oo7. Virtual run, real miles

I’m a HUGE Detroit Red Wings hockey fan. I only discovered hockey in 2013 when Allen took me to a game for my birthday, but I was immediately hooked.

Of course, this year the Red Wings are finally getting out of the ghetto Joe Louis and will be playing in their poorly-named new arena, Little Caesars Arena. Last year, the organization held their first annual Hockeytown 5K, to celebrate the final year at the Joe. My friend Morgan did the race and it looked like fun. So when I saw it advertised this year, I decided to sign up.

Unfortunately for me, I misread the dates, so I thought I wouldn’t be able to actually run it in Detroit, so I signed up for the virtual 5K. Turns out I totally could have made it work to do it for real, but it was too late by then.

The actual race was held on a Sunday, but I ran my virtual miles a few days later. My friend Elizabeth signed me up for a 10K the weekend after the Hockeytown race with only 5 days to train, (more on that in a future post), so I linked up with a couple friends to pound out some miles. My friend Michael and I ran 2.3 miles on Tuesday, and my friend Chris and I ran my “Hockeytown 5K” plus a few more on Thursday.

I definitely earned my shirt and medal! We had only planned on doing 4 miles but sometimes life has other plans and next thing I knew, we had done over 5 miles. It was awesome and I felt super prepped for my 10K!

The interesting thing is that I did the runs “blind” – meaning I wasn’t wearing my Dexcom. THAT was weird and kind of nerve wracking. At one point while we were running, Chris mentioned something about diabetes and how you can’t understand it truly unless you have it, and I said “Yep, you’d never know I’ve been spending the last half mile trying to feel what my blood sugar is, since I don’t have the numbers handy right now.” Luckily I tested frequently both during and after the runs and all was good, but that was insightful for him, and also gave me the confidence that I can survive running “blind” since I had never even tried it before then.

My Non-Diabetic Husband Wore My Continuous Glucose Monitor for 2 Weeks and This is What Happened

I recently upgraded my Dexcom system to the G5, which has allowed me to ditch the G4 receiver. However, I still had some juice left in my G4 transmitter, so I asked Allen if he would be willing to wear it for a week – Just for a fun comparison of his blood sugars versus mine.

If you know my husband AT ALL, then you know he’s completely squeamish when it’s his own blood, but mostly fine when it’s someone else’s. He inserts my sensors without fuss, and goes with me to my quarterly blood draws, but when he had to get his blood drawn for a physical at his work, he passed out. So I figured he would say no to my proposal, but I was thrilled when he agreed to be my pincushion for a week. He agreed knowing full well that he was committing to the initial insertion plus calibrations.

When he was finally ready to do the insertion, we got comfy on the bed, with a bucket in case he puked, and we got to work.

I don’t usually insert Dexcom sensors, but I know most of how it works, so I stuck it on, and prepped him for the actual insertion. Luckily he didn’t flinch, and I quickly pulled the inserter off. There was a little blood but not too bad. He let me know that it didn’t hurt and he was doing okay.

But then I had to insert the transmitter piece. There’s a little plastic arm on the sensor base that makes inserting the transmitter easier. However, that piece had fallen off as it sometimes does, which makes the transmitter insertion harder. So when I tried to insert the transmitter, I had to push really hard.

Allen freaked out. He laid down to try not to pass out, and ended up sitting back up and vomiting. I started crying because I felt so bad for what I felt was “making him do this.”

Thankfully, a few minutes later, he and I both calmed down. He pulled up a YouTube video to distract himself and I quickly jimmied the transmitter into the sensor base without any more fuss.

So the experience began!

The first day, Allen ran high for a non-diabetic, but I think the readings were not accurate. There was probably a bad initial calibration or something, and once we added a few more calibrations, it fell into range.

(Allen’s numbers are on the pink receiver, mine are the screenshots)

The most interesting part was how steady his lines usually were compared to mine. I expected that he’d hover in the 80-100 range all the time, but not that he’d stay so completely steady even when eating high carb meals.

Even his “dawn phenomenon” wasn’t actually that – he had eaten right before sending me this screenshot below.

I think the most amazing comparison was this one of a 24 hour time span near the end of our 2 week experiment:

A typical non-diabetic and a typical diabetic for 24 hours. The difference was amazing. I even found myself trying extra-hard to be in a “normal” range to compete with him. Of course, I failed miserably, but it was a great experience.

I am so thankful for my husband being willing to experience a snippet of my life for two weeks. Even through our anniversary, a trip to Wisconsin, and many days of work, he carried that pink receiver without fuss. He said the transmitter in his arm didn’t bother him much at all. His tegaderm looked WAY better at the end of two weeks than mine EVER does. And removal when he was done was a piece of cake. Overall, it was a great learning experience for us both! (And he’s said he’ll never do it again… but we’ll see.)

oo6. Holy Rib Cramp!

Today I ran my third 5K of the year!

It was a small local town race, so it wasn't chip timed, but it was inexpensive and I didn't have any other plans for that day, so I signed up a couple weeks ago and have been running a bit here and there to prepare.

What I didn't prepare for was the awful rib cramp that would hit me at 0.5 miles and never relented.

Pepto Bismol Pink

I’ve had my insulin pump for 3.5 years now. I got the Minimed 530G in December 2013 when it was still very new. The entire time, I’ve had one pump – my black one named Artemis. 

Unfortunately, over the Fourth of July weekend, I noticed a severe crack in Artemis, and was forced to call Medtronic for a replacement, since I’m still under warranty. Cracks can and do happen with pumps, especially since they’re worn 24/7/365 for 4+ years, and Medtronic customer service agreed to replace my pump without a fuss.  

The problem is, the only replacement pumps they had in stock were pink. Now, I like pink well enough, but this new pump is Pepto Bismol Pink. 

I hate it so much. However, it isn’t broken, so I guess I can deal with it until I upgrade, probably at the end of the year. So for now, I have an ugly pink pump. Good thing it stays in my pocket most of the time!

oo5. More like Longest Course Ever

Today’s “Longest Day 5K” was absolutely brutal. 

I knew it would be. Any course going through a nature preserve is going to be tough. Yet somehow I was shocked when I rounded the first corner and started my way up a big hill. 

And somehow I was still shocked when I had to tackle puddles, mud, narrow trails, rickety wooden bridges, stairs, and insane heat. 

It didn’t help when the water station at mile 2.3 was handing out warm koolaid instead of water. Really? Ew. 

However, Allen kept watch on me through me sharing my location via iPhone and continually texted me updates as I ran, which showed on my Apple Watch and kept me motivated. 

I had bought an arm band designed for some obscure MP3 player to carry my Dexcom receiver in, to free up some room in my flipbelt. It did the job, but I hated it, so I’m not sure if I’ll use it again or not. When I got sweaty it started to slide around my arm, and when I tightened it, it pinched my skin. It was nice having my Dex right there though, so I didn’t have to keep trying to flip through Apple Watch screens to get to the Dexcom readings. I’d recommend it if you’re wanting something to wear on your arm for Dex. It’s a tight fit to get the receiver in and it sticks out on the end a little but it was very snug and secure. 

My blood sugar was a steady 115 most of the afternoon. An hour before race time, I did a temp basal rate of 60% insulin for an hour because I knew once I started running, I’d drop. I was drifting down so I had a roll of smarties about half an hour before race time. I started the race at 108 and peaked at 140 around the 2 mile mark. I finished the race back near 110. 

So did I beat my goal time for the race? No. I was almost 6 minutes slower than last week. However this course was ridiculously tough, and I still did pretty well. I was 93rd overall for women and 187th out of everyone, out of 244 people. 

So I didn’t do amazing. But I didn’t quit, even when I really considered it at mile 0.75. I kept going even when i was completely by myself and thought I took a wrong turn at mile 2. Even when I thought I was going to puke at mile 3. 

The course was absolutely gorgeous, and that was awesome in itself. Also, this was my first chip timed course so that was a neat experience!

And I got a free beer at the finish, so that was cool too. 

Thanks Chris for somehow convincing me to do yet another 5k. I don’t know how many more you’re going to be able to talk me into, but so far, I’m having fun. 

oo4. Training? Who needs training?

This past weekend, I ran a 5k with zero training. In fact, I signed up for it only about two hours before the actual race began.

Crazy, right?

Diabetes limits my impulsivity (Is that a word? It is now, I guess) in so many ways. I don’t get to just grab a cupcake and eat it without a second thought. So much of my life for the past almost 5 years has been planning, provisioning, and preparation.

However, on Saturday when my friends Chris and Chad said they were running a 5K that night and asked if Allen and I were going to be there, I decided on the spot that I wanted to do it. I decided to be impulsive because, you know what, fuck diabetes!

Burnout and Patient Shaming

I slacked off in 2016, canceling my doctors appointments and not rescheduling them. 

Yes, I’m aware that’s terrible. 

Yes, I’m aware that’s dangerous. 

I’m also aware that I was still adamantly monitoring my A1C through my Dexcom, had no instances of DKA, was never hospitalized, and never ran out of supplies because my doctor kept approving the prescriptions. 

It isn’t an excuse to those in the healthcare field, but to those of us with chronic illnesses, we get it. We understand that the appointments are overwhelming. The tests are frustrating and annoying. The battle with insurance is never-ending. 

And sometimes, you just need a damn break. So that’s what I did. 

Now I’m getting back on the wagon. I saw my endo a couple weeks ago, and saw my eye doctor yesterday for the yearly diabetic eye exam. 

I passed. I still have 20/20 vision, and I have no signs of diabetic retinopathy. 

But I didn’t miss the judgement in the doctors voice, that I hadn’t been there since April 2015. That I didn’t have an up-to-date A1C number and the estimate of 7.2 from Dexcom Clarity “really should be closer to 6.0.”

I hear you judging me, but I also hear that your perfectly functioning pancreas keeps you going every day. You don’t face the battles I do. You don’t have to hope to God you’re going to be able to pay for your deductible because you meet it in January every year. You don’t have to stab yourself over and over and over again.  You’ve never dealt with burnout from this horrible condition that you didn’t cause or ask for. 

Shaming me for my actions isn’t a solution. If anything, it only makes me hate you more and not want to do better. It makes me feel like the things I have accomplished – like the fact that I received a promotion to middle management last year, played a sport and still managed to keep myself alive – mean absolutely nothing to you. It makes me feel like the fact that I’m still out here kicking ass doesn’t matter because my A1C isn’t a 6.0 (which, by the way, A1C isn’t a good marker for diabetes care anyway!) 

A little compassion goes a long way. Rather than chastising me for not coming in for an appointment for the last year, maybe try asking me what I have been up to in that time? When I indulge that I played softball, ask how that affected my blood sugar – was it difficult to deal with, did I tend to run low or high during games? If you act like I’m more than just an A1C number, I’ll be a lot more receptive to your advice and suggestions. 

So please, keep your judgment to yourself, healthcare professionals. I already know that I didn’t and don’t do things to your standards, and ultimately I am accountable for my actions. 

It Took Three Years, But It Finally Happened

I came home early from work today because I’m sick (and I didn’t go in at all yesterday). I decided to take a bath, which I hardly ever do, to relax. First, I ran the water too hot and nearly scalded my entire body. After I got out, I realized my pump site in my leg was still hurting since after lunch, and it had a little blood in it, so I decided to swap it out for a new one. As I’m standing in my kitchen, completely naked, sniffling and sneezing, fighting moderate ketones, drawing up a new pump site, I go to throw away my empty insulin bottle. It bounces off the rim of the trash can, falls to the floor, and shatters into a zillion tiny glass pieces all over my kitchen and living room. 

Just another day in the life with type 1 diabetes. 

A Decade without Self-Harm

Ten years ago today, I self-harmed by cutting the word FEAR into my thigh with a safety pin. 

It wasn’t the first time I had ever self-harmed. I had been doing it for two years at that point, albeit not very often, and rarely drawing blood. Most of the time, I would just trace over an existing scar on my wrist at the base of my hand, but sometimes I’d get more aggressive and scratch and cut a little higher up on my wrist. It was always to cause pain to create a physical release for emotional stress and pain – Never to try to die. 

January 26, 2007 I was told by the boy that I liked that he didn’t want to date me. It was yet another blow to my fragile self-esteem. I took a few emo selfies (although that word didn’t exist yet at the time) and then decided I needed to self-harm to bring emotional pain to a physical level. 

It was the first time I’d ever cut on my leg. It was also the first time I ever told anyone I knew in person about it. (I had a group of internet friends who knew and we were all open with each other about our struggles). I told a friend the next day that I was struggling and what I had done, confiding in them. They promised they would come and pick me up and we’d go driving around and hang out to cheer me up.  

They never came. 

I was dragged, kicking and screaming, to the ER by my parents who believed I was suicidal. I was forced to strip naked and be examined by a nurse, who was also a classmates mother who I had known for years. I was then also examined by a doctor who was the father of another classmate. I had to talk to a therapist on the phone at 2am because it was snowing really hard and the therapist couldn’t make the drive down from Kalamazoo. I was eventually released from the ER after almost 6 hours, feeling humiliated and more miserable than ever, and forced to see a therapist a few days later for one session to make sure I was okay.

It was the beginning of a long ride through rock bottom for me. 

For weeks afterward, my mother would walk into the bathroom while I was changing, pretending to do other tasks while she searched by body for signs of self-harm. 

I had been betrayed by my friends, and that cut more deeply than any sharp object could. I had reached out for love and support from my friends and had been given embarrassment and suffering instead. At the time, I was livid, but so desperate for friendship that I let them back in. However it took a long time for me to be able to fully trust them again. In hindsight I know that it wasn’t betrayal but rather teenage kids trying to help another teenage kid with something over their heads in the only way they knew how. 

I knew I wanted to be free from self-harm. I didn’t know how to do it, so I began keeping track of how long it had been since that night. A week passed. Then a month. Then a year. 

So now, here I am. Ten years later. I honestly never thought I would be able to say that. I knew I would struggle – and struggle I did. I had the support of a lot of friends through the hardest times, which were the first few months afterwards. (At that time, I didn’t know that part of my problem was undiagnosed Seasonal Affective Disorder, which I began treating in 2012). 

I adopted a “fake it til you make it” attitude to get me through, and that was a large part of my success. Did I have my life all together and figured out? No way. But I told myself that I did. I would tell myself that I had it together and that I was succeeding and beautiful and happy until I slowly started to believe those things for real. 

With each passing year, it got a little easier to resist the pull to harm myself. There were times where I nearly failed – but I didn’t. I held fast to the belief that if I just held on, that I would get through – and I did. 

While compiling this entry and reading through old journals for reference, I found this that I had written two months after the last time I self-harmed:

if i have already felt this much pain at seventeen, then what shit will i have faced/be facing when i am twenty-six or thirty-four or fifty or eighty?

I’ve faced so much since I wrote that ten years ago. I dated a man who was sexually and emotionally abusive, and it shaped so much of who I am as a person. I found and married the love of my life. I was diagnosed with diabetes. I started my own business and have traveled all over the country to do what I love. I received several promotions at work, where I do a job I never thought I’d be doing. I dedicated myself to an extremely strict church for the better part of a decade. I’ve faced my seasonal depression head-on. 

And that’s all by age 26. I can’t vouch for 34, 50, or 80 yet, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got it on lock. If not, I’m going to keep faking it until I make it. 

If I can do it, you can do it. 

If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, or just need someone to talk to, please reach out to one of the resources listed below. You are important and we need you here with us. 

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 (available 24 hours per day)

Suicide Hotlines by State: suicide.org

Crisis text line: Text message GO to 741741

Additional resources: To Write Love On Her Arms

Signing my Death Certificate

I seem to make a lot of enemies on my Twitter. I suppose after having one for as long as I have (I was part of TWTTR’s beta, all the way back in 2006!) I shouldn’t be surprised, but, I figured I was done with twitter drama back when I dealt with Tony. 

However, just the other evening, I misread the tweet of a Representative from Minnesota about repealing the Affordable Care Act. I mistakenly thought the Congressman was stating his support for repeal, which directly threatens my well-being with the potential loss of the pre-existing conditions clause. I retweeted the tweet, saying that he was signing my death certificate. 

Very quickly, it was pointed out to me that I misunderstood his tweet, and everything was rectified between myself and Congressman Ellison. All good there and everyone who tweeted me to tell me of my mistake were all very nice about it. 

However, the next morning I woke up to this tweet in response to mine to the Congressman. 

Basically, Bob was insinuating that me dying due to not being able to afford medicine due to the repeal was a worthy sacrifice. 

I quickly tweeted Bob, asking if he was making a joke in bad taste, and then went in to work. When I checked my phone later in the day, he hasn’t responded, and had actually DELETED the tweet he directed at me, so I decided to poke the bear. I tweeted him again, attaching a screenshot of the offending tweet. I even told him I was reminding him of how disgusting his tweet was. I followed up that tweet with this one. 

Bob didn’t respond. Instead, he blocked me.  

He chose to be a coward rather than apologize, but I expected it. Anyone who has the nerve to spew something so disgusting online and not own up to it must be a coward. And honestly, I’m not all that angry about it. People will be horrible to others on the internet because they can hide behind the relative anonymity of it all. 

And as I saw someone tweet earlier this week about the possible ACA repeal, I can’t make people care about other people. But, I can sure as hell try. 

So here we go. 

My name is Abby, and at age 22, I was diagnosed with an incurable autoimmune condition. Pre-Obamacare, I was uninsurable. By repealing the ACA with no replacement, specifically without provisions to protect those with pre-existing conditions, I could be forced to choose between life-saving medication and basic necessities like food and rent. 

It doesn’t matter if you identify with the Republican, Democrat, Wig, Green, Tea, Jedi, or any other political party. 

If you identify as a HUMAN, you should want to help your fellow humans. And leaving #the27percent of Americans with pre-existing conditions to die isn’t how you do that. 

We are vulnerable and scared. So please – think of us. Call your local Congressman. Help those who already struggle to live.