VLOG: It’s About Time!

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Happy National Diabetes Week, Australia!

This year’s theme is “It’s About Time,” which coincidentally ties in with how long overdue I am for another vlog.

I think it’s great that we are focussing on earlier detection of diabetes, and the theme certainly resonates with me. However I’m still not wrapped with the heavy focus on all the bad things that could happen.

Take it away, Frank…

You can also check out Diabetes Australia’s video which I mentioned somewhere in my ramblings here.

Of course, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this as well.

Type 1, Turning 18 and Finding Peer Support

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I was lucky enough to be featured on the very awesome Diabetes Mine over the weekend, if you haven’t already caught up. I’d like to think my article also serves as a timely awareness piece for Australian National Diabetes Week, which kicked off yesterday.

So, is it somewhat easier being diagnosed with diabetes as an adult? Or would you rather be diagnosed at a younger age, where you won’t know life any differently? It’s one of the age old debates within the diabetes community.

I don’t subscribe to the notion that there is an easier option. Every diagnosis, at every stage of life, is uniquely challenging. While I’m certainly grateful for my adolescent years that were free from diabetes, receiving a type 1 diagnosis as a young adult presented it’s own set of challenges. Herein lies my story.

“I’m one of the privileged few who joined the “diagnosed-a-few-weeks-before-turning-18 club,” in terms of living with type 1. That was in 2010, and I was in the midst of a big transitional change in my life: had newfound independence, was midway into my first semester at university, was enthusiastically working my first real job, and driving around in my first car. There was a lot going on at the time, and when that T1 diagnosis came along, I don’t remember actually processing the meaning of my new illness all that much right away.

Needless to say, being diagnosed with T1D as a young adult presented a unique set of challenges.

For starters, nobody knew that I had diabetes. I didn’t grow up with it, didn’t go through school with it, and it wasn’t simply there for the world to see. I didn’t know life any other way, and went from carelessy eating potato crisps after school to having to think about what they would do to my blood sugar.”

You can check out the full article over at Diabetes Mine here, to help tide you through your Monday-itis. 

I know I’m going to need an extra coffee today…

Another Indescribable Feeling

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The sky was grey. The air was chill. The winds were howling. The rain had been falling, intermittently. It must have been the coldest day of the year. I was sitting in front of the TV, whilst keeping an eye on the clock.

I got up at around 2.20pm, and checked my blood sugar. I opened my wardrobe, before deciding against it. They had told me 3 o’clock, after all. I sat back down, anxiously awaiting the clock to shift closer to three.

I wondered where I might find myself today.

I had looked at my average blood sugar in the Diasend report over the weekend, and had loosely translated that to an a1c. That average blood sugar was actually quite a good looking number, yet I still couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed in it. I began thinking through some of the problem spots I’d encountered in recent weeks, and where I could have done better.

What if you hadn’t been so lazy and kept putting off your work day morning basal test?

What if you’d been a bit more diligent with your snacking when you get home in the afternoons?

What if your overnight numbers had been a little more consistent than they have been?

Part of me had tried to talk myself out of getting an a1c done until I could get that average looking a bit better. Thankfully, the rational side of me won out.

As the clock approached closer to three, I got changed, jumped in my car and headed down the road to collect my Pathology reports. I mentally prepared myself for what I might find. I knew I would see a decent a1c result. I knew that it would be better than my last one in January. But I wasn’t expecting anything life changing.

I got out of my car, walked up the stairs and tapped on the window of the demountable ‘D’ block, peering sideways to see if anyone was in there.

I stood there, feverishly, as the nurse looked my name up on the computer to see if all of my labwork had been done. She printed my results out, placed them in an envelope and sealed it with a slice of tape.

I thanked her and stepped back out into the blustery, grey carpark. I ripped open the envelope, mentally prepared to flick through each of the five sheets in there – but there was no need. The number was there, on the first page, staring me in the face.

That number was better than anything I was expecting. I had chalked up a new personal best. My face exploded into this massive grin, and my right arm shot up into the air in victory.

It was more than just seeing that number on the piece of paper. It was about all of that hard work I had put in. The hard work, that up until now, I hadn’t given myself a lot of credit for. 

Even though I was rewarded with a very attractive number yesterday, my self worth as someone with diabetes shouldn’t be tied to one. 

I need to be kinder to myself. I need to give myself a pat on the back for the things I am doing well. I need to stop beating myself up over the things aren’t working so much, because I can always work on it tomorrow.

For the next few days at least, I think I’ll have a hard time wiping that grin off my face.

Diabetes Disruptions

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Last night’s OzDOC chat on diabetes disruptions really put my mind to work. I can’t say that I think of diabetes as being disruptive all that often. Yet as I began to answer some of the chat questions, it became pretty clear to me that it was. Diabetes is disruptive. It’s disruptive to my day, it’s disruptive to my mindset and it’s disruptive to the people around me.

One disruption that easily comes to mind is the time I have previously wasted, obsessing over what I need to bring with me every time I leave the house. I tend to overthink things quite a bit, especially with the more time that I have up my sleeve.

How long will I be gone? How far away from home will I be? Am I going to be comfortable at the party with all of this crap weighing me down? Do I really need all the stuff I have brought with me?

I’ll spend far too much time tucking things into pockets and jackets, only to pull them out once again. Thankfully I now have my grey marle pencil case, with all my travel gear ready to go every time I head out.

Another disruption that comes to mind is the people around me. I am too nice of a person. While I don’t particularly feel the need to explain myself, I do feel conscious of the fact that I might not be polite to others. Like trying to find the right moment to excuse myself and walk away from someone who is talking to me.

Then there are days where diabetes puts a damper on my mood. Or I’m not having the best day, and having to deal with diabetes on top of it simply makes it worse. I’m more quiet, withdrawn, and probably don’t do my best at explaining this to the people around me. But I feel ridden with guilt for it afterwards.

I’m also really conscious of the perception toward diabetes that I’m feeding to others through my actions. I don’t want people to think that I’m ill or unwell. I’m quick to deflect people’s looks of pity with confident explanation of what I do to myself to manage. Okay, cutting the queue at Pathology yesterday probably didn’t help my cause, but you can’t live with this lousy condition without the occasional perk…

The one disruption that I would easily wish away is a low blood sugar. Correcting a high is easy enough. I’m pretty confident in my ability to keep tabs on pump failures and ketones. Yet a nasty low is enough to knock me sideways. It frustrates me that I can’t even go for a walk around the block without having to worry about going low.

While diabetes will continue to be disruptive in every which way that it pleases, always remember that you most certainly are not.

“Type 1 Diabetes. Fasting.”

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In times gone by, I would have hauled myself out of bed on a cold Winter’s morning much earlier than my liking. Blood sugar permitting, I would have dressed and made my way out the door while it was still dark outside. I would have started my car, and made the two minute drive down the road to my local Pathology centre. Despite walking in thirty minutes before collections begin, the first number available to me would likely have been a 4 or a 5.

I would have taken a seat and rolled my eyes at the table of ancient, frayed magazines. I would have pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up Facebook. I would have checked the current temperature outside in my trusty Weatherzone app. I probably would have been distracted momentarily by the Sunrise Cash Cow on the TV in the waiting room. I would have returned to my phone, this time moving onto Twitter. I would likely have returned to the weather, refreshing to see if it were any warmer outside. Once again, the TV would likely grasp my attention at the sight of the weather man out and about doing something silly. Returning to my phone, I’d open up the next app.

By this point, I’d be bored out of my brains. My empty stomach would be growling like crazy. To add to the torture, the coffee bar that was thoughtfully placed in a waiting room of fasting patients, would have opened for the day. I’d watch on as people flocked to it in droves for their morning caffeine fix, and forcing their banter upon my poor ears. I’d be constantly looking at my watch, despite the time being right in front of me on my iPhone screen. I’d start taking note of how many people were in front of me. I’d start wondering if number 3 was in there, telling the nurse their whole life story while I was desperately wanting to get out of there and start my day.

Thankfully, today was not the case.

I stayed in my warm bed until an hour of my choosing. I got dressed, and walked out the door into brilliant grey daylight. I drove down to Pathology, walked in and made my way to the counter where I announced:

“I’m here for a blood test. I have type 1 diabetes and I’m fasting.”

This morning there were no frayed mags, no coffee bar torture, no endless scrolling through Facebook, no stomach rumbling and no eye rolling at the Sunrise weather man. I walked straight through, waited for the two patients already in the room, and had my bloods done straight away.

I probably fed the attendant’s misconceptions about a diabetic needing to constantly eat to regulate his blood sugars. I probably felt a tinge of guilt for the other poor souls sitting there in the waiting room. 

But those people also didn’t have a broken pancreas to deal with. They weren’t course correcting a lower-than-they’d-like blood sugar before bed. They didn’t have to force themselves up to check their blood sugar when they stirred in their sleep at 4am this morning. They weren’t left scratching their head over why their blood sugar had risen from 5.4 to 8.8 in a few hours, when normally it sits stable.

I played the diabetes card today, and I’m not going to feel guilty for it.