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Monday, April 30, 2012


Alright, I know that I complain about my friends a lot. Much as I love them, they are quite annoying sometimes. But there are some days when it's truly proven that they're always there for me.

Like today, when my cartridge spontaneously emptied. (Well, I guess I must have had a 'low' warning at some point, but I always forget because 10 units - warning level - lasts a whole day.) Buzz, buzz. Empty cartridge, no delivery. I don't want to interrupt anything while the teacher's talking, so I quietly sneak out my glucometer case and peek to see if there's any insulin. Fingers crossed. Phew, there is some, so I proceed to quietly put some in the cartridge. That's fine. Except for, when I go to take the needle off, it's stuck. Well and truly. Even after half an hour of trying to unscrew it. (Not sure if this was my fault, the needle's, or the cartridge's.) Anyway, by now I'm kind of worried. Hoping that I have an unused cartridge in my backpack, I go to my locker at break. No such luck.
Of course, as it always is, I can't find my diabetic friend who might have an extra. All my friends attempt to unscrew it, one of them scratching herself in the process. At this point I'm crying because my mum's out of town so I can't get her to bring me a new one, I don't have what I need, and I don't know what to do.

One of the aforementioned friends decides to phone my mum to see what we can do. (She said that she did it quietly so that I wouldn't be mad - I'd never be mad at you for trying to help, Lioness.) Long story short, a friend of my mum's comes to get me so that I can pick up what I need from home.
Even after the bell rings, all my friends stay, consoling me, trying to make me laugh, skipping class just to help me out.

Thanks, guys. Love ya. <3

(I was okay. Got my stuff, went back to school, 'twas all good. And I now have a spare of everything in my locker.)

Saturday, April 28, 2012


I wrote this last night when I was really tired and all these things were true. I'm okay today, except for some itchy eyes, but the fact that I couldn't find my Delica this morning and had to use one of the old painful things reminded me of how I felt.

Sometimes I want to throw everything into a corner and cover it up with a blanket so I can just forget.
Like when I have to change my site twice within two hours because the first newly-put-in one decided to come off as the sticky chemicals refused to adhere to my arm - that's annoying. And, apparently, worth a cry.
And I'm at that point in time where camp is close (less than 70 days!) but so far away, when I seem to have lost contact with my diabetes buddies, when I haven't been to the clinic in three months (I know that that's how long it's supposed to be between visits, but it's been way too long for me because I love the hospital and I really want to see my doctors), where I haven't talked diabetes with somebody who understands in ages, and where I can't stand this feeling alone.
Sometimes I want to cry. I know that I can if I want, but nobody will understand. I know they try hard, but they really can't understand it completely. And now I'm crying because right now I just want to be rid of this thing. It's always in the way no matter how small it claims to be.
This day started out so good - why did one little thing hurt so much?

And now I have to go find a box of tissues because it just. Won't. Go. Away.

Sometimes it's really hard to say that diabetes isn't who I am.

Thursday, April 26, 2012


There have been many people in my life. Countless teachers, acquaintances, relatives...too many to count. But a few of those people have stayed in my mind because they are special to me. They've inspired me, proved that there are people worth a role model stature.
(I'm sorry if this sounds rather like an awards-show speech. :P)

My grade 8 teachers, Mme. A and Mr. L, you showed me that I can be whoever I want to be, do whatever I want to do. That anything is possible, even if especially if I have to work for it. (You also inspired me to create this blog!)
Grade 1 was a long time ago, but I remember my teacher. Mme. J, I will probably never meet you again, but thank you for starting my education off right.
Everybody at camp - you've shown me how to smile in the midst of dark clouds. Thanks.
My whole family has inspired me and showed me how to be the best I can and have supported me through everything.
All my non-diabetic friends, even if you don't understand my diabetic humour, you've shown me that I am accepted, no matter how different I may be.
Everybody in the DOC (diabetes online community) - you've given me something special. You've inspired me to stand up for what I believe in and you've shown me that I am not alone. That none of us are alone.
Alright, I don't know if anybody is reading this (I know that my mom and my Sparks leader are!), but if you are, thanks. You are helping me to be heard, to be strong.

And last, but most definitely not least, Kerri, if you ever see this - I've been reading your blog diligently for two years. You give me hope everyday that I can and will lead a perfectly normal life with diabetes. You put everything into perfect words that help me smile even on the worst days. You are my role model and someday I hope to have as strong a voice as you.

Thank you, everybody, for inspiring me.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Poking fun.

I don't usually get comments on my pump. I've had the occasional "What is that on your arm?" (followed by walking away when I start to explain), but nothing huge. Until the other day.

"What is that?" (One of the kids in my English class). "Oh, that? It's an insulin pump." *Walks away to do something important*. I came back, and got the question again. I then proceeded to give my I'm-feeling-lazy-so-I'll-explain-in-little-kid-talk explanation. "I have diabetes. It gives me medecine when I need it." He smiled with an "Ha! I thought it was an MP3 player." This is then followed by a chorus of "So did I!" from around the class. (But who wears an MP3 on their hip all the time?)

And then today. Again, in English. What a funny class. Anyways, the kid two seats down from me (kid in the middle was sick) is a fun guy. He's nice - don't get me wrong by what follows.
He pointed at my pump and looked at me questioningly. "What's that?" "Insulin pump. Medecine." I go back to reading. I feel a presence leaning towards me, and look over in time to see this guy poking a button on my Little Buddy. Sure, it was a little that's-my-bubble-ish, but that's okay. When it lit up he jumped back. "Oh no! Did I do something wrong?" (Oh, how I wanted to say yes. I could see it - "NOOO! You've given me too much insulin! I'm going to collapse!") But no, I figured that I should do my bit for diabetes advocacy. "No, it's fine. You only lit up the screen." "Ah." We both went back to our respective tasks and all was well.

The funny comments you hear. :)

*I'm sorry that I haven't posted for so long! Life really gets in the way sometimes...

Sunday, April 15, 2012


 Alright, so neither my friends nor my family understand my diabetes jokes. But that's okay - they try their best.

Today, I was looking for matching diabetes t-shirts for me and Z for camp. (Note: if anybody knows of a reliable, inexpensive t-shirt site, please post a link in the comments? I don't want to spend an insane amount of money...) Some of the humour was insensitive and directed at Type 2 misconceptions, but others were ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS.

For example:

""Diabetes and Smiles"" Poster
This one isn't necessarily funny, it's just SO me.

My Pancreas Doesn't Work iPad Case
And my favourite...

Diabetes T-Shirt

So, which one is your favourite? Would you wear them?

Friday, April 13, 2012

Found the PSA!

It's exactly as the title says. As I said in the last post about the Body of Proof episode, there was a PSA at the end. I have been searching all of cyberspace for it, and I found it.

There's a 30-second commercial, but that's okay. It's worth it, especially to know that the whole world heard this.

I also found out that Mary Mouser does have diabetes. (see this page, 3rd post down). As I said before, there was some doubt. But if we refuse to believe what someone says, then what can we believe?

Just wanted to show this because my efforts have not been in vain. :)

*Giggles and flaps hands with glee*

Alright, I officially have a new favourite TV show.

Body of Proof. (Again. Sorry, but I'm uberexcited.)

The newest episode, which aired on Tuesday, was AMAZING! (It was a season finale, which is insanely annoyingly suspenseful, but the crime side was pretty good. I mean, no brain? How much better can you get?)* But on the diabetes side, it made me smile for a whole day.

Lacy (the daughter) had a pump. Yes, this seemed a bit quick, but TV timelines are allowed to be a bit skewed. Not only did they talk about it, but they showed her changing her site! And talking about food diaries and blood sugar checking/logs and about how hard it is to be 'normal'. The biggest thing was that Lacy was talking about how she wasn't allowed to have fun anymore (because of her worrying mother - understandable on both counts) and how things were really hard to deal with. I so connected with this that I almost cried. And the fact that it was broadcast in that way all over the continent made me SO happy.
Later, Lacy was talking to another character who told her that she was stronger than diabetes. That she was mature and could deal with it, that she couldn't let it stop her.
Such a happy feeling.
Please, ABC, bring this show back for a third season! PLEASE!

In short, this is one of the best portrayal of diabetes I have ever seen on TV. And it looks like the storyline will keep going. This feeling that I had was so overpoweringly wonderful that I want to find and hug the producers of this show. Thank you. And please bring it back!

*I like murder mysteries. They're cool. :P

Sunday, April 8, 2012


A lot of the time, diabetes portrayed on the TV screen is not accurate. They almost always end whatever scene it may be with the 'you'll never be okay' kind of thing. But once in a blue moon, there's one show that gets it right.

Body of Proof. It's a coroner crime show - the kind of thing I like. I never really watched it (there's lots of other good stuff), but my parents do. My mum told me that I should watch an episode that was on the PVR because it had something I would appreciate.

I watched it. There was a diabetic element - the lead character's daughter is diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. Although I wouldn't know as well as some people, they showed DKA very well and they did focus a bit on the events leading up to it (for example, missing the nail when you're hammering it into the wall). The best part, though, was at the very end. The girl is awake, scared, and confused. In a tear-jerking scene, she asked her mother how she can have diabetes. "I'm not even overweight! And now I'm going to go blind, and lose my legs..." (Sidenote: Don't quote me on this. It's just a jist.) The mother then tells her that that is not true. "Forget everything you ever knew about diabetes. Those are misconceptions. Type 1 is something completely different. It's a completely manageable condition."
The fact that they made an effort to show things right makes me incredibly happy.

It's a show that I will be watching from now on.

Endnote(s): The episode was called 'Identity', about two girls in a car accident. The awesome scene is near the end, at about 40 min. Apparently on live TV (I watched a recording) they showed a JDRF-endorsed PSA. If anybody can find it to watch somewhere, I'd love to see it.
We're not sure if the actress who plays the daughter (Mary Mouser) is diabetic - some people yay it, others nay. *Confused*.
There was only a few points of inaccuracy - apparently she had an insulin pump the next episode (still must watch). The timeline on TV shows is often skewed though, so that's okay. The only other thing that bugged me was her blood sugar - they said it was 450. It's an American show (set in Philadelphia) so I assume, using the divide by 18 rule, that her sugar was 25. I thought that DKA sugars were much higher? I was diagnosed at 26.something, with no DKA, so I don't know if it's just me or if they mixed up. But it doesn't matter - it was so accurate and happyfying, I just want to see whatever they come out with. I hope that this plot element remains and actually becomes part of the story. That would be cool.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Vampire cannulas and broken tubes.

The tube on my Little Buddy is not something that I usually notice. Of course, when it catches on doorknobs and pulls my site out, it's the first thing I yell at. (I hate doorknobs.) But usually, it's just there, a soft, twirly, long tube of plastic.
There are some times when I do notice it. For example, when I pull out my site because it's sore and the cannula and tube are full of blood (vampire-like):

It's really funny, when you think about it. "I have a vampire on my arm!"

The next picture really needs some explaining.
Let's set the scene: I'm in art class with a friend. We're making tape sculptures with packing tape, which means that we have to cover our partner with inside-out tape (kind of like the mold you put plaster into). I'm lucky enough to be the model for the torso.
As we get halfway down my hip, I wonder aloud if I should take off my pump. "Nah. It's too late now anyway."
So, I end up wearing shorts made of tape. (Sidenote: Don't ever do this if you can help it. It's rather uncomfortable.)
My friend starts to cut down the side of the shorts. At this point I begin to hurry her - it's very warm when you're wrapped in plastic. Oh, the useful things you learn at school. Suddenly, she pulls away, a look of horror on her face. "Did I cut your pump?" I don't really know what she means, so I shake my head and urge her to continue. As she cuts farther down the side, I notice a plastic string with an end. The tape is the same colour as the plastic, so it doesn't click yet. It's not until I see another end poking out that I realize. "Is that my tube? It is! Oh my goodness!" I start to giggle.
As she finishes cutting me out, she keeps apologizing profusely. I wave it off. "There's only an hour left. Just don't let me have any more chocolate!" *Giggle*.
I join the tubes with tape, which makes things even funnier. I joke at my friend that if I go high later, it's her fault. She looks so sorry, I feel bad immediately. She doesn't seem to find it funny. I do.

So, my pump tube got chopped in half. And it was hilarious. And none of my school friends understand my diabetic humour.
I later emailed my camp buddy this story, and she laughed too. You guys worry too much.

I've started noticing my pump tube. It's amusing me. :)

Wednesday, April 4, 2012


I have never left my pump behind. The farthest he's ever been from me is when I'm in the bathroom and he's in my room (having disconnected for a shower). There's been the odd time when I've forgotten that he's suspended, sure, but the alarm always reminds me eventually. I've heard of people forgetting their pumps at home while going somewhere, but I thought 'That'll NEVER happen to me.'

Alright, so it wasn't to that extreme, but today, for the first time, I forgot my little buddy.

I had disconnected to change (I don't do it all the time - today was a special occasion) after school. No suspension, so no alarms. Little Buddy ended up being covered up with various things - you know, the things that end up on teenage girls' bedroom floors. Clothes, school stuff, paper, pens, etc. Anyway, I was not feeling completely on the ball (not a great day today) and left him in my room. And I went downstairs. It's funny, but I didn't even realize the missing weight. (That kind of makes me happy - it means that I don't think about it all the time).

At suppertime (about two hours later) I check my bloodsugar. It doesn't say anything about not being connected to the pump, and it doesn't even cross my mind. When I go to bolus (after dinner - I really need to start/continue/think about bolusing before), I reach down to my waist to start pushing buttons. He doesn't hit my hand automatically, as usual. When he doesn't seem to be within two inches of my hand, I end up patting all around my waistband trying to find him. (I was tired). No pump. It's only then that it hits me - he's still upstairs. It's almost like an obstacle course getting to him - there's chairs and stairs and walls in the way. Anyway, I find him, reconnect, and kick myself for forgetting him. But I was surprised - after two hours of no insulin, you'd think I'd be higher than 11.2 (201 mg/dl).

So, today I found out how small a part of my life diabetes is. It doesn't influence the way I have fun, the way I listen to music, the way I [forget to] do my homework. My Buddy is special, but maybe I don't need to focus on him so much.

But I do need to stop accidentally scraping paint off the walls with his screen.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Little, annoying, things.

Some things in life are annoying simply by existing. Not being able to find matching socks, for example. Little brothers, much as I love them. Pencils breaking just when you need them.

Little things that don't matter in the long run.

But having diabetes, I find that there are more things that annoy me.

Like when people act out the familiar "I don't think you can have this, so I'm not going to offer it to you" scene. I am allowed to eat, you know.

Or "You turned a cookie down once simply because you weren't hungry, so I'm never going to offer you one ever again." People never give me a chance to explain that it's because I don't want one, not because I can't have one.

Oh yeah, then there's the 'Look over your shoulder while you test your blood sugar'. It's not that part that I mind - actually, sometimes it's kind of cool being the center of attention and being able to laugh at the cool things my meter does. ("It sucks up the blood!" - one of my friend's favourite moments.) What I mind is when the person looks at the number - especially when I'm making an effort not to be conspicuous about it -  and then looks at me with a panicked expression. "Are you low? Are you high? Do you need anything? Are you okay?" Honestly, if I'm not fazed, then chill. Actually, even if I am fazed, I can deal with it. And if you need to know, I'll tell you if I'm not okay.

I love that people are concerned for me - don't get me wrong. It's just the cloud of assumptions and worries that follow me everywhere that annoy me. Just the little things.

If you're not diabetic, then trying your hardest to understand is the best you can do. We love you for it, and we will tell you if you're annoying us.(Well, I will, at least.) :)