much quicker to hook you up to whatever you need. I was then seen for a total of five minutes by the ER doctor, who must have received her schooling in the same place as the urgent care doc. She walked in, looked at my chart and said, “Well, it looks like you have diabetes. When the diabetes educator and nutritionist get here around 8am we will have them meet with you.” And she walked out. The next four hours consisted of me being hooked up to IV fluids in an attempt to lower my glucose level. And waiting. And waiting. The diabetes educator and the nutritionist tag teamed me for the next four hours, explaining how my new life would work. <br /><br />So, I walked out of the hospital and started my detox. Interestingly enough I received zero insulin while I was in the hospital; my first dose occurred after I picked up my prescriptions and got back to my apartment. I was finally working towards cleansing my body of the useless sugars that had been poisoning me for portions of the last three years. And like any body that had been used to something that was taken away abruptly, my body revolted against my lowering glucose levels. I felt hungry constantly. I wanted to use so badly; I just wanted a damn big bowl of pasta with a side of fruit and a pile of sugar on top.<br /><br />Over 900 finger sticks and over 700 insulin injections later, I’m pretty certain that the disease that tends to cut people’s lives a bit shorter will actually help me live mine better. Although my endocrinologist says I can eat what I want (in moderation, just like the rest of the world), I still think more about what I put in my mouth (insert dirty joke here). I started to workout again more seriously; partially because I felt well enough to do so again, and partially because I know it will help me maintain healthier glucose levels. I drink less; not that I don’t still have a little fun when I go out, but this was the official end to the complete belligerent nights of my college past. Basically it put an end to the irresponsible way that I was treating my body. <br /><br />I’m content with the fact that I have diabetes. I was lucky enough to get this disease at what I think must be the easiest time. My parents didn’t have to go through worrying about a young child with diabetes. I didn’t have to be that weird kid that has to go to the nurse all the time. I didn’t have to sit out of rec sports events, or get sent off to sleepovers with a long instruction booklet on how to deal with me. I got to enjoy college to the max with things like homecoming morning breakfasts of mimosas and jello. I also wasn’t at a point where I was too old to care about making changes to my life. I welcomed the changes I had to make; they were necessary whether I was given this disease or not. Diabetes was just a convincing catalyst to get my stubborn self to follow through with becoming a less reckless adult. <br /><br />So I wake up everyday happy to be alive. Happy to have a disease that has made me a better person. Happy that I didn’t have to be one of the people that has lived their whole life like this. Happy that my diabetes is well controlled and easy to manage. Happy that I have the motivation to prove to myself that I can run further, faster, longer. Happy that I finally know what made me feel sick for periods of time over the last three years (and that I wasn’t just imaging the symptoms). Happy that I’m six months sugar-clean.<br /><br />And yes, I realize how overly dramatic this is. But that's who I am. :)whiniesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16699845780321839459noreply@blogger.com1