This would be the abbreviated version...

I feel like I've been away for a while. I keep writing about stuff that's going on, but not posting them. It's been a shitty couple weeks... well, it's been a really shitty year. Today was not good. Crappy memories of crappy things and tomorrow is the graduation I would have gone to had I not gotten really sick this year. I was going to go, I guess for my friends, but now I really don't feel like it. I feel like a bit of selfish jerk, but I know it will go in one of two ways: I end up crying and feeling badly or I end up pretending it's all good and go cry on my own. I know in the long run it's not that big of a deal that I'm graduating later...

Really, it's not even about the graduating part. I'm just sick of being sick and not having people around that get what it's like. I've been better the last month or so after changing my diet a bit. I still don't feel very well whenever I eat. I think everyone that knew I was sick is just really happy I can get out of bed and do stuff again. I think they think it's over. Just a diet change and its done. All better... But, I still don't have a diagnosis of anything yet and I keep worrying that not eating gluten and dairy just helped, but are not the real culprits. Maybe that's a silly thing to think, but I've had so many tests where they were sure they knew what it was, only for stuff to come back negative... or other times where they were sure everything was fine, only to get frantic calls I needed other tests done ASAP, only to find out those scarry tests were actually false alarms. I don't think about a lot, but it's more of an underlying worry that they'll finally figure out what's going on and realize it's something aweful and something they could have fixed had they figured it out when I first started complaining about stuff.

I think that, all of that, is why I don't want to go my would-be grad... It is just a very strange feeling to watch people move on, while you lie stuck in a rather painful limbo.

I changed my mind...

So, I was going to write this blog post about how I've been sick since the start of last September. I was going to talk about the crippling fatigue and joint pain. I was going to describe how depressing it was trying to get to class on time in the morning, but failing miserably because my hands moved more like lobster claws than extremities with digits capable of fine motor skills. I was going to tell you how I've had a thousand blood tests, x-rays and ultrasounds done and all have come back fine. That my family doctor has written me off as 'merely depressed' (ironic considering the amount of anti-depressants running through my system) and given up trying to diagnose anything. I was going to tell you that as a last resort I've turned to my endocrinologist for answers and that today she gave my more results with no answers.

I would have said that every time I have a battery of tests and wait for the results it feels like looking forward to finding out I'm diabetic all over again... and that, without fail, every single time I've gotten butterflies in my stomach, a lump in my throat and may even resort to crying. "I've already gone through this," I think "why do I have to do it again?"

But then, I came home and there waiting was a post by a Twitter friend @rpederse. It said:

As Twitter friend Virtue B. suggested in tweeted comments on my post, focus on the daily stuff makes recovery from a mistake much easier.

And, as I read the post, I thought maybe I should take heed my own words and forget the big picture for a bit. I've been doing much better lately; mostly what is hurting now is the idea that my symptoms will all come barrelling back... But worrying about what might be can be debilitating in its own right. This is a lesson I remember learning through diabetes and all its potential complications-- I guess I just needed the reminder that it is easily required by many of life's other quandaries.

Lions and Tigers and Bears?

If every story has a backstory, this is mine...

Grade 5
One of my schoolmates talked to the class about her sister's diabetes and the day-to-day routine since her diagnosis. She went through the symptoms: thirst, frequent urination, dry skin, fatigue, weightloss... I remember thinking "I have all of those... except one- weightloss." And with that, the posibility fled from my mind.

Grade 8
Preparing and presenting a speech was required every year of middle school. For some reason I chose to speak about the discovery of insulin.

Grade 10
Fall: Thisty. Really, really thirsty. Going to the bathroom a lot. Skin parched...

I thought I had a urinary tract infection and booked an appointment... Losing one pound, two pounds, five in a week...

It was a new doctor. She did a full physical. I remember handing a urine sample to the secretary at the front desk. She said, "We'll call you if anything is wrong, but I'm sure it will all be good." "I am sure it won't be," I thought as I left the office.

Winter break: Falling asleep while sitting watching TV at 6:30pm... The only thing I remember asking for Christmas was a belt, so my pants would stop feeling like they were falling off...

The new year: The doctor's office did call and asked my dad to take me to the lab for a few blood tests. Nobody told me why. Nobody needed to tell me why. I knew what it meant when they were testing first thing in the morning and then two hours after eating...

January 15th, 1994: I was eating dinner with my dad, my grandparents and my sister. I remember roast beef. The doctor phoned and told my dad that I needed to come back to the office. They wouldn't tell him why. He pressured them for answers. They still wouldn't tell him why. He started yelling. They told him nothing.

My stomach turned. I stared at the dinner on my plate, before finally just leaving the table.

At some point my dad phoned my previous physician. He asked them to obtain the test results...

January 16th, 1994: I went to school, but was pulled out of class and summoned to the office. My dad picked me up. The only thing I remember about this was sitting in the car driving to the hospital and thinking, "I promise to be a better person, if this just ends up going away."

January 17th, 1994: Holly- middle-aged, brown-hair, lots of make-up and strong perfume- the diabetes nurse/educator woke me up at 6 am. She and several others stood around as they asked me to step onto a scale.

NOT. A. MORNING-PERSON.

Being half asleep, I fell off several times before attempting to steady myself by spreading my arms out like airplane wings. It was a ridiculous scene; even half asleep I realized this and started laughing. I recall the event as highly entertaining for me; really uncomfortable for eveyone else.

The next seven days: I stayed in the hospital until the 24th.

Things to remember:

• Read The Catcher in the Rye.
• My mom sent me flowers. Part of the arrangement was gladiolas.
• My friends came to visit me, which was nice. One of them saw the bouquet and said, "Oh, I thought gladiolas were for funerals..." which was not nice.
• I made a weird looking basket.
• I learned to hate the smell of Bacti-Stat soap.
  
• Lots people in my family came to visit; my dad stopped by every night. This was the best part of my stay.
  
• The daytime when no-one was there was boring. I remember staring out the window. The curtains were ugly. I think they were orange.
  
• I made friends with one of the student nurses. She'd hide out in my room and we'd chat. It was from her I learned my sideshow status- I was the first type 1 diabetic any of the nursing staff had ever met in the flesh.
• Every hospital professional I met was eager to mention the promise of a cure in no more than 5 years.
  
• Had a heparin lock shoved into my arm without any warning. The nurse just grabbed my arm and, without any explaination, pushed the apparatus underneath the skin of my forearm. It was rather horrific.
• I got a day pass one day. I went to the mall with my dad. I bought some shirts. The sales lady kept staring at the heparin lock in my arm. I remember my dad saying that he couldn't help but think of me as a porcelain doll now.
  
• The staff made my dad and my sister learn how to give me injections. The idea behind this was that in the event that I was sick and unable to give myself the shot, either of them could step in. This always confused me, because I always figured that if I was so sick as to be incapacitated what I'd really like was to be spared being jabbed and taken to the hospital. When I think back to it, though, I find it especially unfair to my sister- she is terrified of needles and was was practically in tears when it was her turn to poke me. That's when I decided I really didn't like Holly and her perfume.
  
• Discovered insulin smells like Elastoplast band-aids.
  
• Annoying nurse on the night shift routinely woke me in the middle of the night to quiz me about the symptoms of hypoglycemia... I still wish I could show up at her bedside at 4 am to wake her up to quiz her about the symptoms of diabetes.
• Asked my endocrinologist if my life expectancy would be affected. She told me, without any hesitation, that diabetics generally live 1/3 less than the average population. It felt like a sucker punch... especially at 15.

Getting sprung: a day or two after leaving the hospital I went to see a movie with friends. It was Philadelphia, which in retrospect was not the best choice. Toward the end of the film, when Tom Hanks' character dies there is a scene of his wake. Playing on the television is a home movie from his childhood. I remember crying and not being able to stop. I couldn't explain why I was crying at the time. But, now I think I know why... and funny enough, that's actually the only time in my entire life that I cried about my diabetes.

Happy Bloodwork Day!

Today was bloodwork day!

And it was my most favourite kind of bloodwork- fasting... because you know for sure the first thing I want to do in my morning is sit in a room full of people waiting to bloodlet and/or pee into uncomfortably small cups.

Usually, when I get bloodwork done my arm keeps bleeding after the needle is pulled out. One time, I left the house wearing a completely white shirt, but when I came back from the lab and took removed my coat I found my white shirt had one new fully red sleeve.

Not this time! Because this time my arm stopped bleeding in the middle of filling up the test-tubes. Apparently, it can't just go smoothly- it's got to be one extreme or the other.