Kayaking Cures

I 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 :)

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!

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.

I had just started using an otterbox 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.

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 hormone overdose. 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.

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 :)

Six Months Clean

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.

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.

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.

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?”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And yes, I realize how overly dramatic this is. But that's who I am. :)