I will write her numbers down -- and just throw the card away.
» Read More...
» Read More...
Level Life started out as a company that makes glucose products to help treat hypoglycemia, in more delicious flavors than just chalky orange... So when Level Life contacted me, stating they now had shakes and bars and the like, for me try out, I perked up. You see, Level Life is a company that was founded by a young man who lives with type 1 diabetes. A person with diabetes who couldn't find what he needed out there -- and knew the rest of us probably couldn't, either. ![]() |
» Read More...
I've had type 2 diabetes for nearly 4 � years. Though not a very long period of time, it's still been very challenging...
I've lost weight, gained weight, lost weight; I've low carbed, extremely low carbed, and eaten intuitively; I've exercised myself to death, been a couch potato, and a simple walk around the block lover; I've quit soda, drank only water, and then gotten on diet soda, again... I've had highs and lows, and lows, and highs. I've been proud of myself, and disappointed in myself -- and I've learned just how HARD it is to change myself -- all willpower aside. I've even dealt with some very angry type 1 diabetics and some very unhealthy diabetes forums and communities.» Read More...
If the individual with mental illness is in danger of physical injury, if his or her behavior is out of control or others are in danger, it is important to know what steps to take. Plan ahead by locating available sources for help: your emergency phone number (911), police or sheriff department number, Community Mental Health crisis or emergency number, name and phone number of a mental health professional, friends or neighbors who may be of help, and the nearest NAMI affiliate. Keep these numbers posted by the telephone.Any behavior such as this, that falls outside of both a mental health disorder, or a severe hypoglycemic episode, is unjustified violence, and should never be tolerated. Do not put up with it.
» Read More...
His foot was black and woody; gnarled, like dirt covered ginger. I will never forget the terror in my mother's eyes as she fruitlessly tended to its bandaging, and yelled at him for letting things get to this point. It was a shocking state of affairs. My father was now blind, bedridden, undergoing dialysis, and at the verge of needing his foot amputated.
My old childhood home had changed from whatever it was in my memories and into a hospital. Dad's room was an intensive care unit; my sister's old room was storage for the massive amounts of dialysis fluid boxes he would be needing.
I knew that dad was struggling... but I didn't know the extent. I had been gone from home for far too long, I guess, where at least reality wouldn't have denied me the right to know the truth. My parents, however, were the kind of people that lie by omission -- never telling their youngest daughter whatever might have worried her, or troubled her; never keeping her up to date with issues such as this. It was their way of protecting me... but it was far less protective than the truth. On May 5th, 2003, dad passed away. I only got to spend one last weekend with him the previous March... where he couldn't see me, couldn't go on walks with me, and had the beginning stages of dementia.
For the longest time I was very angry at my dad. To be and feel desperate at the healing of the unhealable is one of the most impotent feelings a loved one can experience. You are overcome with anger at the selfishness of the 'uncompliant' diabetic, not thinking how this would impact family; not thinking of the burdens of family having to be nurses, diaper changers, dialysis providers, and well... at the other end of helplessly watching them rot.
It has taken me years to deal and cope with these feelings; to come to terms with acceptance and forgiveness, and understanding that although complications happen, they are not always due to our choices as people with diabetes. That sometimes, the long ride is just too much -- and the genetic deck is not stacked in our favor.
Except on December 20th, 2013...
A desperate message was posted in a large online community to which I belong by a young man seeking advise about his father's infected wound, how it was not healing, and asking about what all that needed to be done. Someone -- knowing about me and my advocacy -- gave him my name. Then the desperation began anew... this unreasonable feeling of 'how can I save this person's loved one?' What all can I do to turn back the hands of time? I answered as best I could... with all the information I knew.
But information is cold, and stiff. It doesn't change his lack of access to resources, to well educated medical professionals, to the state of the art facilities we enjoy here in the states. It doesn't change that he knew not much about neuropathy, how to care for poor circulation, how to effectively and diligently monitor blood glucose levels, let alone what healthy blood glucose levels were, that Indian food is not exactly diabetic friendly, and that years and years of this status quo would likely not be undone.
Every day, the young man messaged me. "What can be done?" Sometimes, a few times a day. I could see the desperation of his situation -- I could see in my mind's eye, the terror on his face. At some point, I had to say "I am sorry. I am not a medical professional. These are the best guidelines I can give you... and to urge you to seek a wound care specialist." I wish I could have done more. I felt like I was needing to save my own father all over again.
I heard little from the young man, after that... But I had my suspicions. My gut feelings. On December 31st, he wished me a Happy New Year, perhaps in the most somber of ways one could wish it. Just words on a page... not even capitalized. Then by January 5th, he finally mustered the courage to tell me that on the 2nd, his father passed away. And it all came back around, home for me...
I mustered an "I'm so sorry," in the best way that I knew how, never once telling him about my own pain. My own loss. "It's fine," he replied.
Perhaps not so, today... and that's just fine, as well.
» Read More...
![]() |
| My fasting glucose at diagnosis, versus currently. |
Currently, the OHP provides 100 test strips every 90 days, but a new plan would severely restrict access to strips for type 2 patients unless they are newly diagnosed, take insulin, or meet a few other special requirements. For people not taking insulin � which covers the vast majority, about 70% of all type 2 patients � those with an A1c above 8.0% would be entitled to one test strip per week, while those with an A1c below 8.0% would not be provided with any test strips at all.This is obscene!! One test strip a week tells NOTHING to a patient with type 2 diabetes! Tests need to be done in pairs so that we can see the cause and effect of things like meals, exercise, illness or periods, or even overnight sleep. Patients with type 2 diabetes are practically being PUNISHED for having good control, and being told that their health is not important enough to merit an educated management of their disease. Besides that, patients are supposed to work hard to keep an A1C which is at or below 6.5%. Telling a person that they will only get strips if they have higher A1C levels is not only not a good recommendation, but it is also unconscionable. It is the testing that keeps me at a lower A1C! I'm not psychic, for crying out loud. As of yet, there is no magical Glucose Level 8-Ball.
» Read More...
» Read More...