Work

Taking Words, and Actions, To Heart

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I’ve always been the kind of person who takes a lot of what others say to heart. And letting those little things get to me is sometimes my biggest downfall.

I woke up yesterday morning feeling pretty good. Things were getting back on track diabetes wise, I’d had a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to take on another day. I got to work, and it was all smiles and laughter with my work Mums as usual. “Dobro utrov, ca cosi?” Which is Macedonian for “good morning, how are you?” It’s one of the little perks that I love about getting to work in the morning.

But after I’d started work yesterday morning, there was one small comment that was enough to turn around my mood, and my day. What was said isn’t as important as the way in which it affected me. I hate how much I took that comment to heart. I hate my behaviour that followed that comment. My moodiness, my negativity, and my stubborn refusal to let that comment go through the morning. While it may have taken somebody else to make that comment, it was me who chose to let that comment ruin my day. And I hate myself for it.

And in a weird way, my attitude towards that situation yesterday kind of parallels my attitude towards diabetes. Every decision that I make has an impact on my diabetes. Every item of food that I eat. Every drink that I put in my mouth. Every place that I choose to visit. Every activity that I choose to do. I carry diabetes along with me, every step of the way. Whether I like it or not.

And it only takes one insulin dose. One finger prick. One really high blood sugar reading. One anger fuelled over correction. One weakening hypo. One handful of jellybeans. One small action is enough to throw my diabetes sideways, and turn my day upside down. It’s enough to make me angry. Teary. Emotional. Moody. It’s enough to make me beat myself up for hours. It’s enough to ride me with guilt for the rest of the day. It’s enough to make me lose my motivation.

I got some wise words of advice from some friends in the staff room later in the day. I know the real truth surrounding that comment, and I shouldn’t let anything else that’s said bother me. Let it in one ear, and out the other.

And I know the truth behind my diabetes management, also. I am living with an unpredictable disease. I am stepping into the shoes of a perfectly functioning pancreas, something which is not easy to do. I find incredible strength to step up to that task, each and every single day. I fulful this role to the best of my ability. It’s something that many others wouldn’t even be able to imagine doing. But I am only human. And I must forgive myself when things don’t go as planned, and take away the added wisdom for next time round.

I must learn not to take words, and actions, too much to heart.

Night Time Blood Glucose Monitoring Mishaps

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It was 10pm on Tuesday night, and I was getting ready to go to bed. We had Pasta for dinner, a family favourite in our house. Pasta usually produces really good blood sugar levels by bedtime. However, being a low glycemic index food, Pasta also tends to have somewhat of a delayed effect on my glucose levels. Once I fall asleep and the majority of my rapid acting insulin wears off, my blood sugar levels tend to creep up. And I’ll wake up the next morning with something crazy like 15.

I was a perfect 7.3 at bedtime that night, but I wasn’t confident that my blood sugar levels would settle there. So I decided to set the alarm on my phone for 12.50am, so that I could test and correct later on. I turned out the light, and went to sleep.

The next thing I knew, I began to stir as my Dad came and opened the door to my room. I could see light streaming in from behind the closed vertical blinds, and the clock on the side of my bed read 6.38am. I was convinced it was Saturday. I was still lying in bed at 6.38 in the morning because it was Saturday. Until Dad asked me if I was going to work that morning. And I realised that it was, in fact, Wednesday.

What the hell had happened? My mind was foggy, and for the life of me I couldn’t even remember hearing the alarm go off. Which was unusual. I hate my alarm. It’s one of those awful buzzer-like sounds that startles me awake in the morning. It’s so startling on a sleepy brain that I usually scramble to silence it each morning. But I also love it for the fact that it has never failed me. Until now.

I didn’t even hear that alarm go off at 12.50am. Well, at least I couldn’t remember hearing that alarm go off at 12.50am. As I tried to put the pieces together, the only reasonable explanation that I could come up with was that I had hit snooze at 12.50am. And in doing so, I hadn’t been able to re-set the alarm for the morning.

I angrily got up out of bed to test my blood sugar. I knew it would be high, but I was hoping for a miracle. The last thing I wanted to deal with that morning was a high blood sugar and the shitty mood that would inevitably go with it. But, as expected, diabetes gave me a lovely 15.6.

I furiously threw the covers on top of the bed and got dressed. I began swearing, and throwing every curse word I could think of at diabetes. I jabbed in 8 units of insulin. A couple of units to cover my usual morning requirements, and a couple to combat that stubborn 15 that I’d been sitting at for the past 8 hours.

I was so furious with myself that I decided I would go straight to work. I didn’t deserve breakfast with such a high blood sugar level. I didn’t deserve that coffee that I so enjoy relishing in the morning either. And the last thing I wanted was to go into work later and let diabetes take my afternoon away from me.

I clocked on at work at 6.58am, just in the nick of time.

And I added a second alarm to my iPhone, to ensure that this would never happen again.

I Can…Still Hurt Myself At Work Like Anyone Else

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At the moment it seems like every piece of equipment at work is causing problems. From the sewerage pipes that have been spewing litter into our loading area, to the broken air conditioning, to the noisy speakers that the boss refuses to turn down, to the broken dock leveller and to the cardboard press that is always getting blocked up. There is also a lovely swarm of bees that have made a springtime return to their familiar little hidey hole just outside of our roller door where we accept deliveries.

And the swear words that come out of my mouth during the day seem to be multiplying because of all these problems.

It was lunchtime on Thursday. It had been a crazy busy morning. We had the roller door pulled about one third of the way down in order to keep those bees out of our warehouse. I had just finished accepting a delivery, and our dock ramp was elevated. I walked up onto the elevated dock ramp, so that my weight would bring it back down to ground level. And in doing so, I smacked my head hard onto the roller door that was pulled one third of the way down.

I was pissed off. I swore. If my Mum was there, she would have told me off for not looking at what I was doing. I walked over and sat down for a few moments to rest, until one of my work Mums noticed that I had a small gash on my head and was bleeding. It was nothing serious. The cut was not very deep, and a once over with some alcohol wipes did the trick. Except for all of those “oh, what did you do to yourself there?” questions that followed for the rest of the day.

I always pride myself in the fact that diabetes doesn’t affect my job. Diabetes hasn’t stopped me from doing the things that I want to do. And even though I hurt myself that day, it was a nice reminder that I am still able to hurt myself like anyone else. In a weird way, that smack on the head made me feel normal. Diabetes hasn’t stopped me from doing the same job that my colleagues without diabetes do each day. Diabetes hasn’t confined me to a job of restricted duties and being over-precautious. And I might even daresay that I get more work done that some of the other people there who don’t have diabetes. Just saying.

My Lousy, Flu-Ridden Friday

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My Friday had gotten off to a terrible start. I’d had very little sleep thanks to a wonderful cold, and it wasn’t until 5am that my drowsiness finally overpowered my congestion. My alarm went off at 5.30am, and I angrily hit the snooze button for another half an hour. By 6am, I knew that I had to get up.

Thankfully, nothing crazy was happening blood sugar level wise and there was no signs of ketones. But I felt absolutely terrible. It was cold, grey and raining outside. And I wanted nothing more than to call in sick to work and stay in bed. I knew that nobody would really think I was just chucking a sickie a day out from the weekend. I knew that I would easily have been able to guilt them with diabetes excuses if I really had to.

But I knew that we are always short staffed on Fridays, and I felt guilty for my workmate who would be left on his own if I didn’t go in. I also had to grab the key off of him as it would be my responsibility to open up next week. And being a day out from the weekend, I knew I might be asked for a doctor’s certificate if I didn’t go in. So, against all stupidity, I decided to get up, shower off all traces of Vicks that I’d rubbed on my chest through the night, and went to work.

For most of the day I was quiet. I was short. I didn’t feel like talking. I gave one word, unenthusiastic, I-don’t-really-give-a-shit-answers. People asked me what was wrong. I felt guilty sneezing and blowing my nose in front of others, despite doing my best to do it over in the corner. The day seemed to absolutely drag as I watched the rain pour from the miserable grey sky outside.

Honestly, my biggest regret of the day was that people had to see my shitty, flu induced mood. I felt so guilty and so embarassed that people had to see me like that. I don’t like to bring my problems to work and dump them on others. I go to work with diabetes every single day. I never let it interfere with what I have to get done. I never use it as an excuse to get out of something. I test, inject, correct and treat hypos in private. I rarely complain about it. And my colleagues always forget that I have diabetes whenever I bring it up in conversation in the staff room. And in a weird way, I’m kind of proud of the fact that I don’t make diabetes anyone else’s problem.

So why couldn’t I keep it together on Friday? Why was an innocent cold the thing that brought my world crashing down? I guess I was pissed that I guilted myself into going in. I guess I was pissed that I didn’t stay home in the first place. And I guess I was pissed that I didn’t take the time to look after myself.

And as it turned out, going home at lunchtime to look after myself was the best decision I made all day.

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