If you have a food blog or a diabetes blog (or a mix of both, or one of these plus a little somethin' somethin'), please leave a comment with your blog link so I can view it and consider linking you from my home sweet home.
I appreciate your readership and encouragement.
Lots of love today,
Rach
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
D-Day Anniversary: A Reflection
Today is March 24. Three years ago, a series of events happened that changed my life forever.
I woke up and headed to my annual gynecologist appointment. For days I had breathing and swallowing issues which my doctor deemed as acid reflux. While in the waiting room, I felt panicky, and I asked if there was a nurse. No one seemed to take me seriously, and I went back to my seat discouraged and confused and really really scared, but I was far too exhausted to pursue tracking down someone to help me.
In the exam room, the PA just looked at my body in shock. I was 97 lbs at nearly 5 feet, 8 inches. As she spoke to me, my brain wandered around in a hopeless fog. I wanted to give up. I had no idea what was wrong with me. I didn't know why I couldn't see straight, why I ate more but continued to lose weight, why my spine dug into the pew at church, why I could barely get out of the driver's seat of my car, why I was so thirsty and that thirst couldn't be quenched no matter how much water I drank. My skin was dry. My hair was falling out. I was depressed and angry with God and all of humanity for the relentless comments about my weight. I had given up on the five medical professionals I had seen in my desperate attempt to solve the mystery of my misery. They thought I had an eating disorder. No one was helping me. I was ready to just give in to whatever was eating me alive. I wanted to drown. I was tired of treading water with no land or boat in sight.
I left the doctor's office and drove to a nearby Steak-N-Shake for none other than a drink---an orange smoothie. I went home, exhausted, and sank into bed. I believe at this time I went in and out of consciousness. Finally my cell phone's constant ringing awoke me. My husband was calling. He knew something was wrong. I told him I was so tired and couldn't breathe. He asked if I wanted an ambulance. I said no. It's probably just asthma or something.
Next thing I remember, Steve is home, shaking me awake. Somehow I had moved to the couch. I beg him to bring me juice, and I gulp down two huge glasses. Steve brings me my shoes. He gets me into the car. We drive to the hospital.
The ER was nearly empty. It was a Friday afternoon. The normal world was out working, picking up kids from school, packing for a camping weekend. I was sitting inside the ER in a wheelchair while my husband talked to the receptionist. I can't remember if I cared that I was sitting in a wheelchair like a sick person, a disabled person.
I was taken back to see the triage nurse who was asking me a series of ridiculous questions. I remember him taking my temperature, and I also remember growing increasingly annoyed and desperate. I can't breathe!!!, I screamed in my mind, so why the heck are you not giving me some oxygen??!!!??
I was taken to a three-walled room with a curtain as the entrance. I was given warm blankets; they weren't enough. I shook. I was so thirsty and begged for a drink. The nurses were puzzled and gazed at me with pity. I wonder what they told their families that night. I wonder if I was a dinner table story.
Blood test, blood gases, a chest x-ray, blood pressure, temperature. One nurse burst into my room and said, "You smell sick." I'll never forget that.
Meanwhile Steve asks if I want him to call the moms. That's serious, you know, to have the moms involved. I said no. He asked again. Eventually I relented. I can't imagine the fear in their hearts as they made the nearly two hour drive.
Finally a doctor came in. He looked at me and said something along these lines: "No wonder you have been so sick. Your blood sugar is 700. You have diabetes."
I was carted off to the ICU in disbelief and in shock.
-----
The other day I found my medical records from the year and half I was sick (without a diagnosis) to the post-hospital labs. I read about my old self. It's haunting yet such a relief. To see where I was three and four years ago, to where I am now, is nothing short of a miracle in my book.
Part of my hospital entry summary reads:
Neuro: The patient is alert, she is oriented [. . .].
The DNE (diabetes nurse educator) who came to visit me told me that I very well could have died. I was in a condition called DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) upon arrival. I should have been in a coma.
I didn't feel very lucky at the time, lying in a hospital bed, confined by tubes and cuffs, trying to block out glossy pamphlets featuring smiling people and bullet points about diabetes. I was surrounded by flowers and balloons and cards. I hated all of them. They were just reminders of a life-long prison sentence.
But today, I do feel lucky.
It amazes me that through it all, I somehow stayed ok.
Many days choose this mindset: I have diabetes. It's a part of me, probably forever. It has helped mold me into the person that I am. Without it, I wouldn't have chose adoption; I wouldn't have my beautiful daughter. With it I am stronger, I am more flexible, I am more resilient, I am more determined, and I am more beautiful.
I wouldn't necessarily call today a "happy" anniversary, but I will call today an opportunity to reflect on the ways I have been blessed, the ways God really DID NOT fail me, and the things I have to look forward to.
I woke up and headed to my annual gynecologist appointment. For days I had breathing and swallowing issues which my doctor deemed as acid reflux. While in the waiting room, I felt panicky, and I asked if there was a nurse. No one seemed to take me seriously, and I went back to my seat discouraged and confused and really really scared, but I was far too exhausted to pursue tracking down someone to help me.
In the exam room, the PA just looked at my body in shock. I was 97 lbs at nearly 5 feet, 8 inches. As she spoke to me, my brain wandered around in a hopeless fog. I wanted to give up. I had no idea what was wrong with me. I didn't know why I couldn't see straight, why I ate more but continued to lose weight, why my spine dug into the pew at church, why I could barely get out of the driver's seat of my car, why I was so thirsty and that thirst couldn't be quenched no matter how much water I drank. My skin was dry. My hair was falling out. I was depressed and angry with God and all of humanity for the relentless comments about my weight. I had given up on the five medical professionals I had seen in my desperate attempt to solve the mystery of my misery. They thought I had an eating disorder. No one was helping me. I was ready to just give in to whatever was eating me alive. I wanted to drown. I was tired of treading water with no land or boat in sight.
I left the doctor's office and drove to a nearby Steak-N-Shake for none other than a drink---an orange smoothie. I went home, exhausted, and sank into bed. I believe at this time I went in and out of consciousness. Finally my cell phone's constant ringing awoke me. My husband was calling. He knew something was wrong. I told him I was so tired and couldn't breathe. He asked if I wanted an ambulance. I said no. It's probably just asthma or something.
Next thing I remember, Steve is home, shaking me awake. Somehow I had moved to the couch. I beg him to bring me juice, and I gulp down two huge glasses. Steve brings me my shoes. He gets me into the car. We drive to the hospital.
The ER was nearly empty. It was a Friday afternoon. The normal world was out working, picking up kids from school, packing for a camping weekend. I was sitting inside the ER in a wheelchair while my husband talked to the receptionist. I can't remember if I cared that I was sitting in a wheelchair like a sick person, a disabled person.
I was taken back to see the triage nurse who was asking me a series of ridiculous questions. I remember him taking my temperature, and I also remember growing increasingly annoyed and desperate. I can't breathe!!!, I screamed in my mind, so why the heck are you not giving me some oxygen??!!!??
I was taken to a three-walled room with a curtain as the entrance. I was given warm blankets; they weren't enough. I shook. I was so thirsty and begged for a drink. The nurses were puzzled and gazed at me with pity. I wonder what they told their families that night. I wonder if I was a dinner table story.
Blood test, blood gases, a chest x-ray, blood pressure, temperature. One nurse burst into my room and said, "You smell sick." I'll never forget that.
Meanwhile Steve asks if I want him to call the moms. That's serious, you know, to have the moms involved. I said no. He asked again. Eventually I relented. I can't imagine the fear in their hearts as they made the nearly two hour drive.
Finally a doctor came in. He looked at me and said something along these lines: "No wonder you have been so sick. Your blood sugar is 700. You have diabetes."
I was carted off to the ICU in disbelief and in shock.
-----
The other day I found my medical records from the year and half I was sick (without a diagnosis) to the post-hospital labs. I read about my old self. It's haunting yet such a relief. To see where I was three and four years ago, to where I am now, is nothing short of a miracle in my book.
Part of my hospital entry summary reads:
Neuro: The patient is alert, she is oriented [. . .].
The DNE (diabetes nurse educator) who came to visit me told me that I very well could have died. I was in a condition called DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) upon arrival. I should have been in a coma.
I didn't feel very lucky at the time, lying in a hospital bed, confined by tubes and cuffs, trying to block out glossy pamphlets featuring smiling people and bullet points about diabetes. I was surrounded by flowers and balloons and cards. I hated all of them. They were just reminders of a life-long prison sentence.
But today, I do feel lucky.
It amazes me that through it all, I somehow stayed ok.
Many days choose this mindset: I have diabetes. It's a part of me, probably forever. It has helped mold me into the person that I am. Without it, I wouldn't have chose adoption; I wouldn't have my beautiful daughter. With it I am stronger, I am more flexible, I am more resilient, I am more determined, and I am more beautiful.
I wouldn't necessarily call today a "happy" anniversary, but I will call today an opportunity to reflect on the ways I have been blessed, the ways God really DID NOT fail me, and the things I have to look forward to.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Furious. Tired. Annoyed.
It's 2:30 a.m. on March 22. I should be curled up next to my husband, using 1/4 of his bed space plus my 1/2. I should be dreaming of something beautiful. I should NOT be thinking about my diabetes.
But silly, silly me. After nearly three years of living with type I, I should have learned that THIS doesn't go away, not even in slumber.
For nearly three days my glucose alarm has beeped at me at all hours of the night (sigh!) and day, keeping me from the life of better freedom and glucose control I dreamed of when I started on this CGM two weeks ago.
The alarm is nothing quiet---as it shouldn't be. But it's so disturbing. Sometimes the pump screen lights up in the most alien green, reminding me of the foreign way diabetes took over my body almost three years ago. So unnatural. So impure. So life-altering.
Sometimes the beeps are quiet and mindful of the fact that I'm trying to sleep. But if I don't hear them, or sometimes, and so unproductively, ignore them, the beeps become louder and more frequent. And then the pump vibrates, usually waking me from a deep sleep induced by none other than a high blood sugar.
Before I went to bed tonight, angry that I used one whole day of my husband's vacation in my pjs on the couch watching Millionaire Matchmaker episodes off the DVR while my husband cared for the baby and did all the household chores, I prayed. ''
I told God I was angry at Him. I told Him I was pissed off. Why do I have diabetes? Why do others have no burden to bear while I walk around diseased? And why didn't God use His magic wand, a finger snap, or a dramatic wave of a holy hand to say, "Nope. No diabetes for this girl"? How the hell is this fair!!!!?????!!!!
So I wake up at 1:30 a.m. My pump is doing the beepy-vibraty-light up thing. I check my sugar. 351. Ug.
I run a test on my pump to see if I'm getting a "no delivery" alarm when the pump isn't giving me insulin like it's supposed to. The test fails once. And then twice. I groggily pick up the phone, coordinating letters with numbers. I squint. I can barely see anything without my contact lenses in.
I call my pump provider's 24 hour hotline. "Your wait should be less than 30 minutes," says an unknown voice.
Seriously?
"We are experiencing a high volume of calls."
At 1:30 in the morning?
I pour myself some decaf iced tea and open up the newest issue of Real Simple while holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder. Might as well take advantage of some baby-free time.
Finally, after fifteen minutes, a friendly male voice asks me why I'm calling.
I tell him the problem. My sugars have been high for days. Only injections are working and not well for sure. He has me do a number of things like check for insulin leaks, insert a new pump set, run another "no delivery" test which, yep, fails.
This is the SECOND time in five months that my pump has quit working and the "no delivery" alarms have failed to beep at me. Last time I went two weeks with high sugars. This time I've only gone three days. Ahhhh, a rainbow of hope. Gag!
So while my sensor/CGM is working beautifully, doing it's job by constantly telling me that I need insulin, my pump has crapped out on me again.
And I'm secretly relieved that it's the pump and not me who has failed. This time.
Maybe when I got really angry and yelled at God, He took some pity upon me, gave me the tip off to call my pump provider, and now a new pump is on its merry little way to it's new owner: me.
So since it's 2:30 on a Saturday morning, it's too late for a pump to be overnighted. So it will be shipped later today, but since there are no deliveries on Sundays, I will get my new pump by 10:30 on MONDAY morning. Yes, that's 48 hours from now.
So my guess is when I call my endo tomorrow via the emergency line, he will tell me that either
A: I can guess how much Lantus (long acting, all day lasting insulin) I need, go buy it at a pharmacy, and start taking it, oh, and hope it works, and then bolus with injections....
or B: I can take insulin once an hour (24/7) via an injection and additionally take boluses for meals.
Great start to my new healthy kick. To keep my sugars down I just don't eat for two days. Sounds extreme. And we have a dinner date with friends tomorrow night! I guess I'll order the salad minus all toppings and dressing.
So this is me venting. I got what I wanted----the move from a single genre of blogging to multi-genres. From just recipes to recipes and ticked off, 2:30 a.m., disgusted venting.
I want
my life
to be
normal.
But silly, silly me. After nearly three years of living with type I, I should have learned that THIS doesn't go away, not even in slumber.
For nearly three days my glucose alarm has beeped at me at all hours of the night (sigh!) and day, keeping me from the life of better freedom and glucose control I dreamed of when I started on this CGM two weeks ago.
The alarm is nothing quiet---as it shouldn't be. But it's so disturbing. Sometimes the pump screen lights up in the most alien green, reminding me of the foreign way diabetes took over my body almost three years ago. So unnatural. So impure. So life-altering.
Sometimes the beeps are quiet and mindful of the fact that I'm trying to sleep. But if I don't hear them, or sometimes, and so unproductively, ignore them, the beeps become louder and more frequent. And then the pump vibrates, usually waking me from a deep sleep induced by none other than a high blood sugar.
Before I went to bed tonight, angry that I used one whole day of my husband's vacation in my pjs on the couch watching Millionaire Matchmaker episodes off the DVR while my husband cared for the baby and did all the household chores, I prayed. ''
I told God I was angry at Him. I told Him I was pissed off. Why do I have diabetes? Why do others have no burden to bear while I walk around diseased? And why didn't God use His magic wand, a finger snap, or a dramatic wave of a holy hand to say, "Nope. No diabetes for this girl"? How the hell is this fair!!!!?????!!!!
So I wake up at 1:30 a.m. My pump is doing the beepy-vibraty-light up thing. I check my sugar. 351. Ug.
I run a test on my pump to see if I'm getting a "no delivery" alarm when the pump isn't giving me insulin like it's supposed to. The test fails once. And then twice. I groggily pick up the phone, coordinating letters with numbers. I squint. I can barely see anything without my contact lenses in.
I call my pump provider's 24 hour hotline. "Your wait should be less than 30 minutes," says an unknown voice.
Seriously?
"We are experiencing a high volume of calls."
At 1:30 in the morning?
I pour myself some decaf iced tea and open up the newest issue of Real Simple while holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder. Might as well take advantage of some baby-free time.
Finally, after fifteen minutes, a friendly male voice asks me why I'm calling.
I tell him the problem. My sugars have been high for days. Only injections are working and not well for sure. He has me do a number of things like check for insulin leaks, insert a new pump set, run another "no delivery" test which, yep, fails.
This is the SECOND time in five months that my pump has quit working and the "no delivery" alarms have failed to beep at me. Last time I went two weeks with high sugars. This time I've only gone three days. Ahhhh, a rainbow of hope. Gag!
So while my sensor/CGM is working beautifully, doing it's job by constantly telling me that I need insulin, my pump has crapped out on me again.
And I'm secretly relieved that it's the pump and not me who has failed. This time.
Maybe when I got really angry and yelled at God, He took some pity upon me, gave me the tip off to call my pump provider, and now a new pump is on its merry little way to it's new owner: me.
So since it's 2:30 on a Saturday morning, it's too late for a pump to be overnighted. So it will be shipped later today, but since there are no deliveries on Sundays, I will get my new pump by 10:30 on MONDAY morning. Yes, that's 48 hours from now.
So my guess is when I call my endo tomorrow via the emergency line, he will tell me that either
A: I can guess how much Lantus (long acting, all day lasting insulin) I need, go buy it at a pharmacy, and start taking it, oh, and hope it works, and then bolus with injections....
or B: I can take insulin once an hour (24/7) via an injection and additionally take boluses for meals.
Great start to my new healthy kick. To keep my sugars down I just don't eat for two days. Sounds extreme. And we have a dinner date with friends tomorrow night! I guess I'll order the salad minus all toppings and dressing.
So this is me venting. I got what I wanted----the move from a single genre of blogging to multi-genres. From just recipes to recipes and ticked off, 2:30 a.m., disgusted venting.
I want
my life
to be
normal.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Rush Hour Chili
If you haven't figured it out by now, I love quick, easy, healthy, delicious recipes.
This recipe for Rush Hour Chili, came from some cookbook I got from the library. Shame on me for not giving credit to my source! I always lecture my students on this! Honestly though, I don't know where the recipe came from. Shrug.
Here goes...
Rush Hour Chili
Ingredients:
- 1/2-1 lb lean ground beef or ground turkey (optional), cooked
- 1 can of kidney beans, rinsed
- 1 can diced tomatoes, undrained
- 1 can (6 oz) tomato paste
- 2 cups cold water
- chili powder---lots!
- chopped onion and green pepper (optional)
- toppings: low fat cheese, sour cream, crackers
Directions:
- Stir all ingredients, minus the toppings, into a large pan (I use my small soup pot) and heat until it's boiling. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until hot. Stir occasionally.
- Ladle into bowls. Top. Eat.
To make chili mac: Cook whole wheat pasta as directed. Top with chili.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Tip from my Kitchen: Portioning the Goodies
Brownies. Cookie bars. Cake.
For someone with diabetes (and even without), desserts can be a beast. They tantalize us with their scents, textures, and visual appeal. They raise our blood sugars quickly and without apology. They gaze at us, tempting us, from menus, from displays, from commercials, from weddings, from birthday parties, and store shelves.
I love to bake---as if you couldn't tell from the recipes I post here.
There is something wonderful about creating a dessert, even if it's just a box of brownies. There is the whole process of mixing, of pouring, of smelling, oh, yes...and of tasting!
But if you're like me, you make a pan of brownies and you nibble here and nibble there, and before you know it, well, the whole pan is gone in less than twenty-four hours. Maybe less. Your blood sugars are shot. Your bloated. And you realize that once again, you've made a major mistake. You couldn't control your portions. The pan and the knife had a mind of its own.
So, to better control your dessert portions, simply bake in muffin tins.
Cupcakes are easy, but so are brownies and cookie bars. The cook times are about the same---just keep an eye on the muffin pan just in case it bakes a little faster than a regular pan of goodies.
Baking in the tins allows you to easily count carbs and keep your portions in check. I'm much more likely to slice "just a sliver more" from a pan of brownies. The muffin-ish brownies are so pretty in perfect form, that somehow I cannot justify slicing off or tearing off a piece of another.
And, as always, use your freezer! I NEVER bake and leave the extra out on the counter. If I did, I'd eat a cookie every time I was in the kitchen. Instead, I bake, cool, and place the muffin-shaped desserts into baggies and stick them in the freezer. With just two of us here, I just pull out two when it comes to dessert time.
For someone with diabetes (and even without), desserts can be a beast. They tantalize us with their scents, textures, and visual appeal. They raise our blood sugars quickly and without apology. They gaze at us, tempting us, from menus, from displays, from commercials, from weddings, from birthday parties, and store shelves.
I love to bake---as if you couldn't tell from the recipes I post here.
There is something wonderful about creating a dessert, even if it's just a box of brownies. There is the whole process of mixing, of pouring, of smelling, oh, yes...and of tasting!
But if you're like me, you make a pan of brownies and you nibble here and nibble there, and before you know it, well, the whole pan is gone in less than twenty-four hours. Maybe less. Your blood sugars are shot. Your bloated. And you realize that once again, you've made a major mistake. You couldn't control your portions. The pan and the knife had a mind of its own.
So, to better control your dessert portions, simply bake in muffin tins.
Cupcakes are easy, but so are brownies and cookie bars. The cook times are about the same---just keep an eye on the muffin pan just in case it bakes a little faster than a regular pan of goodies.
Baking in the tins allows you to easily count carbs and keep your portions in check. I'm much more likely to slice "just a sliver more" from a pan of brownies. The muffin-ish brownies are so pretty in perfect form, that somehow I cannot justify slicing off or tearing off a piece of another.
And, as always, use your freezer! I NEVER bake and leave the extra out on the counter. If I did, I'd eat a cookie every time I was in the kitchen. Instead, I bake, cool, and place the muffin-shaped desserts into baggies and stick them in the freezer. With just two of us here, I just pull out two when it comes to dessert time.
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