Kay

Love

2011-02-08T03:27:00Z

Long time, no blog. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway...

...this might be depressing. Especially since I haven't even posted on here in about a year. It's like, "HI! I'm back. Want to hear something boring/depressing that will more than likely turn into me just venting?"

I guess I should start by saying that I still hate diabetes. Yep, that hasn't changed. I'm in the best control of my life right now, but I still hate it.

I hate it for making me different. So different. So different that I wonder if I'll ever find 'the one' for me. I don't know if it's because Valentine's Day is coming up or there are so many marriages around me or what. But, I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever find someone.

Is there a guy out there for me that can handle all this crazy? And I don't mean the regular crazy that everyone has in his or her life. I mean the diabetes crazy. It's a lot of a special kind of crazy.

It's a lot of needles, blood, poking, carb counting, insulin, insurance battles, DexCom sites, pump tubing, emotional breakdowns, highs, lows, fears for the future, explanations, confusion, doctor appointments, etc... And it's every. single. damn. day. And it doesn't let up.

I can deal with it most of the time. Because it's all I've ever known. I've been doing it day in and day out since I was three. Why would someone, who doesn't have to live with this, want to come into this amount of crazy?

I know I've scared boys/men off throughout the years because of "all the blood" or a low or the "organ" sitting in my pocket attached to me by a tube. It's probably best that I scare them off early on. I think it'd be worse to be really invested in someone and then have them bail out when it gets serious.

I know plenty of type 1 diabetics find 'the one' and live happily ever after.

I'm just beginning to wonder if it'll ever happen to me.

Well, that's over. OK. Happiness from here on out.

PS I know I'm only 22. "You're young! Don't worry about it! You have plenty of time for love." Still, I'm annoyed. :)

Beeps

2010-01-27T20:25:00Z

I love my insulin pump. And I love my CGM. They’ve completely changed how I manage my diabetes and are helping me live a longer and healthier life.

But they never shut up.

I’m constantly beeping.

It could be that I’m low or high and missed the first vibrations from my CGM.

Or it could be that I’m bolusing.

Or my pod’s 72 hour warning.

Or it’s been 80 hours and I NEED TO CHANGE MY POD!

Or it’s my pod failing while priming.

It could be that I didn’t feel the vibrations from underneath my pillow and now DexCom is blaring in my ear waking me up.

Or sometimes it’s just my language that should probably be beeped out when one of these other beeps is DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY CRAZY. :)

Ignorance

2009-10-27T17:23:00Z

The following letter was published in the Idaho State Journal in the Letters to the Editor section on October 25, 2009.

Complaint:

On Oct. 3, myself and my girlfriend were eating lunch at Burger King. A family came in and sat across the aisle from us. While the father was ordering food, we were shocked and appalled to see a boy inject himself with whatever medication, in front of God and everybody all while sitting at the table. We found this extremely offensive. That sort of business should be done in private. How about a little respect for those around you. Other than the obvious fact that it’s not sanitary for those who use the table next, you have no idea how something like that can affect people. People go through a lot in their life and things like that may bring up certain feelings and memories best forgotten. I would like to thank those that day for totally ruining my meal.

From the other d-blogs out there I’ve read that this gem of a comment came from a Mr. Wallace Barber. I read about this at http://diabetesaliciousness.blogspot.com/ and there are many other blogs with similar posts.

This is my response:

Mr. Barber,

Your letter to the editor published on October 25 was one of the most uneducated, ignorant, moronic letters I have ever read. From the explanation in your letter I would assume that this young boy has Type 1 Diabetes. It is because of people like you that many young Type 1 Diabetics are ashamed of their disease. Luckily I have never been ashamed of my disease. I thank God every day that my parents didn’t hide my disease in a restaurant’s restroom just to make people like you more comfortable. Yes, there were times we would quickly dart to the restroom to check my blood sugar and inject insulin. But those times were the exception, not the rule.

I distinctly remember attending a Nebraska Cornhusker football game that ran into my meal time. At the time I was on a strict NPH and regular insulin regimen that required specific food exchanges at specific times or extreme low blood sugar could occur. Now, I don’t expect you to know anything about that as you are so ignorant. Ah, but I digress. Why would my mom and I leave a game during the fourth quarter to hide in a filthy stadium restroom to check my blood sugar and give myself an injection of insulin? We did not leave. I poked my finger and injected insulin in front of 70,000+ people in Memorial Stadium in Lincoln, Nebraska.

There was nothing I could’ve done to prevent this disease. Nothing. When I was three years old the beta cells in my pancreas quit producing insulin. Every single day since December 16, 1991 I have had to inject myself with insulin just to stay alive. I didn’t ask for this. But I am living my best with this chronic disease. And I will continue to live like this until there is a cure.

Mr. Barber, I hope that you never have a friend or family member diagnosed with this disease. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. But I do hope you do something about your ignorance. Unlike diabetes, there’s a cure for that: education.

Kay Ritzdorf

Omaha, Nebraska

If you would like to respond it can be done here:

http://www.idahostatejournal.com/service/editor.html

I received this email shortly after submitting my letter to the editor:

Kay,

We’re no longer accepting letters on Mr. Barber. We’ve gotten a ton already and feel like all the letters are just repeating the same thing.

We might do a story on the controversy. Mr. Barber upset a lot of people, nationwide.

Ian Fennell, Idaho State Journal editor

Just repeating the same thing? Yeah, kind of like the blood sugar checks and insulin injections/pump changes that I, and all other diabetics, repeat every day. I guess Mr. Barber has an ignorant companion in Mr. Fennell.

Really?

2009-10-21T04:35:00Z

I was at school all day today. From 8:00 AM to 7:30 PM. And my blood sugar was high for most of the day. So I just wanted to curl up under my electric blanket and nap the day away and occasionally surface into reality to down some water. But, that was not what happened.

Instead I had to sit through class after class after class after class while drinking water and subsequently trotting off to the restroom much more than usual. And I fought constant fatigue that had my head bobbing throughout most of pharmacology. I really have no idea what we talked about today. I also spent most of the day extremely crabby and just wanting to not talk to anyone.

So, I sat down in the lobby of our main building to just breathe for a second. I got out my binder for my next class, opened up to the next power point and propped my feet up. Then I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I was out but the next thing I knew my classmate “M” was sitting next to me repeatedly hitting me to wake me up. Seriously. What is wrong with you, M? Why would you do that? I was obviously enjoying my nap. Why ruin it for me?

“Hey, Kay. Why aren’t you sitting with our pharm group? We’re studying for the test next week.”

Oh my gosh. Why are you waking me up. I hate you right now. I’m high and I just want to sleep and be alone. Quit touching me. Leave me alone!

“Oh, hey, M. I’m just kind of tired. I don’t want to study yet. I’ll start studying this weekend. I just kind of want alone time right now. Nothing wrong, just want to be alone.”

“Come on, don’t be a loner. Come study with us!”

Leave me the eff alone. I don’t want to study with you. In fact I don’t even want to see your face right now. Just go away.

“It’s really OK, M. My blood sugar is actually high right now so I don’t really feel like talking with anyone. I just kind of want to be left alone. I’m crabby and tired. And I’m thirsty so I’m going to go get a Diet Coke. It’s nothing against you guys but I just want to be left alone.”

“Oh, what’s your blood sugar right now?”

“276.”

“Do you need your medicine?”

Um, my insulin? Don’t you remember anything that we were just tested on? We went over this stuff as a class for a week and just had a test over it yesterday. How do you not understand this basic stuff yet? What is wrong with you? I’m going to guess that you failed that test.

“I gave myself a correction bolus to bring it down but it’s been high all day so I don’t really know what’s going on. But I just want to be left alone.”

“Do you need to go home? That’s a really high number. I can take notes for you and B can take notes in your last class of the day.”

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you but I can’t just take the day off every time I have a high. That’s not realistic. I just have to deal with feeling like crap for a while.”

“Oh, OK. But at least highs aren’t as bad as lows.”

OK, I’m sure of it. You failed that test.

“Um, no. They’re both bad. Sustained highs can lead to deadly complications. All those complications we studied for the test? Yeah, those are all real and very scary to me. Those are my reality. Lows can be immediately dangerous but it’s the highs that add up in the long run. Reading about going blind or losing a limb is just reading to you. It’s complete and total reality for me. It could happen. I’m going to go get some Diet Coke now. I’ll talk to you in class later.”

“Hmmm, OK. I’ll see you in class I guess.”

Wow, did that conversation really just happen? We just took a test over this. Aren’t you supposed to know some of this by now? Oh. My. God. Definitely time for a Diet Coke. I sure am thirsty. Really? Did that just happen? Really?

ER

2009-09-11T02:48:00Z

E.R. Those two little letters suck. Big time.

I had my very first trip to the emergency room this morning. And it was scary.

I was already at the hospital for clinical. It was our first day actually in the hospital so we were just doing some orientation and paperwork and that kind of stuff. Then we shadowed a nurse for about a half hour and were going to meet back up to review the computer system and make sure all of our codes worked correctly.

It was during this half hour of shadowing that I crashed…kind of. I was in a patient room with the nurse and all of the sudden I felt low. I excused myself and checked my blood sugar. 143 mg/dL. “Hmm. That’s odd. I feel low.” I had one glucose tab because I figured that maybe I just had a quick drop and needed a little bit of sugar. And even if I was wrong one glucose tab wasn’t going to send me into the blood sugar stratosphere. So, I popped a grape glucose tab and was on my way. I went back to the patient room and my classmate asked if I was OK. I told her I was fine and ready to go.

But five minutes later I was feeling worse. I’d started sweating and standing up seemed really, really difficult. I grabbed my PDM and checked again, this time making sure to really clean off my finger just in case I’d had something on them the last time. I checked and I was 166 mg/dL. OK, something was up. I knew I was low. I know my low symptoms and I was experiencing them. Hard core.

I was just sitting in a chair and crashing. One of my classmates noticed that I wasn’t OK and asked me what was wrong. I couldn’t answer her. All I could say was, “Low.” My instructor came over and was asking me questions that I couldn’t answer. She had someone go and get me juice while she kept asking me questions. I started to sip the juice but I felt so nauseous that I could hardly finish it. I laid my head on the desk and tried to stay awake.

My instructor said I was as white as my scrub top and I was drenched in sweat. My bangs were plastered to my forehead and I felt drops of sweat rolling down my neck and back. I couldn’t form a sentence and my vision was flashing in and out. I was truly fighting to just stay conscious. I asked my instructor if I could just lay down and she wanted to know if I could make it to an empty patient room to lay there. I knew I couldn’t walk so I said no and just slid out of my chair to lean against the wall underneath the desk.

That’s when she called and got a wheelchair for me and told me she was taking me to the ER whether I liked it or not. She asked if I could check one last time before we went down there to see what my blood sugar was. I could but I couldn’t stop shaking and she had to help me. 191 mg/dL. That was when I started to cry.

I was so confused and embarrassed and there were 10 people standing around me all worried. I was embarrassed beyond belief because this stuff never happens to me.

My instructor rolled me down to the ER and I was checked in. I was finally starting to think and form sentences. But it was hard. They asked all kinds of questions which were difficult for me to answer because my brain was still lagging and the tears wouldn’t stop rolling down my cheeks.

They checked my blood sugar with a hospital meter and it was 166 mg/dL. I was put in a room and the nurse came in and asked a ton of questions. I was poked and prodded and hooked up to a couple of machines. They rolled the EKG machine in and slapped those sensors on me. They drew some blood. The doctor came in and asked more questions and did a couple of things. By this time I was feeling more ‘with it’ but everything was still slow.

Then I was left alone. For over an hour. With the door shut. And no access to the call light. The reason I was admitted to the ER was because of almost passing out from a “non-low” low blood sugar. Something’s going on. Maybe it’s just me, but if my patient was in the ER for something diabetes related I’d be checking on her frequently to make sure she wasn’t crashing again. Or at least have the door open. But, hey, that’s just me.

Over an hour later the nurse opened the door and my instructor was there to see how I was doing. She gave me my book bag which had my cell phone in it and I called my mom right away. I cried through the entire conversation. I was scared. I’ve never been to the ER before and I was there by myself. At this time I’d just tweeted that I was in the ER so I had all of my awesome Twitter friends replying to make me feel less alone.

My mom called my aunt who lives in Omaha and she came to the hospital right away and held my hand for a while and just made me feel better. It’s always good to have family there when you’re scared. And my family is the best. My aunt is amazing and I’m so thankful she came and kept me company for a while.

The doctor came back in and said that there was nothing wrong with me. He didn’t know what happened. But he recommended contacting my endocrinologist soon to see what she could tell me.

I was feeling fine by this time and was ready to be discharged. My blood sugar when I left was 176 mg/dL. My aunt took me out to lunch because she said I needed some ‘mothering’ and since my mom was almost two hours away she was going to take over. I love her!

So, I’m still a little scared. I felt low, low, low. But two different meters said I was fine, fine, fine. I don’t know what’s going on and that scares me. I just hope this doesn’t happen again. Because I know there’s a good chance I won’t be in a hospital if it does happen again. I’m freaked out and my parents are worried too. We don’t know what happened and that’s scary. I’ve been on the phone with them all day. I wish they lived in Omaha so I could just curl up on the couch between Mom and Dad and let them take care of the diabetes for a day like I did when I was little.

I hate the ER and I hate diabetes for sending me there. Today was crappy, but tomorrow can only get better. You’re not going to get the best of me, diabetes.

Fiddle-dee-dee

2009-08-07T02:38:00Z

I wrote this for something else, but realized that I haven't posted a blog since like...MARCH. So, I thought I'd put it up here for you all to read and enjoy. :)

This afternoon I spent several hours down at The Riverfront in downtown Omaha. I also spent that time with my besties Scarlett and Rhett.

I’ve read Gone With the Wind more times than I can count. It’s my favorite book ever. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if the South would’ve won. I mean, not in real life. I like how that turned out. I mean in Scarlett’s life. I’m sure she would’ve had quite the different life. I’m sure she would’ve married Rhett, though. Those two were meant to be together.

I also like to imagine what it would be like to live in Gone With the Wind. To be a southern belle and go to parties and barbeques and not have a care in the world. The thought of living through the Civil War doesn’t quite appeal to me, but I do wonder what it would be like to live in that time period.

But then I get sensible. And realize that I wouldn’t have lived past the age of four. I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was three years old. Three year olds who were quickly losing weight, constantly thirsty, wetting the bed, unusally fatigued and extremely crabby were not ushered off to a hospital. They were not diagnosed with diabetes. Their parents never spoke to an endocrinologist. They were not started on insulin. They were not given a meter to check their blood sugars.

Instead they died. And died quickly. Before death they were in a constant state of diabetes ketoacidosis (DKA). Nowadays DKA is avoided and any trace of ketones, no matter how small, is a huge alarm that something is wrong. In these modern times DKA warrants a trip and usually an extended stay in a hospital.

I’ve been in DKA before. And let me tell you, it’s not fun. I was thirstier than I’d ever been. I was peeing every 20 minutes. My breathing was shallow. I couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs. I couldn’t have a long conversation. I had a massive headache. I was crabby. My breath smelled like acetone. I was throwing up several times a day. My nerves were on fire.

And that was only for a short while. Then I injected insulin and within an hour I felt much better. If I had been one of Scarlett’s cohorts I wouldn’t have been able to inject myself with insulin. I just would’ve continued to slowly waste away until I died.

So, yes, while I love to imagine living in the South and helping The Cause I realize that I wouldn’t have made it. I would’ve been rotting away in grave trampled by Yankees.

I’m so thankful that I was diagnosed with this disease in 1991 and not 1850. Yes, it sucks. And yes, there are days when I hate it so much I want to scream. But at least I’m alive to hate it. At least I’m alive to use fast-acting insulin. At least I have a meter that counts down in less five seconds. At least I can check my blood sugar 10-12 times a day. At least I’m alive to wear an insulin pump. At least I’m alive to know the word OmniPod. At least I made it past four.

And my dear, I do give a damn about that.

I've Hit a Wall

2009-03-18T02:54:00Z

I’ve hit a wall. And it’s not the same type of wall that I accidentally bumped into just a few minutes ago in my kitchen. It’s a big, ugly, 296 mile high wall. And as I’m looking up the wall nasty creatures are dropping things like high blood sugars and thoughts filled with doubt.

Today was not a good day. I spent all of the morning high and feeling terrible only to drop fast this afternoon and feel a different kind of terrible. Now I’ve finally stabilized these dang blood sugars but am physically and mentally exhausted.

When my blood sugars resemble a roller coaster I feel like crap. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. I don’t want to do homework. I don’t want to study for tests. I just want to sit and not do anything. And that not wanting to do anything includes not thinking. I’ve been thinking all day. Thinking about my highs this morning. Thinking about how my workout should affect my blood sugars. Thinking about my frustrations after my blood sugars don’t match up with what should’ve happened. Thinking about feeling like crap. Thinking about being thirsty. Thinking about being tired. Thinking about my next blood sugar. Thinking about how the room kind of looks fuzzy and that all of the sudden I got really sweaty. Thinking I should probably check my blood sugar. Thinking that I dropped really fast. Thinking that glucose tabs get really monotonous. Thinking if I should bolus to prevent a rebound high. Thinking that I’m tired. Thinking that I don’t want to think about this anymore. Can’t I just sit back and not think?

So, here I am. At this wall. Occasionally, I’ve hit walls before. And eventually I’ve been able to break through or go around them. And I’m just so ready to get past this wall. This is the first wall that’s made me doubt my ability to care for my diabetes.

I mean, I’ve had this disease for over 17 years. I’ve researched everything. In my spare time I read up on every fact out there. I use a pump. I check almost religiously. I try to eat similar foods at similar times every day. My workouts are consistent. So why can’t I just control this thing? As a perfectionist and control-freak this disease frustrates me. If I’m doing everything right, why isn’t it working?

Sure, there are days when everything plays out fine and it all works out, but this is not one of those days. This is a day when diabetes gets the best of me. It controls me. And I don’t like that. I hate that. I try not to let it get to me and I know I shouldn’t, but today is just one of those days.

So, I’m just going to wait it out. I’m going to hang out for a little bit. I’m going to wait for it to get better. I’m going to wait for my blood sugars to get back in range. Because that’s all I can do. When I hit these walls I just have to chill out for a little bit. It’s almost like I have to build up energy and motivation to break it down. Because if I try to do it now there’s no way I’m going to be able to scale this wall.

And I have to remember that I’ve made it over 17 years. If I can make it this far then I can keep going. I’m not going to let myself just stop at this wall after 17 years of hard work.

Would I Be Me?

2009-03-07T01:33:00Z

Would I be the same person if I hadn’t been diagnosed with diabetes? Would I be completely different? Would my personality be different? Would the characteristics that make me Kay not exist? Would I have the same friends? Would I have chosen a completely different path?

I’ve always had to be prepared for any diabetic emergency. I have juice, glucose tabs, granola bars, alcohol swabs, extra pods, Novolog, Lantus, extra test strips, glucagon and every other supply you could possibly imagine. But this preparedness translates to my everyday life. Everyone knows that I have extra gum, pens, pencils, bandaids, chapstick and plenty of other things.

I overpack for every trip I’ve ever been on. Do I really need 13 pairs of socks for a weekend trip? No, I don’t think so. But they’re all shoved into the bottom of my suitcase. And do I really need to have five blue pens, five black pens, five pencils and extras of everything else in my bookbag? Again, no. But I never know when I’ll actually need that extra juice box that I packed.

Why do I feel the need to buy three bottles of shampoo when I know that I’ll only need one for now? Is it because I always have an urge to have extra bottles of insulin? I’m always checking the amount of bread left so that I can buy some more when it’s ¾ gone. I have a fear of running out of something that I think is related to being terrified of running out of insulin or test strips.

Would I be so obsessed with having extras of everything if I wasn’t diabetic? Would I have grown up not noticing how many pop cans were left in the fridge? Would I add something to my shopping list only when it was completely gone? I honestly don’t know.

Also, I’m a clock-watcher. I always have to know what time it is. Is this because I was on such a strict schedule growing up? Because of the peakage (is that a word?) of NPH I was required to eat a snack at a certain time. Ever since I could tell time I’ve constantly focused on what time it was. And you’d think that now that I use a pump I’d drop that clock-watcher characteristic. Not a chance of that ever happening. I’m one of those annoying people who believe that being early is on time and being on time is late. Is it because of my clock-watching past that I find it so crucial to be early now?

I like to be organized. I keep all of my diabetic supplies in the exact same place and even tend to date the boxes when I get them from the pharmacy. I like to keep my purse organized. Everything has its place. Well, except for my bedroom. I couldn’t keep that room clean and organized if you paid me. It’s impossible. So, except for my bedroom, I’m organized and know exactly where everything goes.

There are many other characteristics that are a part of me that I constantly question. I know diabetes has changed my life in so many ways. But sometimes I’m just curious to know who I’d be if I wasn’t diabetic. Would I be the same? Would I be going to nursing school? Would anything in my life be the same?

I sure hope so, because I love my life. I love my family. I love my friends. I love being organized. I love being early. I love being prepared. I love who diabetes has made me.

Humor

2009-02-24T07:27:00Z

Humor. Outside of my diabetes team it’s the most important factor in keeping me healthy. If I wasn’t able to laugh about this disease I wouldn’t be sane. Yeah, my blood sugar is constantly on my mind but I’m also thinking of so many other things. Many times it’s a limerick or lame joke (seriously, I’m a professional lame joke teller). And a lot of times those limericks, lame jokes and other thoughts are diabetes related.

Before last semester started I had to attend the mandatory, always boring, orientation/introduction day to NMC. There were ice-breakers aplenty. My table was going through the “List the Top 3 Things You Can’t Live Without” routine. Here were my answers:

My fam
A really good pair of flip-flops
Insulin

Number three just warranted several odd looks from my table-mates. Then I pulled out my meter, pen (this was pre-pump) and checked and gave a shot without saying a word. They all thought this was the weirdest thing they’d ever seen. Then I said, “Oh I forgot, by the way, I’m a Type 1 Diabetic.” The table let out their collective breath and smiled. That was way more effective than the list of ice-breakers planned by our instructors.

At the beginning of our hospital portion of clinical we all had to introduce ourselves and say something medically related that we’d experienced. The people before me had ACL repairs, broken arms, etc… And the instructor was giving us nicknames based on what we told her. So we had Knee, Vein, Arm…you get the picture. Well it was my turn and of course I said I was a diabetic and showed my pump, blah, blah, blah. The usual. “So, I guess you can call me, Pancreas.” The instructor liked it and is still calling me Pancreas even though my classmates’ nicknames are no longer used. But I don’t mind, I think it’s perfectly fine.

When I go out to eat with a certain group of friends one of them will ask me what my pancreas is hungry for.

Another friend will blame everything I do on my diabetes (jokingly, of course). “Kay, I know why you wore those ugly shoes today. You’re diabetic.”

Even one of my bosses will smile and loudly inquire about my drug use for the day.

And I have a lame pick-up line that I’ve been dying to use since I thought of it in high school. “You’re so sweet, you’re sending me into DKA!” I doubt I’ll ever use it, but it would be AWESOME if I ever got the chance.

And I’ve been known to say that I wear my pancreas on my arm or back. Of course, meaning my pump.

And come on, I’ve named my pump “O.” That way when it’s on me, which is always, I’m O Kay. OK. Get it? Get it? My blood sugar is OK.

When I’m bored in class I write limericks about anything and everything. Justin Timberlake, the weather, cats, state basketball. You name it, I’ve written a limerick about it. And diabetes definitely isn’t left out.

I’m a Type 1 Diabetic

My pancreas is really quite pathetic

This constant insulin game

Is thanks to an organ that’s lame

It’s really less useful than a stick

I’ve often been asked why my purse is so massive. I don’t say a word and just pull out my meter, back-up meter, extra pod, alcohol swabs, Novolog and Lantus pens, extra strips, glucagon, juice boxes, peanut butter crackers, suckers, fruit snacks and every other diabetic necessity out there. If my purse would ever be stolen I would be an utter disaster. But when friends see me lugging my Montana-sized purse around they always laugh.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I totally understand that this is a serious disease that can wreak havoc on my life and body (heck, I’ve been there, I know first hand). But if I couldn’t laugh about it, it would be way worse.

I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that I was a terrible diabetic for a while there. But now I’m in better control and living each day as it comes. Each day presents new challenges related to my diabetes and if I’d let each and every one bring me down I’d be a mess. Instead of looking at my 300 mg/dL reading on my meter and crying out of frustration I’ve found that it works better to be upset for a second and then joke about how much my pancreas hates me while I bolus to bring it down. It makes it easier for me to live with it everyday.

I’ve found that it makes those around me less nervous about it if I’m able to poke fun at it. There’s no need for those near me to be constantly nervous if I’m not.

My endocrinologist does a great job interpreting my blood sugars, my podiatrist was a pro at cutting out my nasty ingrown toenail, my ophthalmologist eases my fears about my changing vision, my family is supportive and my friends keep me sane. But what ties it all together is my sense of humor and ability to laugh and joke about diabetes.

So, I’ll leave you with one of my favorite diabetic jokes.

“Hey, you want a cookie?”

“No, thank you.”

“Come on, what’s better than a cookie?”

“Not being diabetic.”

Hahahahahahahahahaha, gets me every time.

It's Everywhere

2009-02-07T17:55:00Z

It’s everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. School, work, home, at the mall, EVERYWHERE.

If I really stop and think about it I see diabetes almost everywhere in my life.

School. I’m currently a nursing student. In all of my classes diabetes is mentioned almost daily. “Remember to pay special attention to the patient’s feet because he is a diabetic.” “The nutrition needs for a diabetic will be different than those for a non-diabetic.” “Type 1 is autoimmune.” I hear about in clinical, Health Assessment, Pathophysiology and even my Sociology class.

The other day I walked into an open skills lab and put my bag by a table. I looked on the table and found a tub of maroon and orange topped vials. A whole tub of Humulin and Humalog. All expired. Then I eavesdropped as two of the other students practiced mixing insulin. I just wanted to interject and tell them what they were doing wrong. “No, you put air into both of the bottles first. Air in Humulin. Air in Humalog. Turn it upside down and pull out enough Humalog. Then pull out the correct amount of Humulin. No, you can’t push it back into the Humulin if you get too much.” Of course I just sat across the room and listened without saying anything, but oh the things I could’ve taught them. It’s been years since I’ve had to mix insulin, but I’ll never forget how to do it.

Work. I have a part-time job at Target. I’m a cashier and I work in the photo lab and at Guest Service. I was putting new tickets on clearance items and I looked up and saw someone stop at the counter and pull a black bag out of his pants pocket. He unzipped it and discreetly poked his finger and put a drop of blood on a test strip. Before I could even say anything he zipped it all up and was gone.

Then the other day I was cashiering and a dad and his daughter came through the lane. He bought several items including some Rolo’s. “Dad, Dad, I want a Rolo. Can I have a Rolo, please? Dad, Dad!” Well he was signing on the card machine so I didn’t think anything of him being a little distracted and not hearing his daughter’s plea for candy. It happens quite a bit actually. But then he finished paying and as I tried to hand him the receipt he still seemed kind of distracted. He turned to his daughter and said, “Well, 20 minutes ago in the car you were 206 and we corrected for that. So just look at the carbs. Give me a second and I’ll figure out how many are in just one. Then we’ll see what we'll bolus for that.”

I just started smiling. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was done paying. My daughter’s a…” “...Type 1 Diabetic. I am too!” It was probably rude of me to interrupt. But I just couldn’t resist. “Did you hear that, honey? She’s diabetic, just like you!” “Really? What pump do you use? Do you want to see mine? It’s blue, my favorite color. That’s so cool.” “I actually use the OmniPod, I love it. Of course I want to see your pump. I wish mine could come in my favorite color.” Her dad seemed pretty interested in my OmniPod and asked a couple of questions. And it turns out we both wear our Medic Alert ID's as bracelets. I didn’t learn her name but I’ve seen her a couple more times while I’ve been working and we always share a little wink and a wave.

Home. Well, not my home-home like where I grew up. Diabetes is all over my home-home. But I mean my home as in my apartment. One of my roommates is dating a T1. And when he comes to visit there’s an extra vial of insulin sitting in our refrigerator. There’s extra test strips in the trash can. It’s weird thinking that out of the four of us sitting in the living room two of us have pumps. Two of us are expert carb counters. It’s kind of nice when the percentage jumps from 33.3% to 50%.

At the mall. I was shopping the other day and walked to the food court for lunch. I strolled on over to Runza and as I passed a table I looked down and saw a little girl and her mom. Her mom was leaning across the table untangling tubing. I continued to watch as she reached for the pump and pushed a couple of buttons. I turned to the person I was with and got very excited. “That girl has diabetes. Her mom is giving her a bolus right now. Awesome.”

It’s true. Diabetes really is everywhere. And that's awesome.

Things I'm Scared Of

2009-01-30T05:41:00Z

Things I’m scared of:

Maybe I won’t ever be able to get my A1C down.

My eye doctor told me that the reason I had to recently get glasses was simply because my eyes changed. But I think it was really because of my bad control.

Kidney failure.

I could get in a car accident from not noticing a low and kill someone else.

I won’t get married because there isn’t anyone out there for me who wants to deal with this.

If I do get married and have children one or all of them could be diabetic.

Always needing to have a good job and insurance to cover insulin, etc…

Diabulimia…again.

I don’t want to lose a foot. I like walking.

One of my brothers being diagnosed with T1.

Not taking some amazing trip to some amazing place because I don't want to be too far from a pharmacy.

Clipping my toenails.

Not being prepared.

Peeing a lot.

Neuropathy.

And, big dogs.

What Do I Even Call This One?

2009-01-21T01:49:00Z

I’m a recovering diabulimic. There, I said it. Now, let me tell you my story.

In high school I had a very tough time. I got so sick of following a plan. I just ate and ate and ate. And of course if you eat more you’re going to gain weight. Duh. And at that time I was covering it with insulin. And I mean insane amounts of insulin. Like 150 units of Humalog at a time. That’s how much I was eating.

This is because I’ve never felt hungry or full. And that’s because I had such a structured plan growing up. I just ignored those feelings because they didn’t matter. If I was hungry I could have a free food. But that’s not what I always wanted. And If I didn’t want to eat I had to. I had to have exactly 30 g of carbohydrates at 8:30 before bed. No question about it. My feelings didn’t matter.

It’s like I have a numb organ in the middle of my body. I just don’t ever feel hungry or full. I think that’s why I was able to eat so much.

Anyway, obviously I gained weight. A lot of weight. I didn’t like that. So, I quit giving my insulin. At the time I didn’t know what I was doing had a name. I just remembered losing a lot of weight when I was diagnosed. So I went back to that. And magically, my weight dropped off. But I felt like CRAP. But, I kept stuffing my face and never feeling full. And I just kept losing weight. Magic, pure magic. Except that it was deadly magic.

I couldn’t sleep lying down because the second I went horizontal, acid would creep up my esophagus. I couldn’t concentrate. Let me tell you, AP Calculus is even harder when you’re on a constant DKA border. I could never catch my breath. Going up the stairs was the hardest thing in the world. I drank gallons of water a day. I ran to the bathroom between every class to throw up. I slept hours upon hours. Looking back on it I was probably a step away from death.

My A1C at this time was above 16. Seriously. Yes, I know how terrible that number is. I wasn’t testing, wasn’t giving insulin. I was living like a person without diabetes. But it was deadly. Right now I’m wondering how I’m still alive.

This is the reason why my mom doesn’t trust me. Several years of lying about blood sugars, giving insulin and what I ate completely blew away all of the trust she had in me. And honestly, I can’t blame her.

My first year of college didn’t get much better. Until one night. I woke up in the middle of the night to throw up. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. It was happening almost every night. And in a college dorm no one is really going to think anything’s weird about a girl throwing up in the bathroom at 3:00 in the morning. Sometimes I had drunk girls throwing up next to me. What a good way to bond.

Well this night was bad. Really bad. I threw up and went back to my room. But I passed out right inside the door. The door was left open and thankfully one of my neighbors got up to use the restroom. She thought it was weird that I was asleep on the floor and my door was open. Thank God she shook me awake. All I could think was, “INSULIN. IF I’M GOING TO LIVE I NEED INSULIN.” I have no idea how I did it, but I gave myself a massive shot. I owe my life to my neighbors.

That was enough to make me stop. It wasn’t an overnight thing. It’s taken about two years. It’s been really hard on me. I’ve kind of used my parents for help. But I feel like a disappointment when I ask them. So I’ve tried to do it on my own. It’s taken a very long time.

And I can honestly tell you that I check my blood sugar at least seven times a day now. And I always give my insulin. Always. I’m on a pump so I kind of don’t have a choice anymore. And thank goodness for that.

But I’ve gained a tremendous amount of weight. And I’m not pleased with that. In fact I hate it more than anything. But I refuse to let myself go back down that path. I look in the mirror and I hate what I see, but I’m working on it. Weight loss is extremely slow now. But I’m going to be healthy. I promise myself that I’m going to be healthy.

I hope none of you are reading this and thinking, “This is me. I know exactly what she’s talking about.” But if you are, know that you can get better. Feel free to contact me. I know what it’s like. I’ve been there.

I’m not proud of this story. I’m actually very ashamed to tell it. But if it can help just one diabetic then I’m very happy to tell it.

Wow, this blog feels very random to me. It doesn’t feel well written. It feels like I just slapped my thoughts on the computer. Which isn’t like me. Usually everything is thought out better. But if I were to carefully think this one out and include all the details it would be an entire book. And I know you don’t have the time to read an entire book. So I’d like to apologize for the randomness of this one. I just wanted to get my story out there.

Heart-Stopping-Scared

2009-01-14T05:52:00Z

I was scared today. And not scared like horror-movie-scared. It was more like heart-stopping-scared.

After class today I checked my phone and saw that I had a text message from my brother, John: Hey do you work 2nite or anything? Mom wants me to take a finger poke whenever i can

Ok, this was odd. So, I called him up.

“Hey, you need to check your blood sugar?”

“Yeah, Mom thinks I might have diabetes.”

Here’s where my heart stopped. I probably shouldn’t have been driving during this conversation.

“Um, ok. Well have you been thirsty? Peeing a lot? Lost any weight? Are you tired all the time?”

My mind was RACING. John can’t have diabetes. There’s no way. He’s probably just getting a cold or something.

“Yeah, I’m thirsty and peeing a lot. And I’m really tired. I talked to Mom and she just wants to check it.”

“Ok, well come on over anytime after supper. I’ll be home. We’ll just check. Call when you’re coming over.”

“Ok, see you later.”

HOLY CRAP. He seemed so calm on the phone. Shouldn’t he be freaking out? I was freaking out for him. In the next couple of hours his life could totally change. The next thing I did was call Mom.

“Hey, you want me to check John’s blood sugar?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping it’s nothing but I just want to make sure. He has some of the symptoms and since, ya know, you have it, I just think you should check him. He told me he’s always thirsty and peeing a lot and tired.”

“Ok, I’ll check him. I hope it’s ok. We’ll call you.”

Just like John, she seemed so freaking calm. It seemed like I was the only one who was nervous about this.

Even though I’ve had diabetes for most of my life and can deal with it I wasn’t prepared to even think that John could have it. He’s lived 19 normal years. I just kept telling myself that there’s no way he could have it.

He texted me to tell me he’d be at my apartment around 9:00. So, I had four hours to worry. Four hours to anticipate his blood sugar. Four hours to think of something to say to him if he was diabetic. Four hours to hope that he wouldn’t have to count carbs for the rest of his life. Four hours to hope his pancreas was normal.

I tried to pass the time by watching American Idol with my roommates. Even those ridiculous people couldn’t get my mind off of the impending finger poke.

John knocked on my door a little before 9:00. I put on my calm face. John came in.

We talked for a little bit. We both started a new semester this week. I think we might’ve talked about the Creighton basketball game coming up on Wednesday. I don’t really remember because I was nervous. Way more nervous than he was.

So he washed his hands and I changed the lancet. This was probably the only time the lancet was going to be changed this year. I’m part of the CTLWICTC (Change-the-Lancet-When-I-Change-the-Clocks) Club. I made that name up. But I’m sure there are plenty of diabetics who are members of this club.

“Is this going to hurt? I don’t want this to hurt.”

“John, this doesn’t hurt at all. Sometimes I do it 12 times a day.”

“Ok, I’m ready.”

I poked him. He really flinched. I guess it hurt more than I thought it would. He even had a brand new, never been used lancet. And this quarterback thinks he’s tough. Psh, wimp. But hey, that’s just me being his older sister.

It actually took three tries to even get any blood. Ok, he had just come in from the frigid cold. We’re experiencing lows in the negative degrees right now and highs not much warmer. And that’s not including the wind chill. So I can understand why it was hard to get some blood.

But that meant that I had to poke him more than once. Which meant more flinching. And I didn’t really enjoy poking someone else. It’s completely different than poking myself.

Even though we’re siblings and there were plenty of times when I wanted to smack him in the head when we were younger it just didn’t feel right poking him and drawing blood.

So we finally got enough blood.

5…ok, this is it…4…he won’t be diabetic…3…his reading will be normal…2…there’s nothing to worry about…1…

79 mg/dL.

Thank. God.

“You’re fine. Nothing to worry about. Your pancreas still likes you. Even if you are a wimp.”

Now it felt ok to make fun of him for flinching so much just a few seconds ago. He wasn’t diabetic. He was just my wimpy little brother.

Next we called home to report the good news. I could hear the relief over the phone while I talked to Mom. She laughed when I told her how much John flinched when I poked him. I think she was also laughing because she was so relieved that he wasn’t diabetic.

So, I was heart-stopping-scared today. But it all turned out ok. John’s normal. Well, normal in regards to his pancreas. I don’t think any of us Ritzdorf’s are what you’d call “normal.”

What. The. Heck?

2009-01-13T01:50:00Z

“Oh my gosh, you’re diabetic.” Here it goes again. I ready my regular reply, “Yeah, but it’s not that big of a deal. I’ve had it for over 17 years. I’m fairly used to it. Of course there are days when I absolutely hate it, but it’s no big deal.”

But before I got that out I was hit with a shocker. I was blown away. “I’m SOOOOOOOOOOO jealous of you.”

Huh.

What. The. Heck?

I tried to quickly think of some kind of appropriate reply. The first thing that came to mind was, “You’re a freaking moron. Even though I live with it and it doesn’t really bother me that much anymore I still wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.” But, like I said, I was going for appropriate answers here.

So instead I just kind of stammered and opened and closed my mouth a little bit, looking like an odd fish. Finally, I was able to pull myself together. “Um, what do you mean? You want diabetes?”

“Yeah, because, like, oh my gosh, like, then I would be just like Nick. And he’s, like, you know, gorgeous and awesome. I totally want to have diabetes.”

“Nick? You want to be diabetic because of some guy?”

“Not just any guy. NICK JONAS.”

“Oh. Ok. Um, I’m pretty sure that you don’t really want to be diabetic. It’s not fun. And I’m sure if you talked to Nick about it, he’d tell you the same thing.”

“Oh, well, whatever. I still think it’d be really cool to have diabetes just like him.”

Then she walked away and left me standing there completely perplexed. She wanted diabetes? And just because she wanted to be like Nick Jonas? I still don’t understand it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m very grateful for Nick Jonas and all of the work he’s doing to bring awareness to diabetes. But I think some fans don’t get it.

They don’t get that those of us who are diabetic don’t feel lucky because we have something in common with a pop star. They don’t get that we have to check our blood sugars all the time. They don’t get carb counting. They don’t know what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat to treat another low. They don’t know about correction boluses, insulin to carb ratios or basal rates. They don’t have to constantly think about how they feel.

Like I said, I think it’s great that he’s able to bring attention to diabetes. I just wonder if he ever thought that people would want to be diagnosed with it so they could be like him. This isn’t the same thing as changing your favorite color to match his color of choice. Sharing a favorite food isn’t the same as sharing a defunct organ.

I guess this is just a new aspect of dealing with diabetes publicly. I’m used to the usual questions, “Does that hurt? Can you eat that? What’s it feel like to be low? So, do you have the bad kind?” But I think I have to prepare myself for a whole new barrage of questions and comments from the tweens and teens that I know.

I’ll still continue to patiently educate those who ask questions. I’m just going to have to think of some new answers. And try to not look like a fish while I’m doing it.

Clacking and Sleepovers

2009-01-01T05:12:00Z

Recently I stumbled upon Kerri Sparling’s blog, Six Until Me. I have to say that I am completely hooked. I have spent a large portion of my semester break reading every single blog she’s written. I think I’m so intrigued because she’s gone through so many of the same things that I went through growing up as a diabetic child and then a diabetic adolescent and the current transition into a diabetic adult. (Wow, thinking of myself as an adult kind of freaks me out.)

Reading some of her blogs hit home more than others. I read one about the clacking sound the vial of insulin made as it passed over her mom’s wedding ring. I hadn’t thought about that in years. But the second that I read it I could hear it like my mom was right there mixing my insulin before breakfast. That was a sound that kind of defined my childhood. Thinking about it actually puts a smile on my face and for some reason makes me chuckle a little bit. I think I would actually say that it’s one of my favorite sounds. But I am also so thrilled that I don’t have to hear that anymore. Instead it’s the beeping of my PDM and the short little clicks that come from my pod when insulin is being delivered. Who knows, maybe the pod clicks will become a new favorite noise for me?

Then there was one about her first sleepover as a diabetic. That immediately brought to mind the first sleepover I attended in second grade. Up until then all of the sleepovers had always been at my house so that my mom could call me upstairs at precisely 8:30 to check my blood sugar and give my NPH. And there was less of a worry if I was in the comfortable confines of my home just incase a low hit. I knew exactly where the juice was in the fridge. I knew exactly how to navigate through the house at night in the dark to get to that juice. And of course there was the constant running around and playing games that were so important to a slumber party but also caused a late night dip in my blood sugars. But those were usually easily treated at home.

Anyway, back to my first sleepover away from home. Like I said, it was in second grade. My friend Taylor had invited all the girls over to her house for her birthday party. Now, I’d spent time at Taylor’s house during the day playing and jumping on her trampoline but I’d never spent the night.

I got the invitation in the mail and immediately ran to my mom begging her to let me go. Well, I wasn’t given an immediate definitive answer. There was probably an internal conversation in my mom’s head. I’m guessing that it went from, “What if she’s low? How will she get her NPH? She can’t do it herself yet. How will she get exactly 30 grams of carbohydrates for her bedtime snack? We better not let her go” to, “But sure she can go, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

From there the sleepover request was shipped on to a conversation between my parents. Here’s the imagined conversation between my mom and dad: Dad, “Well, one of us could go over and give her her shot. That wouldn’t be bad. We could handle that.” Mom, “Yeah, we could do that. But Gayle, Taylor’s mom, is a nurse. Do we let her do it? She knows how to draw up insulin and give a shot.” Dad, “Well, I would feel more comfortable since she’s a nurse.” Mom, “And we could call her and get Kay’s blood sugar. And if it comes down to it we can always just drive on over to Taylor’s house. They don’t live far from us.” Dad, “So, that’s it. She can go.” Mom, “Well, we have to call Gayle and make sure she’s OK with it. That’s quite the burden to place on someone for a night.”

Thankfully after a short phone call to Taylor’s mom, my mom told me that I could go. Thank you Gayle! Thank you for choosing a profession that could make an eight year old experience her first taste freedom. I’m sure as a college student you didn’t choose your profession in the off-chance that maybe one of your future children would have a diabetic friend. But I am so thankful that you chose the career path you did.

Well, the sleepover went off without a hitch. I don’t remember my exact blood sugars, but I do remember that they were OK. Everything was OK. My first sleepover away from home…and everything was OK. I was able to be just like all the other girls. The only time I was different was that short time frame when I had to check my blood sugar and have Gayle give me my shot. She did a pretty good job too. But I do remember telling her that she did it different than my mom. Even then I was such a creature of habit.

After that I think my parents were more OK with letting me try new things. And I want to thank them for that. They didn’t hold me back because I had diabetes. They always encouraged new activities. They did everything they could to make me feel normal. Even though normal also included several shots, blood sugar checks and constant carbohydrate counts every day. They’re great parents and I don’t think I can ever thank them enough for everything they did for me. Diabetes-related or not.

And I also want to thank Kerri Sparling for bringing back these, and many more, treasured memories. I’ve kind of had a walk down memory lane this past week as I’ve caught up on your blog. Thank you a million times for that!

Now I think I’ll go put on a ring, grab a vial of insulin, rub it between my hands and clack to my heart’s desire.