Diabetogenic

Silence

January 28, 2014 in Awareness, DOC, Real life, Social media, Wellbeing | 2 comments

Trying to cut the chatter in our busy lives is near impossible. There are so few times that we are ‘off’ and for me there is a constant white noise keeping me company. There are very few moments in my day when I am not in some way having a conversation of some sort with someone – or multiple people. In a five minute period I could be speaking in person with someone (or some people) while answering phone calls, listening to voicemail messages, sending SMS messages, Skyping someone, sending photos via MMS, answering and sending Facebook messages.

And at the same time, it’s possible that I’m taking a photo of my coffee, updating my Facebook status (This coffee is awesome!) and sending a tweet or two (Great coffee from new café in Melbourne’s inner-North) all while adding the picture to Instagram.

There is no silence in there. No gaps.

This last week, I’ve taken a step away from some of the noise in an effort to try to find some calm. With my eyes still not one hundred per cent, simply grabbing my phone, swiping to awaken it and checking Facebook, Twitter, email, SMS messages etc. is not so simple anymore. Glasses need to be located and put on and then I can start. It’s not as instant anymore. And because of that, the habit is slowly, but surely changing.

It took the better part of the week to deprogram myself.

I’ve realised that this is something that needs to be done consciously. Yesterday, at lunch at an outdoor café with a large group of friends, I looked over to where our kids were sitting on the ground in the shade. There were about 12 of them, all gorgeous, fit, sun-kissed kids who are more than capable of holding a conversation. And they were sitting in a row, not conversing, not playing, not teasing and joking with each other. No. They were all looking at their own iDevice. Totally enthralled and engaged. Just not with each other.

As someone who is permanently attached to my iPhone (seriously, if I had to make the choice between life-saving-insulin-delivery device and I-can-connect-to-the-whole-wild-world-all-the-time device, it would be a difficult decision) I am certainly not saying that technology is the end of civilisation. I’m not demonising our connectedness and if the truth be told, being able to reach out and ‘see’ someone from the DOC at any time is incredibly reassuring to me.

But is it the end of the world if I don’t know that the New Yorker Facebook page has just updated its status with a new cartoon? (Probably not, but this one is hysterical!) And really, even though it can be incredibly frustrating if I can’t remember the name of an actor in an episode of Breaking Bad, it will not kill me if I don’t IMDB the answer straight away!

So – I’m trying something new (as promised earlier). I am going to try to detox the constant chatter from my life. It’s not about going cold turkey, deactivating my Facebook page and leaving the Twitter community. It’s about boundaries. It’s about giving attention to the people I am with at any given time. But more than that. It’s about giving myself time. And space. And silence. Because sometimes, the answers are found there.

Just after I wrote this piece, I read this Huffington Post blog. I totally get it!

Waiting rooms

January 16, 2014 in Uncategorized | 3 comments

It’s T minus 60 minutes. Cataract surgery number two is about to happen and you’d think that I’d be far more relaxed second time around. Not so much. In fact, this time I have the expectation of tomorrow morning’s reveal as an added pressure. Will the result be as good as the last one? And more pressingly, will the headache that I’ve had for pretty much the last four weeks be gone?

I’m in the swanky waiting room of the day surgery centre. If it wasn’t for the anxious looking people sitting around me I could be in the foyer of a hotel. Alas, instead of sidling up to the bar for a vodka, lime and soda, I’m waiting for my name to be called by a nurse.

The pre-surgery process is always the same: brief description if what will happen next; introduction to the nurse looking after me for the next couple of hours; hand over your private health insurance details; confirm there will be someone with me after the surgery.

And now we wait.

I can feel my breathing quickening. My palms are sweaty. I’m trying to not think about the incision that will be made in my eye to remove the cloudy, cataract-riddled lens. I’m cursing that in a fit of stupid bravado I asked my ophthalmologist for a detailed description if the surgery when I went in for a check up last week. I’m psyching myself up for the conversation with the anaesthetist ‘Yes, I DO, want a general. Yes, you can call me a princess.

And now, I’m sitting in my lovely theatre gear (trying not to expose my arse), with my lovely husband gently reassuring me. I look out the window and think that tomorrow I’ll be able to enjoy those colours in their full brightness and sharpness. That’s what I’m holding onto right now. The hope of tomorrow’s vision.

The things that connect us

January 13, 2014 in Diabetes, DOC, Social media | 10 comments

One of the reasons social media is so powerful is because of the way it connects people. By removing all the constraints that would normally prevent people from sharing, we form connections based on shared experiences and familiar stories. We know that in the Twitterverse, there are no boundaries or territory lines to divide us. Last year, this blog was read by people from over 90 countries around the world. (Seriously, I couldn’t name 90 countries, so I’m going to have to take the word of the clever WordPress fairies on this one.)

There are so many examples of times when I read something and feel a pang of familiarity because the story mimics my own experience. And I’m always touched when people tell me that my posts ring true to them. There can be real solidarity when you are part of an online community. In today’s diabetes online community, I am fortunate to say that I feel I was welcomed from when I first hesitantly put up my hand and waved hello. The reluctance came because in a previous attempt to participate in an online diabetes site, I was condemned for having an opposing opinion to the moderators. I meekly retreated, insulin pump dragging behind me, and never went back for another play.

It saddens me when I see stories of internet trolls who deliberately upset people and consider it fair game and sport to have a go at those with differing opinions. The cowardice and manipulation shown be some who use anonymity as a screen to hurt people can be terrible.

There are billions of stories in the world and when we find people we connect with, we reach out and want to hold on. I know that’s how I feel about the DOC – I hear familiar stories and want to grab onto them and the people who wrote them (metaphorically, not literally; that would be creepy) because they help make sense of my diabetes life.

We’re not all the same and that is so okay. Perhaps the reason that online communities like to DOC work is because rather than looking for differences and calling each other out on them, we look for the similarities instead. We search for the things that connect us and build our community on that. And that makes me want to keep coming back for more. And more.

They’re both red.
Focusing on the things that connect us.

Weighty matters

January 10, 2014 in Advocacy, Awareness, Diabetes, Wellbeing | 3 comments

Yesterday as I skimmed a few news sites and social media sites, I came across endless diets, weight loss fads and a downright disturbing article about ‘bikini bridges’ which, it appears, is the latest in ‘thinspiration’ trends (we’ve moved on from the thigh gap, apparently). I caught up on a piece about ‘diabulemia’ and thought about how diabetes adds an extra degree of difficulty to all things – even eating disorders.

The relationship between weight, food and diabetes is so complex and confusing. We’re told to maintain our weight to remain healthy (or prevent developing type 2 diabetes in the first place); we’re told to manage our cholesterol for heart health; we’re told that certain foods are taboo; we’re told we need to eat at certain times to prevent lows; we’re told we should eat a lot of carbs/not too many carbs (depending on who you listen to today); we’re told to cut sugar (tweet below gives you some indication to how I feel about that one!) and we’re told that our waist circumference is yet another number to think about.

Quitting sugar (or anything else for that matter) will not cure type 1 diabetes.

Now take diabetes away and we’re told a heap of other things.

There are polls about who has the ‘hottest’ body as if it is something that can be measured, and there are ‘half their size’ magazines at the supermarket. Ads for The Biggest Loser are already on our screens. Faux-concern is directed towards celebs who seem to have lost too much weight. Between fat-shaming and skinny-shaming, it appears no one is safe.

We refer to women’s bodies as ‘hot’ as if they are pieces of meat to be graded. There is no consideration for whether they also happen to be intelligent, have a strong social conscience or are good at horticulture. Or knitting or whatever it is that they are good at. Because it doesn’t matter. As long as they look hot.

Women become known as specific body parts (except Elle Macpherson who is known as ‘The Body’ which means that no one cares what’s going on in her brain). Pippa Middleton isn’t known for being Pippa Middleton. She’s known because her arse looked ‘hot’ in a white dress.

Apparently having a certain body shape makes a woman ‘authentic’. Curves, allegedly make a woman ‘real’, whereas being skinny somehow, miraculously, makes her less real. Believe me, as someone who has at times had some decent curves to hold on to and then at other times can see bones protruding, I’ve always been real.

I don’t think much about my weight. It’s never been an issue for me and I’ve never been on a diet. During periods where I’ve tried to eat better, the focus has been health, not weight loss. Also, I love Nutella too much to even contemplate cutting processed foods out of my life. Also, bacon. And cupcakes.

And yet.

Daily, I find myself struggling with how I feel about the dozens and dozens of images that I see. I’m confused at how I should feel about my own body. Today, I look in the mirror and see that I am probably the thinnest I’ve been in some time, meaning I’m closer to the ‘body ideal’ that the fad diets promise. And yet, I look at my collarbones – all sharp angles – and feel slightly ill.

Where in there is the message that to be happy with ourselves we need to – well, be happy with ourselves? Where are the messages of celebrating who we are for more than how we look in a pair of skinny jeans? In fact, can we stop referring to jeans as skinny, please?

The discussion needs to shift. We need to stop talking about weight loss and ways to look ‘hot’. No one can achieve the things being promised. In fact we’re all destined to fail. But health? Health is something we can all work towards achieving. And if each step is measured by our wellbeing – not the size of our thighs – we’re working towards something worthwhile and meaningful. Feeling better inside. And my guess is that will have far longer-reaching consequences than detoxing for a few days.

Keep calm and hypo on

January 9, 2014 in Diabetes, Food, Hypo, Lows | 1 comment

Hypo Boy (AKA Spike Beecroft) is back with what I hope will be his first of many 2014 posts for Diabetogenic. Here, he shares some of his hypo stories. Thanks mate!

Hypos, like taxes, Christmas and birthdays happen. You can try hard to avoid them but eventually the sneaky buggers find you out and drop you to the floor, slug you for dollars, make you have to suffer the indignity of shopping or remind you that your age-growth may have out stripped your wisdom-growth. The main point is to keep calm and carry on.

Hypo Boy probably has had a slightly alarming number of hypos over his life time, but he’s not dead yet and he’s getting better at staying upright. Here he shares some of the funnier aspects of hypos.

Hypos affect your brain. What was once an instrument of sharpened surgical steel, able to slice through complex problems of logic may struggle with simple ideas. Such as the concept of a cupboard or door and the hypo fixes that live behind them.

Hypo Boy (HB): I need the stuff that’s in the thing…. You know the thing (mime show of cupboard door opening).

Better Half (BH): You what?

HB: I need the stuff that helps me. It’s in the packet in the place with the thing (more miming).

BH: Are you okay? Hypo Boy you’re really low, aren’t you?

HB: That’s what I’m telling you! I need the stuff that helps me. It’s in the place with the thing (more miming).

BH: Okay, you’re really low Hypo Boy. Now tell me where your snakes are.

HB: (exasperated) In the place with the thing. I can’t remember what it’s called but it goes like this (mime) and looks like that (points to door). But it’s smaller.

BH: Just wait here. I’ll look in the cupboard and see what’s there that might help.

HB: Cupboard! That’s it! The snakes are in the cupboard!

Even if the surgical steel is only moderately rusted it still might not quite hit the mark.

BH: (on waking to hear HB in the kitchen) What are you doing Hypo Boy?

HB: I’m low. I’m just getting something to eat.

BH: (turning the lights on in the kitchen) What are you doing?

HB: I’m low. I’m just getting something to eat, then I’ll come back to bed.

BH: Is roast beef good for hypos? (Hypo boy was busy carving and eating left over roast beef. It was delicious in his defence.)

Hypos can also impact those around you. While that may seem obvious, occasionally you do get an odd ball one. For a long time while dating a young women, Hypo Boy had fallen into a disturbing routine during moments of intimacy:

i) Amorous activities (details withheld to maintain the mystery and allure);

ii) Hypo;

iii) Amorous-activity-interruptus walk to 24-hour Coles for hypo fix; return home for fix and talk before….

iv) Return to complete point (i)

After a while, point (ii) began to interrupt point (i) too much. Hypo Boy made some dose adjustments without informing his partner, so that when they started on point (i), he managed to skip points (ii) and (iii). Hypo Boy was happy, and if he was a bit more Gallic would have lit up a cigarette.

Hypo Boy’s partner, rather than being happy about the new arrangement, started to question why.

‘Wasn’t I energetic enough? Do we need to do something different? Why didn’t I give you a hypo with my young, fit, flexible and nubile body?’ (Some dialogue may have been adjusted for writer’s own benefit.)

Hypo Boy learnt a number of lessons that night:

(a) Let people around you know when you’re making dosage adjustments. It’s helpful if they know there could be a reason for a change in routine.

(b) DO NOT laugh at a young woman who is questioning her performance. She might not let you play with her toys for a while.

Sound advice, Hypo Boy, sound advice. Sometimes you just gotta laugh. Do you have any amusing hypo stories to share?

Wordless Wednesday – tools of the trade

January 8, 2014 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Prepared. Jelly beans in every room.

Fixing something old; starting something new

January 6, 2014 in Diabetes, Real life | 1 comment

How are your New Year’s resolutions going? I read something the other day that most men who resolve to lose weight in the New Year have given away their diet by 2 January. Way to commit, guys!

The reason most of us fail when we make resolutions – at any time, not just New Year – is because we’re unrealistic about what we’re hoping to achieve. We grandly make claims that we will reinvent ourselves in ways that are simply destined to fail. We get disillusioned at the lack of progress or disappointed any time we fall by the wayside. So, we give up.

Diabetes resolutions are no different. Promising to start being a ‘good diabetic’ (my eye is twitching right now!) and swearing to never have a BGL reading above 8mmol/l is noble in its vision, but downright impossible to attain. The first reading above 10mmol/l and the towel will be thrown. In.

Changes need to be small and goals achievable. Small rewards along the way acknowledging what we’ve accomplished help too.

My main diabetes goal for the start of the year is to get my basal rates sorted. I know that things aren’t great and haven’t been for some time. Despite having lost a significant amount of weight over twelve months ago, I haven’t done proper basal testing for a long time. I guesstimated some changes at the beginning of last year after some really nasty hypos and that kinda helped, but not so that I felt that things were really on the right track. Despite knowing that reduced weight means reduced insulin requirements, I didn’t bother to work things out properly and faffed around by reducing bolus doses to compensate for too much basal insulin. Just ‘cause you know these things doesn’t necessarily mean you fix them. Apparently.

So, I’ll be starting with my morning basals and taking it from there. It’s frustrating and I really would prefer to be doing anything else, but I know that when my basal rates are tight, everything else diabetes-wise is that little bit easier.

Outside my diabetes life, I’ve decided that this year my goals include things that stretch me and push me out of my comfort zone. Last year, we visited Marrakech, which was so unlike anywhere we’d ever travelled previously. It was great. I loved it! I loved being in a country where each day I experienced something new and I was surprised around each corner. As much as I enjoy going to places where I know how things operate, it was so much fun working out a new place.

GeorgeHarrisonBanjoUkulele_posterz_bgbkg.244133714_std

So with the desire of searching for something new to keep me busy – something that was a bit of a stretch – I found myself uttering the words ‘Yes, I think I would like a banjo ukulele’ while I was wandering around a music store in inner-Melbourne last week. It’s been years since I played any music, and rather than pick up my flute and start playing that again, I’m going to start something new. Why not?

The goal isn’t to be a virtuoso, it isn’t to play gigs. Hell, it isn’t even to be any good at it. The goal is to do something new and something fun.

Learnings

January 3, 2014 in Diabetes, Real life | Leave a comment

New starts excite me. I love the possibilities of what lies ahead. The beginning of a new year has me filled with optimism. I don’t do resolutions, but I do like the ‘clean sheets’ feel of the start of January. And with a year behind me that was probably one of the most difficult I’ve ever had to endure, saying goodbye to 2013 has been more than welcome.

But as much as I love the new, the old makes me feel secure.

Old habits die hard, and for me that’s never more apparent than when it comes to diabetes. As much as I like to be up-to-date with the latest gadgets and know what’s at the cutting edge of research, I can still be relied upon to do many things the same; day in, day out. There is comfort in knowing that when checking my BGLs, my middle and ring fingers will always draw blood, so they are the two that I always use. There are minimal surprises when I insert a new cannula into the only fleshy part of my middle region – around the sides. Insulin delivers smoothly and evenly and after four or five days, I know that it’s time to change the line before my BGLs start to rise. Hypo treatments that work are the ones I rely on and mixing it up only reminds me why I’ve used The Natural Confectionary Company snakes for the last 10 years. Call it a rut if you want, but I prefer to look at it as ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.

It only becomes a problem when something I’m doing – and continuing to do – isn’t working and I don’t do anything about it. Not learning from mistakes is denial in its worst form. There have been times when I’ve known what I’m doing isn’t working and instead of dealing with it and making changes, I make excuses for it. ‘Oh, inserting cannulas into my leg isn’t providing as stable insulin delivery as usual, but it’s only because I’m sitting at my desk for work. When I start walking around more it will be fine.’ (Note to self: your job means sitting at your desk. You don’t like walking around. Stop putting the cannula in your leg!) Or ‘Yep – I’ve been hypoing constantly at 3am for a week now. But I don’t need to change my basal rates. Oh, no. I’ll just keep seeing if it fixes itself’. (Note to self: it won’t. Change your basal rates, you twit.)

Einstein said that the definition of insanity is ‘doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results’. I say denial is often easier than trying to work out what’s going wrong and making changes.

So even though I say I don’t do resolutions, I am making one promise to myself for this year. Denial is out. If something isn’t working or if something is wrong, I’ll address it. Making the same mistakes over and over and over again doesn’t serve me well in any way. I’ve been too complacent in accepting things simply because I’ve felt I haven’t the energy to tackle them head on. But no more.

As I stood watching the fireworks explode over the city, signalling the start of two thousand and fourteen, I exhaled the year that just closed and said a quiet good bye. But better than that, I felt the strength in me that had built over the year. Because that’s the thing. Learning from the tough times means that hopefully the same mistakes won’t be made again. I know that if faced with any trials and tribulations like the ones that came into my life last year, I won’t be dealing with them the same way. I’m ready for them.

Trying to see clearly

January 1, 2014 in Eyes, Real life | 10 comments

First day of the New Year and I’m full of hope and happiness. And complete and utter frustration. If I cover my right eye, the possibility of excellent vision, gorgeous colours and clear lines is there. I can see it and I can reach for it. When I cover my left eye, I see a murky mess where colours are dull, lines are blurred and there is no such thing as white – just yellowing gloom. And when I look out of both eyes I see a mismatch. With a headache. This is the reality of life between cataract surgeries.

One of the gorgeous women I work with bedazzled me up an eye patch!

The good news is that the first surgery was a success. To say that I was stressed is an understatement. I was anxious and nervous and prepared to walk away and simply put up with my eyes as they were. Even as I was waiting for the anaesthetist to administer drugs, thoughts of jumping off the table and running away, surgical gown open at the back and flying in the wind, into the car of my waiting chauffeur played in my mind.

But in less than 30 minutes of being knocked out (yep – I got my general anaesthetic!), I was awake with one eye patched. There was no pain, just grogginess from the anaesthetic. And the next morning, I sat in my ophthalmologist’s room as he gently removed the patch, gingerly cleaned out the eye and then….then I could see. The sharpness of my vision startled me. Outside, the blue of the sky and the green of the trees had me gasping. Everything was in focus. At least, it was out of the ‘good eye’. I was equally startled by how horrendous the vision is in my right eye.

The downside of cataract surgery is that the synthetic lens that has replaced my own milky lens can’t focus. So while my distance vision is great, I need glasses to read now. It’s a new world of trying to remember where I left my glasses (usually on top of my head) and every time I so much as want to check the time on my phone, I need to put them on. But I’m getting used to this and once the other cataract is removed, I’ll be able to spend hours upon hours finding the perfect pair of glasses. You can hear the disappointment in my words at the thought of adding further accessory shopping to my list.

I love a new beginning as much as the next gal and I’ve done a lot of things lately so that things really do feel new and full of possiblities. But until I get the second cataract removed I feel a little in limbo. In the meantime, it’s reading in very limited stints, napping in the afternoons and doing everything possible to deal with the ‘mismatch’ headache. And counting down until the next eye gets done!

Happy New Year folks.

Reading glasses.

The year that was

December 31, 2013 in Uncategorized | 6 comments

Did I mention that December was going to be a busy month? I think I may have. I’ve had grand plans of recapping some of the incredible things that have happened – especially that World Diabetes Congress. However, time, life and a medical procedure got the better of me.

Right now, I’m recovering from cataract surgery. Actually that’s not completely true. The surgery is well and truly over and recovery took all of about 15 hours which was when the patch came off and I was told to just do everything as usual. I’m now dealing with one ‘good eye’ (the one without the cataract) and one ‘bad eye’ (cataract still there for another 17 days). The mismatch has resulted in headaches pretty much all the time. Staring at a computer is difficult at best.

I’d also had a grand plan of recapping the year that was, but given that this post has been written in two minute spurts over the last week, I think that I’ll take the easy way out and do this.

Farewell 2013. This was the year there was new stuff. There was also some old stuff (namely me turning the big four – oh….no!)

There were visits to new places. And return visits to places that I love.

Chrysler_Building_Midtown_Manhattan_New_York_City_1932

New York, New York.

There were online friends and in-real life friends, and there was family.

Online and in-real-life friends.

There were lovely times; fun times, shoe times and silly times. There were scary times. And there was the hardest, saddest, most terrible time ever.

There was recovery and light at the end of the tunnel.

There was music. There’s always music.

Always music…..

And there was hope. Because there is always hope.

It was another year of life. And diabetes. And tomorrow – it starts all over again. New.

My best wishes and love to you all for the coming year. Thank you for reading and for commenting. I’ll see you (really see you – with no-cataract-eyes) in 2014.