Nighttime Fitbit Blowup

I rolled over, positioning my knee up for satisfying comfortability. My eyes were heavy, stinging with tiredness, as my body sank blissfully into the mattress signaling its readiness for sleep. Then began the nightly random thoughts dancing through my mind. That night produced a list similar to:

Did we take the puppy out to do his business?

Do I have enough milk for the morning?

I need to work on Angry Birds Bubble Pop in the morning, Doug is catching up to me.

When was the last time the kids brought me towels to wash?

Wasn’t L high before bed?

Wait.

L was high before bed.

“Get out of bed and check him, Meri.”

“Get OUT of bed.” Said my brain.

I lay there debating with myself, trying to negotiate another time to check blood sugars. It was already past eleven, which might as well have been 4am in my old-person book.

I fought the urge to sleep and got out of bed. I love him. There really was no other choice.

The boys came back from Spring Break in California with only one of the three monitors I sent with them. There might be more tucked away somewhere, but they swear they’ve looked everywhere for them. We had just switched to new monitors so we only had three to begin with. We are now surviving with only one house monitor at the moment, and it was downstairs at the time.

I tip toed the best I could. The wood floors creaked and I cringed with every step, whispering prayers under my breath that I wouldn’t wake the puppy.

I made it down and back to the top floor victorious. Meter in hand. Puppy still sleeping.

I checked L. He needed a little bolus chaser, and I was satisfied he’d be good for the night. Since B sleeps in the same room, I thought I’d check him to make sure all was kosher. Before bed he was 111-with-a-catch. He had insulin on board…a lot of insulin on board. He entered a temp basal and then ate a snack to satisfy the Low Blood Sugar Gods.

Regardless, I was surprised to see the 342 blinking back at me on the monitor after checking B. I went to enter the number on his pump and was especially surprised to see his reservoir was completely empty.

I bit my lip. I guess killing him would defeat the purpose of keeping him alive.

I knew I had to venture downstairs again to get the supplies needed to replenish his insulin, and my brows furrowed knowing my luck might not hold on the puppy front. This was only his third night in the crate, if I woke him he would whine--and if you remember--I was old-person tired.

I heard him stir as I hit the third stair. There was nothing I could do…B needed insulin…it was what it was.

Maybe there was an angel present, maybe it was so close to St. Patrick’s Day the luck of the Irish was with me, whatever it was…I made it downstairs and back up with only a small yelp and a whimper.

I stealthily changed his set and began to head back down the hallway to my room when the thought occurred to me I should check the 18 year old.

He was in the basement.

Two floors down.

“He’s fine.”

“He’s PROBABLY fine.” I reasoned with myself.

“DAMN.”

I made a U-turn to the basement.

When I got there I sat on J’s bed and exhaled. I made it.

I MADE IT!

…

Without the monitor.

“Son of a…”

I looked at his sweet sleeping face.

“He’s fine.” I whispered.

“He’s PROBABLY fine…”

“DAMN.”

I made the pilgrimage back up to the two flights of stairs. While there, I woke both B and L up and urged them to use the restroom. A little PTSD from their younger years and resulting wet beds from sustained highs.

I clutched the monitor in my hand and began to tread as lightly as I could down the stairs. It was too late. The dog was awake. He knew I was blowing up my Fitbit. He’s a puppy, not an idiot.

I got to J and checked his sugar, crossing my legs because I had to pee.

Aside: Why do I always have to pee when I’m checking blood sugars in the middle of the night? It’s a rule, not an exception.

J was 69.

“Son of a…”

Back upstairs for some juice, as the basement supply was depleted. Obviously.

After taking the dog outside to do his business, calming his cries and placing him back in the kennel, I made the last hike up the stairs to my bed.

Just because I don’t blog much anymore doesn’t mean our diabetic life doesn’t march on. I don’t write out my experiences as I feel like I’ve written everything before…

But isn’t that what diabetes is?

One big fat Groundhog Day?

Everyone woke up alive, and all is well.

Later this week I’ll be attending a conference in Arizona and be meeting with Novo Nordisk, the company that makes the boys’ insulin. (Disclosure: They’re paying for my flight, my hotel, and some meals.) In a conference call last week they asked what I hoped for my boys 10 years down the line.

“I hope they’ll be able to go to sleep at night and know without a doubt that they’ll wake up in the morning. I guess what I’m really hoping for is some predictability.”

(Insert flipping of table here.)

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Words.

Writing down my feelings has always been a significant release for me. Its taken weight off my shoulders, unpacking the emotions that have come with the complications of life.  I know I’m not unique. Everyone’s lives are wrought with hard things. Struggling is the human experience. How we deal with the struggle is key. Writing always helped me find the benefits of the fight.

As the timespan between blogs lengthens each time I press post, I’ve been struggling to find the lessons in the hard things. It’s not that I don’t have anything to write, it’s almost as though I have too much. All my thoughts and worries are disjointed.

Maybe because I have a million and one of them.

I want to find my center again, and I’m coming here to find it.

But what words do I use?

Where do I begin?

My thoughts used to flow through my fingers to the keyboard effortlessly, and now the sit in my head, swirling…overwhelming…stifling my growth.

I suppose I just need to let go.

Let go of the insecurities that come with being a new stepmother.

Let go of the pain of leaving Ryan’s family in California.

Let go of the constant concern for my children’s mental and physical wellbeing.

Let go of the longing for new friends and connection.

Let go of beating myself up for not living up to the standards I set for myself.

Let go of the sadness of all the loss.

Let go of the worry that what I give won’t be enough.

But if I let go of all of that, what will be left?

An empty shell?  A superficial wasteland of insincerity?

If I must keep it all with me, how can I find the joyful, secure woman I long to be? I see glimpses of her, but being a woman means feelings.

I’m not a robot.

I’m a contradiction. I hold all my worries close, but at the same time I harbor an immense gratefulness for the blessings in my life. The yin and yang pull me in either direction. A constant tug-o-war of bliss and pain.

I suppose that’s the human experience in a nutshell.

The thing is, I believe I was a spirit before I was a human. I believe that this spirit is an organism dwelling inside of me waiting for nourishment, and waiting for me to let go of the worry and focus on my faith that, in the end, all will be well.

Change is hard.

Feeling I'm letting people down is hard.

But if I’m trying my best, what more can I do?

I suppose all there is, is prayer.

He’s healed me before, He can heal me again.

I read this quote recently: “And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

― Haruki Murakami

I’m not the person I was a few years ago. Last year in school I expected absolute perfection of myself. At times it was debilitating. Who is this person? It seems I’m just having growing pains getting used to this new skin. I internalize things on a different level and want more than anything for my children, my husband, my extended family, and those around me to have joy…and when they don’t…I feel so responsible for it all. And when you’re surrounded by six teenagers, three with a disease that demands their attention 24/7, there is always some kind of angst.

It’s a lot to hold.

Don’t get me wrong, I hold it gladly.

But more than anything, I want to walk out the door, feel the sun on my face, raise my arms in the air and say, “I am enough!”

I guess I won’t know for sure if I was until all the kids are out on their own and aren’t complete messes...meaning they can feed themselves and remember to brush their teeth...

But one day, I have faith that while sitting on my child’s couch, I’ll watch a grandchild take their first steps. And then it will hit me, “Whoa. I was enough. I really was.”

“And they will be too.”

Teens with Diabetes

I have three teenage boys with Type 1 Diabetes. I haven’t blogged much because I’m trying to respect their privacy and don’t want to throw them under the bus, so to speak.

But I feel as though it’s important to write a little bit about it. It’s been a confusing and frustrating process watching my once diligent, conscientious children turn into what seem to be careless zombies who have no idea that they have diabetes, much less a disease that demands any amount of attention.

How does one go from always remembering to literally overnight, never remembering.

Did someone sneak in during the night and take away all their common sense?

Should I call the police?

The only thing I can count on these days is routine set changes, and only because insulin is gone and they don’t like throwing up from ketones. Everything else is a crapshoot.

It’s frustrating.

Frustrating also is the fact that they all have good A1C’s.

Yes, I wrote those words. Sure, I’m thankful, but it’s luck. One day a consequence will rear it’s ugly head and I’ll have to watch. As a parent, worry breeds at an alarming rate in the depths of my chest cavity. I wonder what happens when there is no more room for the worry to grow. Will I explode?

I’m pretty sure my swelly brain has already exploded, as most days I feel like I’m herding cats.

Every day I ask myself: Why am I herding these cats? Can’t these cats herd themselves? Why am I even trying to herd these very capable cats?

More importantly, cats don’t want to be herded. You herd them and then they run away seconds after you get them in line. Do these cats have brain injuries? I’ve trained them since they were kittens and they used to herd themselves in perfect formation. They did it for years, now it’s like they have amnesia and don’t remember ever have herded.

It absolutely feels like a losing battle.

And I absolutely feel like a failure every night when I lie down to sleep.

And then I read an article about teenage brain development and suddenly it all makes sense.

No, they don’t have brain damage…but close:

“The brains of teenagers literally aren’t physically fully connected. In an adult brain, there are a number of neural connections that allow the different parts of the brain to all work together. In the teenage brain, these connections aren’t fully formed yet, and it, unsurprisingly, impacts the brain’s ability to process information in a way that looks at the entire picture. It’s been found that the last part of the brain to finish developing its connections is the frontal lobe, which is also the part of the brain that governs attention span, impulses, and motivation.”

Thank you science for helping me realize I’m not a complete failure.

I’ll continue herding and they’ll continue growing connections until one day, my zombie cats will turn into responsible adults.

In the mean time, solidarity to all the parents of teens with Diabetes. There’s hope for us yet.

The hilarity of Diabetes.

They deserve it.

They bring it on themselves; they deserve to be demeaned, pointed fingers at, and scoffed.

After all, they aren’t legitimate human beings, they’re jokes. Punch lines. Disgusting taglines.

They could all stop eating donuts and their problems would be solved.

Damn it!! WHY CAN’T THEY PUT DOWN THE DONUTS!!!

They’re like cartoons. They aren’t real. How could someone so stupid have feelings?

I’m better than them.

Sure, I drink regular coke and eat fast food…but not McDonald’s, you know…like Panera, and breakfast sandwiches and low-fat lattes from Starbucks. I’m thin. I sure as hell don’t have Diabetes. I eat salads sometimes.

I’m not that stupid.

Everyone is laughing about it: The people on TV. (Jamie Oliver throws up in his mouth every time he says the word.) Disney/Pixar made a joke in their last film…

For crying out loud, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES THINKS THEY’RE A JOKE TOO! And he isn’t afraid to call them out. Why shouldn’t I?

Because obviously, they have diabetes from eating too much bacon and donuts.

Idiots.

The millions of people who have it just need to put the food down and take a fargin walk. For reals. Every single magazine in the world has an article on how to reverse and cure their diabetes, and they don’t do it.

Eat cinnamon people!

Lazy. Its just laziness. At least I try. I go to the gym once in awhile.

So I will laugh, and meme until my heart is content at these poor excuses for human beings. If I don’t make fun of them and give them a wake up call, who will?

I mean, it’s not societies duty to help find solutions to epidemics. Especially when the only solution seems to be handcuff their hands and lock up their refrigerators. The fact that it’s such an epidemic is proof that our society’s priorities are laughable.

It’s all laughable.

They should be shamed. Shaming people is the best way to motivate them. They need to hit rock bottom before they can see their ways.

So what if this disease destroys families, and puts millions of people in depression because of lack of understanding and care? Not my problem. Their problem.

They want empathy? How is empathy relevant when we aren’t talking about someone worthy of such?

Diabetes is curable. They’re idiots for allowing themselves to suffer. 

______________________________________________________________

Unfortunately, the above is what is being portrayed in the world today. It seems harsh, but it is accurate.

I’d like to shed some light here by rewriting the above statements to reflect the truths I have learned while living in the home with this disease for 17 years. Although we’ve lived with Type 1 Diabetes, I have friends and loved ones with Type 2. We’re going to disregard all the above bullshit laid on us by society, and have a little reality check.

Having a serious disease is not funny. It never will be.

No one deserves a disease. Nobody. No one in a vulnerable situation deserves to be laughed at. 

But that's the problem, right? We don't view people with diabetes as vulnerable. We view them as people who eat only unhealthy food. Diabetes is so much more than food. Diet can be a contributing factor, but it isn’t brought on by on by diet alone. There are variables, predispositions, family histories, and a body chemistries. Sometimes it is metabolic, sometimes it is autoimmune. Sometimes it is a byproduct of another disease, another system shutting down. 

People with Diabetes are not a joke. They are not a punch line, or a tagline to your memes. They are human beings. Who deserve dignity, and help rather than criticism.

 This meme shows up on my facebook feed often. Always a debate follows between those who are offended, and those who think it’s the funniest thing ever. But you know who doesn’t think it’s funny? Bob.

This is a real comment in response to someone who said the candy bar/Bob meme was offensive to them: “THIS IS FUNNY! If you don't see the humor, MOVE ON!!! It's facebook, people. This is NOT real life.”

I’m sorry, it is real life. Diabetes is real life to millions of people, 365 days a year, 24 hours a day, every day.

If Type 2 Diabetes were only poor diet, everyone would have it. More people than not have terrible diets, and if you don't believe that, you're lying to yourself. If you’re one of the lucky ones with a healthy metabolism, good for you…but that doesn’t make you better than those that have metabolisms that have crashed.

Some overweight people have Diabetes. Some overweight people do not. That is a fact.

Some skinny people have Diabetes. Some skinny people do not. Also a fact.

 Why the hate? Why treat them like characters in your favorite sitcom than your actual neighbors. If someone you loved had diabetes, would you show so much distain?

If you do not have diabetes, it doesn’t automatically make you better than those that do. If you believe such, you need to check your ego at the door.

 Did you know that 1 Large Protein Berry Smoothie at Jamba Juice has over 100g of carbohydrates in it? That’s more than 2 Burger King Whoopers, and more than half of the carbohydrates someone on a 2000 calorie diet should eat in a day.  If you get a mocha and a blueberry oatmeal for breakfast from Starbucks, that’s also over 100g of carbohydrates. Most are uneducated about what they are eating. There is a learning curve for all of us. 

Diabetes is not cureable. Type 1 OR Type 2. Even though some doctor says it is. Even though the commercial says it is. Even though every magazine in America says it is. Yes, some people with Type 2 are lucky enough to get off medication. But diabetes remains. It is there waiting. Lurking. It isn’t just GONE. Ever. 

According to Web MD: "The term 'reversal' is used when people can go off medication but still must engage in a lifestyle program in order to stay off," says Ann Albright, PhD, RD. She's the director of diabetes translation at the CDC. For some people, reaching a healthier weight will mean taking fewer medications, or in rarer cases, no longer needing those medications at all. In one study, people with Type 2 Diabetes exercised for 175 minutes a week, limited their calories to 1,200 to 1,800 per day, and got weekly counseling and education on these lifestyle changes. Within a year, about 10% got off their diabetes medications or improved to the point where their blood sugar level was no longer in the diabetes range, and was instead classified as pre-diabetes.

Results were best for those who lost the most weight or who started the program with less severe or newly diagnosed diabetes. Fifteen percent to 20% of these people (in the best of circumstances) were able to stop taking their diabetes medications.

And the other 80 to 85% who exercised and dieted? They could not get off the medication.

Many times people with diabetes are told to eat less and sent on their way to fix their health themselves. They aren't given any help. This is like telling someone who is depressed to leave the office and just stop being depressed. But that is exactly what is happening. People with diabetes need tools, but instead are left to find their own solutions without much guidance. They need help. They need understanding. They need medications. Diabetes is said to be caused by weight gain. But studies are showing that maybe weight gain is a side effect of Diabetes. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I know many very thin, fit adults diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and others with pre-diabetes. There are other things going on here. Assuming. Judging. Mocking. They aren’t the answers.

Shaming people does not motivate people. We need to build people up to empower them, not tear them down.

 But society says tearing down is ok. How is taking away someone’s value going to motivate them for change?

It’s ok to make fun of a disease because their poster child is fat?

Well that poster child has a story. And feelings.  

Our world is lacking in the empathy department. Sarcasm and egotism reign. “It isn’t me…I will point, and I will laugh, and I will blame.”

 So the people with Diabetes try to numb the pain. But here is the thing. Research shows that we can’t selectively numb our emotions, when we numb the negative emotions, the positive ones numb too. There is no happy life when you’re the butt of jokes everywhere you turn.

We need to take a hard look at how society is treating people with Diabetes, or even people with extra weight. The word Diabetes incites negativity. Not towards the disease, but towards the people who have it.

How is that right?

I'll answer that: It just isn't.

Quotes from Dr. Brené Brown, who is a research professor at the University of Houston Graduate College of Social Work. She has spent the past thirteen years studying vulnerability, courage, worthiness, and shame. Brené is the author of three #1 New York Times Bestsellers: Rising Strong, Daring Greatly and The Gifts of Imperfection.