Short and Sweet--Just Like Me

I might be growing!  My blood sugar numbers have been consistently high which has made me very annoyed today.  The hormones that are involved in growing make my blood sugars run higher, which is what is making me hope that my legs are going to get longer.  I woke up high, meaning that I was going to be high ALL day.  And I was…until dinnertime when I was a whooping 71!  Woohoo!  That made me very excited! 

This blog is a tiny, little one, just like my legs.  This blog is a sweet, little one just like my Lucy.  This blog is ending right now, hopefully just the opposite of my growing!

The Ultimate Piranha Attack

Here’s another diabetic-related story that I just thought of recently.  This occurred in the fourth grade, but I’m not telling you any more than that because I want the rest to be a surprise.  It’s just like a piranha that bites your head off.  Okay, that analogy doesn’t really work because #1 I am not a piranha and #2 I am not going to bite your head off.  I know, right then you let your breath out…  You really thought I was going to bite your head off, didn’t you?  I’m very threatening with my 4 feet 10 figure!

I loved my fourth grade teacher.  She was a phenomenal teacher, but also a person.  And every single person makes mistakes.  One day, my teacher got on the subject of diabetes (I don’t recall how), and told me a lovely story.  And as I say the word lovely, it is being drenched in sarcasm.  She decided to tell me about her brother, or brother-in-law, or uncle, or some type of title that I regret to remember.  This brother/brother-in-law/uncle had diabetes (she didn’t specify what type but after hearing the story, I conclude type 2) and had a beautiful child.  The only problem he had with this baby had nothing to do with the baby at all.  The problem was that he became blind…because of his diabetes.  Well that just makes me feel fantastic, don’t you think?!  Why do people feel the need to let me know all these wonderful stories?  I will never understand the reasoning for this.  I’m going to be blind some day, because every single person with diabetes becomes blind!  NOT!  The only reason a person with diabetes (most likely type 2) would ever become blind, is if they had absolutely no handle on their blood sugar numbers whatsoever.  If you’re numbers are consistently high, then you have a chance of losing your vision.  Okay, I give her that.  But this isn’t what my story today is about.  It’s just a little blurp. 

So anyway, it was just a regular day at school when the story I’m telling you about occurred.  Together, our class was reading out of one of those big, old literature books before lunch.  In fourth grade, I would test my blood sugar, go outside, call my mom, pull out Lola, bolus my food, go back inside and join the class again for the trek over to the lunch tables.  It was five minutes before the doors would open for us to go eat, the time where I usually go call my mom, and I totally blanked on it.  I kept on reading with the other class, my head a little light.  When my teacher reminded me that I had to test, I had to think a lot longer than I normally would have to comprehend what it is she had just said.  I thought a moment, and then it struck me that I had to test.  So I pulled out my meter, my hands shaking a little.  5, 4, 3, 2, 1 the meter counted down and there, right there, is where the piranha jumps out of the water.  It widens its large mouth, wraps it around your melon, and then snaps it shut.  I was 22.  My blood sugars are supposed to range from 80 to 120.  But I was 22.  Very low.  Extremely low.  Terribly low.  I was shocked and frankly, lost.  I couldn’t remember what it is I should have done.  Do I give insulin?  Or do I take sugar?  I had a hard time focusing my thoughts, and instead ran outside to my backpack and phone.  I dialed my mom’s number and told her I was 22.

“Did you treat?”  I could tell my mom was very concerned and it finally sunk in to me that I was very, very low.

“Um, well, no,” I said.  “But I will.  How much should I take?”

“Take 4 glucose tabs.”  Wow, four, yum.  I put each of them in my mouth, making some noises here and there to let my mother know I was still there.

“Did you take them?” my mom asked.

“Yep, what do I do now?”  I couldn’t concentrate.  My mom told me to go to the office (not alone!), and I obeyed.  She promised me that she would drive over to the school right away.

I went inside to my classroom just as my classmates were running over to the tables.  I told my teacher what had happened and she kindly walked me over to the office.  My mom came over a couple minutes later and I stayed there for a while, just to make sure I was okay and ready to go join the other kids.  I felt fine, but safety is important!

So, are you longing for your head back?  Because of the surprise piranha?  That analogy didn’t fail me after all!  I really liked the way I surprised you like that!  Didn’t you?  Oh, that’s right…  You can’t speak because you’re missing your mouth!  Sorry about that!  Are you thinking I’m really lame right now?  Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, I feel that way. J

The Tale of Two Diabetics

O

 nce upon a time, there lived…me!  I was a princess who was in love with Prince Charming…7 dwarfs…locked in a tower…heroic journey…blah, blah, blah.  This story doesn’t have any of the usual fairytale components.  Sorry!  Instead, it was created due to my diabetes, just like many others.  It all began two years ago, out on a big, soccer field…

To complete P.E. once a week at my elementary school, we had to use the field of a park that was just below a little staircase.  There was a reason we didn’t just use our own field, maybe because little kids were using it at the time?  I don’t know, not the point of the story.  So anyway, my friends and I walked the short trek over to this park where a game of soccer was set up for our P.E. session that day.  Score!  I love soccer and was just waiting until a day where we could play my favorite sport during P.E.  We always did all these really stupid games no one really liked, and we only played “Chicken”, everybody’s favorite, like two or three times.  It stunk.

So when I found out we were playing my sport, I was absolutely thrilled.  I was ready to show off my skills to my fellow classmates, although none of them gave a darn.  I set my little backpack off to the side, ready to warm-up and then kick some butt.  My little backpack was one of those mini carriers that I used to keep my diabetics supplies: meter, test strips, smarties were all in abundance in case I felt that low-sensation in my legs.

We stretched out, all the while being told the rules of the game, which as I recall were much different than the real game (I always hate that…when P.E. teachers get you all excited about playing a real sport, and then they just change all the rules on you.  So much so that you don’t even recognize the sport anymore.  It’s a terrible thing.  Just plain terrible J).

As the game begun, I was kind of half-playing.  When you are not actually playing a real soccer game on a real soccer field with real soccer players, it is very hard to play as well as you usually do.  At least for me.  I didn’t want to get into the elementary drama of, “You cheated!”  “No I didn’t!  You did!  The ball was out!”  That oh-so-familiar fighting during school games is so very annoying, giving me a headache just about every single time.  It bugs the you-know-what out of me.  And even though it is such a young and elementary thing to do, there are plenty of kids who still say, “You’re a cheater!” during P.E. in middle school.  Middle school!  Give me a break, people!

Since I was worrying about staying out of the drama, I barely noticed the sensation in my legs that told me I felt low.  I started to panic, knowing that I couldn’t just sneak out of the game for a second and then get back in without anyone noticing.  My older, heavier, male P.E. teacher at the time (we had a different one every trimester), was standing right next to where it is my backpack was resting along with all the water bottles.  I told my friend about my conundrum (like my word?  I learned it on TV!  Who says the TV isn’t educational? J) and she told me she would go with me to talk to the teacher.  I would just tell him my usual spiel about my diabetes and all that and he would just let me test my blood sugar.  But that’s too easy.

I walked over, told him about my type 1, notified him about my current low condition and that I had to test (just so you know, I shouldn’t have to tell him anything; the meeting I had at the beginning of the year with my principal, assured me that he would let all of my teachers know about my type 1, including P.E.  Apparently that was not the case, for I had to repeat myself to the man that I needed to test NOW).

“I have diabetes too, and I only have to test my blood sugar once a day,” he said to me, a serious look on his face.  It crossed my mind that he maybe thought I was just trying to get out of P.E.  Why?!  Soccer is my favorite sport and I was sad I had to leave it for a few minutes to go and test.  Of course, it was getting to be longer than a few minutes because the darn man wasn’t moving.  I was getting lower by the minute.

“Do you take insulin?” I questioned.

“What’s insulin?”

Okay, well now I get it.  He must have Type 2 Diabetes if he doesn’t know what insulin is, or let alone, take it.  Of course, NOW is the time I have to go through and explain to him that Type 1 Diabetes is MUCH, MUCH, MUCH different than Type 2.  I am using the red color, the underlining, the bold on the numbers to emphasize my frustration.  Goodness!

“Well, that might be true that you have diabetes.  It’s just that you have a different type than me, meaning that you can get away with testing once, while I have to test my blood sugar 10-12 times a day.  And this falls in as one of those 10-12.  Um…” I stuttered.  “So…could you let me test, now?”  I could see the wheels in his brain turning and I took this as an in.  I scooted past him and started testing my blood sugar, not caring if he got mad at me, or something.  I was somewhere in the 50 range, and had a smartie, just wondering how low I would’ve been if I had stayed any longer.  While I was eating, the gym teacher decided he wanted to learn about his diabetes…right at this very moment.

“So, I have Type 2 Diabetes…  Hmmm…”  He pondered this a second before asking, “So what is it you have?”

I couldn’t believe that I was about to give a full-on lesson to a teacher.  While I was low.  And munching on some smarties. 

I swallowed, “Well, Type 1, which is what I have, means that my pancreas doesn’t make any insulin.  There wasn’t anything I could have done or couldn’t have done to cause it.  Type 2 is where the pancreas creates a little bit of insulin.”  I chose my words carefully here because he obviously was lacking education on his type 2.

He finally left me alone and I continued in the soccer game.  Thank goodness.  I couldn’t believe I had to educate my own teacher.  He actually ended up being really nice to me, though, always asking me questions about my type 1 and his type 2.  He was sincere with his questions, so I didn’t mind.  I ended up feeling good about myself because I taught someone else about what it is I go through every day.  And although he decided to tell me the lovely story about his relative who lost his foot because of his type 2 (the relative’s blood sugar was consistently high), he didn’t bug me too much…  Key words: too much.  J

Shhh... I'm on the Phone!

Site changes (see Diabetes Terminology).  Dislike them?  No, I don’t dislike them at all.  I despise them.  Despise them.  Now I know that there’s no one who would ever like to get poked in the behind, the thigh, the stomach, or the arm, but I just hate them, hate them, hate them.  Today I had to do a site change, waste fifteen minutes of my day, just because my stupid little pancreas doesn’t work.  Why did it decide, out of nowhere, to be a lazy, little bum?  Whatever.  There’s nothing I can do about it.

So here’s one of those entertaining diabetes stories that I had to sadly go through in 6^th grade.  To start off, you should know that there were many supervisors that were out patrolling my school during snack break and lunchtime.  So, it was just like any other day. My class was let out for lunch, and after testing my blood sugar at my desk a few minutes previous, I went outside to do what it is I’d been doing since third grade.  I pulled out my cell phone and began calling my mom.  Even though I had a meeting at the beginning of the year with the principal, okaying my cell phone use at snack and at lunch, many people have commented to me that I shouldn’t be using my cell phone.  A boy who is “popular” (I put in quotes because he is as nice as a mountain lion hunting for its prey) told me I was breaking the rules.  You would know a lot about that, now wouldn’t you, I thought to myself, a smirk on my face.  I didn’t say that aloud though.  There are many things I keep to myself.

But this trouble-maker wasn’t the only person I had to face during my phone call.  As I was in the middle of telling my mom my blood sugar reading, a supervisor walked up to me.  I could just feel her happiness in finding someone to take to the office for using a cell phone during school hours.  It was, I have to say, sort of emanating off her.  She had her serious face on while she said, “You aren’t allowed to be using your phone during school hours.”

Did she think I didn’t know that?  They go over it every single year for as long as I can remember.  Did she think a straight A student like me was some kind of idiot just craving for some kind of trouble to get into?  Really.  But I didn’t say any of that.  I used what I call my “filter” and decided I probably would get into trouble just for saying that, not even including the cell phone use.

My filter served its purpose and held on tight to my nasty words, instead forcing my body to do the usual flash of my medical ID which has my type 1 written cleanly and explicitly right on the top.  “I have Type 1 Diabetes and I have to call my mom at lunch time,” I recited by heart, knowing what it is I have to say to get the person to go away and let me carry on.  I put the phone back to my ear and told my mother what had just happened, that it was fine and we could continue.  Shoot.  I look up and the crazy woman is still there.  Okay, fine.  Some people have stayed for a second explanation.  That’s normal.  I can still get rid of her.

“You can’t use your cell phone during school hours,” this broken record told me once again.

Keep it together, Erin.  The last thing you want to do is get someone like this on your bad side, even if you aren’t doing anything wrong.  I swallowed my preferred words and instead squeezed out, “I’m sorry.  I’m aware of that, but I have principal’s permission to use my cell phone during school hours due to my diabetes.”  I flashed my medical ID to her once again, hoping the second time was the charm.  I held it there just a little bit longer, giving her the benefit of doubt, thinking she might just have bad eyes and can’t read that fast.  I can’t help it that she’s old…  Okay, that was nasty.  Swallow your words, Erin.  Swallow your words.

Even with my SECOND and LONGER showing of my medical ID, the woman persisted on telling me that my phone wasn’t allowed on campus.  Yes, lady, I heard you.  My ears were already checked last month.  I’m certifiably not deaf.  My ears work!  It’s just my pancreas that doesn’t, I thought to myself, not aloud, not to her.

“Yeah,” I said.  “I understood that the first time, however my family and I had a meeting with the principal and he clearly said that I can call my mom…”  I looked at the woman, saw her face, and realized I needed some more ammunition to get through to this woman.  “Um…”  I fished through my brain, trying to figure out what I should say to her.  “My mom is on the phone, would you like to talk to her?”  As soon as I asked her this, her face fell.  It seemed to me that she freaked out once I asked her, like if she said yes, she wouldn’t know what to say.

Because of her worry, she instead said, “Well, you have to go to the office.  Now.”

“But I have the principal’s permission-“

“You have to go to the office, now.”

“Excuse me, but can I just tell you my name and you can go up to the office and ask them if I’m allowed to be using my cell phone?  It’s Erin.”  She just stared at me…for a very long time…and kept staring…and it made me really uncomfortable.  I stared back, and then finally repeated myself, “My name is Erin.  You can go and ask them if I am allowed to use my phone.”  She then stared at me once again, just stared, and stared, and stared.

“Well,” she said quietly, and then walked off.

I should have just put my phone away, like the woman would have wanted, or went to the office with her to show her I was telling the truth.  But I didn’t do any of that.  I went right back to my phone call and told my mom all that had happened and why that woman was such a meanie-pants. J

The Adventurous Tale of My "Fair" Bladder



Jewelry, SAT help, personality tests, jewelry, teeth whitening, soft pretzels, jewelry, rides, nightlights, massaging, and more jewelry.  Those were the components of the local fair I went to today, which was super fun.  I saw goats and lambs and pigs and roosters, sodas and hot dogs and hamburgers and fried frog legs.  I shopped and ate and put 25 cents in a machine to get my feet massaged.  And it felt really good after hours of shopping.  And although I had a fun time, there were some very strange people I saw.



A woman with a dress hanging low strolled past on my right, while a man lacking a shirt stood by my left.  A teen guy in nothing but overalls scaled past and I looked to my mother, completely appalled.  (Okay, this is SUPER off-topic, but my sister just used one of those massage thingies on my hot dog {a name my dad and I came up with for a person’s calf} and it felt sooooo good!  I had one of those walking-cramps from the fair today and it magically disappeared!  As soon as my sister put it on the spot, I laughed out loud.  And laughed the whole time.  It felt so ticklish and I just couldn’t help myself, even when Jessica (my sis) asked me, “Does it hurt?”  Apparently my laughter sounded like shrieks of pain…  I have a higher pitched voice, as some of the middle school boys have noted to me L, which may have led to Jessica’s confusion.  Sorry for that random blurp.  Just had to get it out. J)  So anyway, some people wear interesting clothes to a place where you want to walk around…never made any sense to me whatsoever.

Yum!

Before we entered the fair, we stopped at Chik-fil-A for lunch.  I had the soda and then a refill there, and loved every bit of it.  But that meant that my bladder was filled to the rim with you-know-what (it sounds disgusting to type it so I just figured you would know what it is I am referring to J).  As we were driving, I figured I would make it in time to find a bathroom, however after like, ten minutes of trying to figure out what line we had to be in (we were going to get in free because we donated books, but we didn’t know if there was a separate line for it).  We were power-walking, and with each step I thought I was going to have an accident right on the spot.  They had a bathroom outside the fair I could have gone in.  That would have been perfect, except for the fact that it was closed.  I later realized that was because it led right on into the fair, meaning you could get in without paying.  Darnett.  I really had to go and literally felt lighter once I left the ladies’ room.  Thank goodness.



I’d have to say my favorite part of the fair today, though, was the dog show.  Amazing.  Absolutely amazing.  Chewy was my favorite dog, who caught many Frisbees, jumped rope…and did a backflip.  Can you believe it?  This dog did backflips.  BACKFLIPS!!!  I could not believe my eyes.  It was absolutely amazing, stunning, mind-blowing, eye-bulging, and most of all, scary.  I was afraid Chewy was going to fall down and hurt herself, but she jumped so high, there would be no way she could hurt herself even if she mucked up a bit.  (Did you like that word?  Mucked.  I stole it from the U.K. guys form a soccer camp I did…  One of them said it and I liked how it sounded!  J  I’m a word-stealer.  Shameful!  Despicable!)



Yum!...X2!



Later today, I had a soft pretzel, loaded with salt (bad for my health!  I know!  Stop telling me that!  Goodness, you guys are acting like my mom!).  I was so full from it, but it was super yummy and my belly groaned in delight afterward.  We actually had to go on a mission to find some.  Pretzel Impossible (though it wasn’t impossible at all because we found some.  Whatever).  I had another soda (and I had to answer Mother Nature once again.  I was punished).  It was good though, my tasty Diet Pepsi.

Besides all of the food I ate, I was crazy-low today.  I had a lot of glucose to raise my blood sugar, but it just wasn’t enough.  The culprit of my low syndrome today was the fat in my wonderful chicken sandwich from lunch, and the delicious waffle fries.  So at least I know why my numbers were dropping so much.  That’s a plus!



Fun!



Are you jealous of my day so far?  J  You will be once I tell you that my dog Lucy caught on to some of the tricks I saw at the dog show today right away (now, don’t start thinking she is going to do a backflip or anything risky like that.  I can’t lose my little Lucy!  But she did walk on her hind legs a bit!).  She’s a very fast learner and is crazy-smart.  Or just crazy! J



So on that note, go on back to your checkers game, your Scrabble board, your Monopoly play.  But just remember…  Keep up the “FAIR”-play!  Get it?  Because I went to the fair today?!  What, you think that’s lame?!  Yeah, I know!  I heard you the first time!  Yep, I heard you…L for loser. J

My Celebrity Poems

Celebrities.  Today I am going to write a couple poems devoted to some of them.  I hand-picked these individuals to be the topic of today’s post.  Now that I’ve introduced today’s theme, I think you can guess what it is I am going to say next.  If you can’t, here it goes.

Let’s start off with Randy Jackson.  He would’ve wanted to break the ice and go first.  So it will be.

My name is Randy Jackson and I’m always shaven-clean.

I have a habit of saying, “Dawg”, and I’ve never been too lean.

Have you heard of Mariah Carrey?--yeah, I produced her songs, too.

My look is very stylish-funky colors, and a watch that always looks new.

American Idol is the show I judge, the ratings never low.

My name is Randy Jackson, and I love my very popular show.

“Sorry, dawg, it was a little pitchy!”

This next one is for the one and only…Zac Efron.  Hope you like it.

You act, sing, dance, you do everything someone possibly can.

If you lived long ago, you would be the ultimate Renaissance man.

In High School Musical 1, 2, 3, you were a star.

Hairspray, Charlie St. Cloud, you are my favorite celeb from afar.

Zac Efron, you bring talent right on into this earth.

You make the world a better place, right from the day you were birthed.

Here’s another one, devoted to Buzz Lightyear.

“To infinity, and beyond!” I say with a deep and courageous feel.

I first believed I was a space ranger, thought everything was real.

I’m a skilled fighter and dancer when switched to my Spanish mode.

I attract many ladies, and Jesse down the long road.

I’m a curious little toy, who Andy loved when he first opened up me.

Everyone thought I was impressive, but I don’t want to brag, gee.

Woody and me weren’t on good terms before.

But now we are the best of friends, ones who always adore.

So that was my “Celebrity Poems” for the night.  Randy Jackson, Zac Efron, and Buzz Lightyear were the stars tonight, and I know they all enjoyed the attention.  Maybe other stars will be guests to my poems, but these were the lucky guys today.  So you’re welcome, buddies.  I know, it’s a special honor to appear on my blog.  J  Since it’s soooo popular.

My Quirky Little Childhood

I did some strange things as I was a child.  We all have, and today’s post is about the weird things I did, the weird habits I used to have.  So go ahead and read about my quirky past.  I know we’ve all been there…

Every day when I was little, I watched The Wizard of Oz.  I stared with joy in my heart at the screen while Dorothy wished to come back to Kansas and Toto dutifully listened to her.  I loved this movie.  Every day I sat on my couch and watched my favorite flick, not even flinching at the scary lion.  I was never scared of that movie, although now I’m a total chicken when it comes to scary movies.  The Wizard of Oz phase I went through lasted a long time, and I loved every bit of it, lingering on every single word Dorothy spoke.  This was just one of the many phases I went through when I was younger, along with wearing the same dress for many days at a time.  Without any washings between.

So like I said, for many days in a row, I wore the same dress.  I loved that dress, just like The Wizard of Oz.  This was another phase I went through that involved a fuzzy, pink dress.  I called it my lamb dress, and loved every piece of fabric in it.  I would strut my 5 year old body around the house, showing off my cool dress.  There would be no way I could wear that now.  For one, it would be embarrassing to wear the same outfit for numerous days in a row.  If that didn’t put me at the bottom of the “social pyramid”, I don’t know what would (even though, as I recall, I was never on the top.  J  I like it that way!).  Number two, as I’ve mentioned before, I am a germaphobe and I could not stand wearing the same outfit for multiple days without a washing in between.  Ew!  …and stinky!  Grody, man!

Bite me.  That’s was most people say to someone they don’t like, however in this case, that was something I did to myself.  I bit myself.  If my sister made me angry, I bit my skin.  If my mom put me in a time out, I made a deep mark right in my arm.  If my dad didn’t give me something I wanted, I sunk my teeth right on into my flesh.  Why didn’t I bite the people that gave me my hatred at the time, I don’t know.  I’ve always been kind of strange, I admit J.  Now, I wasn’t disturbed like Mike Tyson, but I just had to get my anger out somehow.  And that was just how I rolled, when I was two...

Personally, my favorite childhood memory is the one that I’m going to share now.  When I was little, my parents treated me to a white unicorn.  The horn on top of his head felt neat underneath my fingers, with its plastic-feeling material, and I loved that unicorn so very much.  But that was part of my problem.  I thought that my unicorn was a puppy.  And I was set on letting everyone know that. 

My parents would say, “Erin, that’s a unicorn.”

And I would shoot back, “It’s not a corn, it’s my puppy!”

My little five-year old ears would not stand to listen to people who told me that my Beanie Baby was a unicorn.  I wanted it to be a puppy.  And so it was!  Until all my family members began joining in the chant: “It’s not a puppy.”  I couldn’t stand it.  I loved my stuffed animal and really just wanted it to be a dog.  Dogs were the thing I loved at the time, and dogs are the things I love today.  I already had a gorgeous and sweet dog named Annie, but I wanted another.  Unicorns are make-believe and I just didn’t want to believe in them.  I wanted a fake dog, goodness!  But my family really wanted me to know that it was a unicorn, even though I understood that.  It was just a phase I had to get over (sniffle, sniffle).  I really liked my unicorn.  I actually still have him and boy, am I glad I made such a huge fuss about it.  That’s because it made for a good ending to this blog post J.

Man's (and a 13 Year Old Girl's) Best Friend

I’m a dog-lover, as you can tell from my Ode to Lucy, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered why dogs are the lucky animals to which we domesticate.  Why did we choose dogs?  Why are canines the species we feed, we house, we kiss, we cuddle, we love?  Why don’t we own and love a mountain lion, an armadillo, a kangaroo?  I know there is the occasional man or woman who owns a chimpanzee or another strange animal, but typically our houses are filled with dogs, cats, birds, and/or reptiles.  Why?  That’s what I’m trying to figure out.

My sister and I posing with Lucy as
she graduated her training class

I’m thinking that maybe dogs have become our pets over time because of how sweet they are.  I just recently came home from dinner and let Lucy out of her cage.  She was jumping around and around, her tail wagging 100 miles per hour, her face full of joy to see me and my family come back home.  I opened the cage and she came right up to me, kissing my face, bringing even more happiness into my heart with each lick.  I brought her outside so she could do her business and she came right back to me once again, licking me and trying to get as close to me as possible.  It was absolutely adorable.  It’s because of this behavior, this love dog’s feel for their people, that I can see why humans long ago chose dogs as their companions.  Because of their loyalty, their affection.  Dogs make the world go round.

Me and Annie

However, just because my dog and my friends’ dogs are all happy and sweet creatures, that doesn’t mean every single dog is.  In fact, there are many dogs that are mean and growling.  Some dogs were just born with hating dispositions, and some grew up that way because of their environment and the people who raise them.  Dogs can be mean.

Lucy! ...with a lot of hair!

It’s that reason that triggers my uncertainty on the subject.  Some dogs are the best things in the entire world…  Others are the meanest things in the entire world…  But, that’s the same thing with any animal, I presume.  Even people.  There are saints, and there are serial killers (scary!).  There are many different kinds of people and animals.  Us humans tend to draw to the happy dogs and cheerful cats.  That’s just a fact.  I just finished a book called A Dog’s Purpose and loved it.  It touched my heart as you enter the mind of a dog that goes through many lives, touching the many humans he came in contact with during his life.  It was an amazingly written book that I would recommend to any dog lover.  My Lucy is my Lucy, my litter mate (okay, not really but we wrestle like it), my schnoodle who definitely, absolutely, positively loves her life.  And I love her for that.

Introducing...The Pocket O' Everything!

Pockets…  That’s what today’s post is about: the genius invention of the pouches inside our shorts.  Today after a Mexican dinner, I’ve been 44 (to which I treated with a 6 carb smarty) and 54 (to which I treated with a 4 carb glucose tab and 5 carb crackers and cheese).  During the time I was low, I was suffering from the non-feeling in my legs and the grumbling hunger in my belly.  I wondered, at that moment, as to what I would do if I lacked a pocket in my shorts and therefore, lacked the sugar I may need if out and about.  Pockets are so very useful, with their travelling immediate storage.  What would we do without our pockets?  This Pocket O’ Everything ad will sure help you find reasons to buy your new pocket today.

Not only do us diabetics use the Pocket O’ Everything to carry sugar with us on the go, but non-diabetics have many uses for them too.  Cell phones are a simple example.  Who doesn’t have a cell phone anymore?  To carry it around, you just stick it in your new pocket you bought from us, therefore making you accessible all the time (even when you don’t want to know something, like you have to leave your friends to go home and do chores).  Yes, very, very useful, especially for parents.  Hear that, parents.  You want to buy this product.  Not just because there are many people who have to feed their families and are using Pocket O’ Everything to do so.  But also because, it helps…it helps…it helps…  I’m thinking that maybe if I keep this chant up, you will agree with me, even when I know this whole sale is a big scam.  Scratch that.  Let’s just end this paragraph with it helps.  There.  Move on.

Another pocket use is when you shove your oversized retainer case into your shorts.  It barely fits, bulging out, but it works!  It ends up looking like you slammed a tennis ball into a tiny, little pouch, but who cares?  You can also keep real tennis balls in your Pocket O’ Everything pouch too!  Keep all of your baseballs, footballs (must be a really big pocket!), and basketballs (okay, is that even possible?).  Dog toys may fit, depending on the size.  And if you want to get really crazy, try squeezing in your breakfast!  Now, your morning sausage may leave a huge grease stain on your pants, and your scrambled eggs and toast might intertwine, but you can still transport your breakfast!  From home to school, to work, to the local fair, there it is.  Just a little less fresh than when you originally started, but whatever!

My next example is that you can carry an entire outfit change right in an easily accessible place: your Pocket O’ Everthing!  Just not feeling your outfit as the day goes by?  Bring a whole other one right in your pocket and change in the bathroom!  In fact, depending on how big you buy your pocket, you can change right in there (not likely)! 

So go ahead and buy your Pocket O’ Everything today.  The pocket has been underestimated for too long, but I am putting a stop to it once and for all!  Try your Pocket O’ Everything today!

Dramatization.  Results are not likely.  Pocket O’ Everything is just a regular pocket, extremely overpriced for no reason whatsoever other than the fact that many people need this job.  The Pocket O’ Everything company is not liable for any minor harmful, seriously harmful, or possibly even fatal food mixes from our breakfast stuffed in the Pocket O’ Everything example.  Be warned that some foods mixed together may cause the three results mentioned above.  As stated, not our liability.  Good luck.

'Betes Day

We’ve all heard of Rebecca Black, the one hit wonder who frankly, can’t even be considered a “wonder”.  She was just a girl who got lucky with a song that is very repetitive, catchy, and extremely known.  There is not one single middle schooler who has not listened to Friday, and there is absolutely no one who didn’t sing it, well, every single Friday.

So today is an Ode to Rebecca Black and her infamous song.  I changed it up a bit to fit my diabetic lifestyle.  I hope you like this new rendition, and like I always say, here it goes…

7 am, waking up in the morning

Gotta test, gotta go downstairs

Gotta bolus my food, gotta wait to eat my loot

Seein’ Lola give insulin takes long

.1, .2, four seconds in between

Gotta eat, my tummy’s growling, waiting is mean

Gotta wait ’cause of the morning high

Gotta wait, I’m hungry!--another minute more and I might die

Kickin’ my blood sugar in the butt

Runnin’ to kick it in the butt

Gotta take my runnin’ juice

What amount of sugar should I take?

It’s ’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s lookin’ forward to a day where I don’t have to test my ’sugar

’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s waiting for a day where I don’t have to prick my finger

I would party, party (Yeah)

I would party, party (Yeah)

I can just hope, hope, hope

For a day where I don’t have to test

8:00, I get back from my run

Sweaty, hot, and low again, darn

Blood sugar will come up, think about up

You know what could happen

I got sugar, my needed sugar

My meter is by my right

I got it, my blood sugar is better

Now I can continue on

Kickin’ my blood sugar in the butt

Living my life to kick it in the butt

Gotta decide what I want to do

What meter should I take?

It’s ’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s lookin’ forward to a day I don’t need to give insulin

’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s waiting for a day where I don’t have to do this

I would party, party (Yeah)

I would party, party (Yeah)

I can just wait, wait, wait

For a day I don’t have to bolus

Yesterday was ’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Today it is ’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

I-I-I wish it wasn’t

But every day is

I’m gonna have to do another test soon

Tomorrow is ’Betes Day

And another ’Betes Day comes afterwards

I really want all these ’Betes Days to end

D-B, Diabetes

Doing another site change (site change)

Every three days (three days)

A 13 millimeter needle (Uh huh, uh huh)

Clean up my thigh, sticky up my thigh

Wit’ a mark from my last on my right

Waiting for the needle to puncture me

3, 2, 1--Darn it hurts!--Wanna scream

Waste of 15 minutes, another ’Betes Day

That wasn’t very fun, c’mon, c’mon, why do you torture me?

It’s ’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s lookin’ forward to a day I don’t have to weigh my food

’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s waiting for a day where I don’t have to pull out a scale

I would party, party (Yeah)

I would party, party (Yeah)

I can just want, want, want,

For a day I don’t need to count how many carbs

It’s ’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s lookin’ forward to a day I don’t need to lick my blood

’Betes Day, ’Betes Day

Every single day is ’Betes Day

Everybody’s waiting for a day where I don’t have to clean up my blood

I would party, party (Yeah)

I would party, party (Yeah)

I can just wish, wish, wish

For a day I don’t have to taste blood

Dedication------Rebecca Black, you musical prodigy, thank you for giving me something to write about today.  I have you to thank; you are the one that made this possible.