I received a great comment from Anonymous for my recent post I am not my disease and I just wanted to stop and say thanks. To feel that what I'm going through (and writing about) is helpful to others really makes this little endeavor worthwhile.
And along the lines of "sharing my pain", I "celebrated" another diabetic first (for me) this morning: I got to inject myself with medication for the very first time. Not insulin but a different drug than what I've been on and one that only comes in a pre-filled injection pen.
My eating has been semi out of control lately (for about the last two months) and my activity non-existent, and my blood sugar levels reflect that. My out of bed readings used to be in the 140 range (not bad) and now they're 200 to 220 (not good). After the wonderful Weekend for Women conference I attended this weekend, I was bound and determined to do more to get my sugars under better control and do what I can to contribute to my own wellness, so I asked my endocrinologist at my appointment Monday morning for a change in my prescriptions to add a more powerful drug to help combat my high blood sugars.
And then I started freaking out because, YIKES, I have to stick a needle in myself. Every day. I got sick to my stomach just thinking about it. But I remembered my commitment to my better health and wanting to be a good example to my kids about taking care of yourself, and I just did it. I pinched a little chunk of fat on my stomach - thank you GOD for giving me a fat stomach! - and just pushed it in. And after all of that trauma and drama, do you know what happened? Not a darned thing. Didn't even feel it. Not even a little prick. Nada.
So I guess this is what being a grown up about my disease feels like, huh? It's about time.