To the most serious and long-term relationship I've ever been in: Happy One Year Anniversary to my D's and Me

I often describe myself as an anxious and nervous individual, so it's a wonder I was able to stay as committed as I have been this past year and was able to make it to this milestone.  I think most will agree, relationships are not easy.  I was able to learn that first hand throughout the year.  It takes hard work, commitment, and passion for the cause, all three I think I have strived towards and have been successful at.  On this day I just want to reflect on where I was exactly one year ago.
It was around this time of the afternoon I was heading over to the doctor's office for a check up where I learned that my blood glucose was too high for the meter to read and that there was glucose present in my urine sample - two things that I had no knowledge of the implications and the journey I was about to begin.  I will not retell the story as it is in one of my first few blog posts - but the contrast in the confusing, devastating and overwhelming feelings I felt that day, to the amount that I now know about myself as a result of this experience is almost thrilling.  I feel like I conquered.  I feel accomplished.  I remember last year feeling so consumed by my new lifestyle and thinking that my life was lost and over.  My days are still consumed by my diabetes.  From the moment I wake up until I go to sleep there are very few things that I do that do not involve at least a thought about what my blood sugar might be at that moment.  However, I feel I progressed this year and I am proud of myself.   I was asked how I feel about this one year milestone and oddly, I can really say I feel good.  The downside that I always note is that the all consuming nature of this disease causes you to forget what life was like without it.  I am lucky that I lived 23 years until it decided to grace me with it's presence and take over my life.  Children are diagnosed with this disease as young as months old, and parents' lives end up being equally effected, maybe even more so than the child's.  However, those years now seem unreal to me, considering the day to day operations I go through.  But as I said above, I feel success.  I did not think I would make it to this day one year ago, but I took this year day by day, and before I knew it, it was here.
My only wish would be that my diabetes would feel as celebratory as I do on this day.  But no, it is selfish.  On the morning of our one year anniversary, do you know what it did?  It gives me a blood sugar of 250 upon waking up! What kind of gift is that?  It does what it wants and never consults with me first.  But I guess this is the way it will always be and I just need to accept that.  It will always be a one way relationship with me doing all the work and making compromises, and it just chillin, throwing me the punches, running the show.  It is a challenge, but one that I am up for.
Luckily, I have some very incredible and important people in my life that have more than compensated for what this year has been.  You know who you are and I could not have made it through this year without you.  Thank you for being there, for your sensitivity, and for giving me the strength and confidence I needed to do this.
So a happy one year anniversary to me and my D's.  I look forward to many more years to come!

First time in Europe, for myself AND the OmniPod

I guess I should start by apologizing for how much time has passed since my last post but I think I will look at that as a positive: there is life after being diagnosed with diabetes and I have been able to live a little of it these past few months.
I just returned home a few days ago from an amazing trip to Spain with my amazing roommate, friend, and mama, Jackie.  I want to skip for a moment to the depressing conclusion of our wonderful trip, the ride back to Manhattan from JFK.  We passed by Citi Field, the Mets new home.  Jackie commented, "oh Citi Field, I still haven't been there."  To me, Citi Field is a landmark in my diabetes diagnosis as it was my first outing with my meter, shots, and food since I had been in my house after being discharged from the hospital.  I told Jackie that I remembered my dad asking me last August if I wanted to go to the Met game with him.  My face must have turned immediately tense (which probably wasn't a big change from how it looked daily at that time), because he followed up by reassuring me that we could do it however I wanted, go whenever, leave whenever, or even not go at all.  My thoughts were racing, would I eat lunch before or after? What if I'm low? What if I'm high? What if I'm tired?  After thinking it over though, I made the decision to make that my first excursion with my meter, shots, and lunch!  I remember checking my blood sugar, giving a shot, and eating a tuna sandwich in my seat while watching the game and being so proud of myself but so exhausted at the same time.  All I could think about what was how much thought and time goes into each and every thing I do with the Big D and while I was brave that day, I couldn't fathom that this would be the rest of my life.  It seemed like any sort of fun activity or social experience was being taken from me and I would never feel safe without one of my parents by my side again, at 23 years old.  Fast-forward to July 20th 2011, at 24 years old, coming up on only one year of living with the Big D, I am in a cab coming back from Spain!  Granted, I was with my other Mama (for all you who are not in on that joke, just know it's Jackie), my real mother (Rebecca), put it perfectly - "now you know you can really do anything."
The minute the trip was booked I immediately started having nightmares.  My pump is going to break, my insulin is going to spoil, the insulin vial is going to crack in my bag and spill everywhere.  Thoughts were racing that I couldn't do it.  But I kept reminding myself, I am not the first nor the last person that has diabetes, and that has traveled with it.  While there are certain close minded diabetics that will tell you how impossible things are, I made sure to do my research and speak to the right people beforehand.  I was reassured that people in Spain have diabetes too and should anything happen, it can get taken care of.
Our itinerary was Madrid to Ibiza.  After our successful trip had ended, my mother confessed to having been very nervous when I told her I was going to Ibiza, "All I was thinking was, Ibiza?? She can't just go to New Jersey??"  But she told me she didn't want to say anything and discourage me because she knew this was an important and much needed trip.  I told her she made the right move because had she been honest with me about her concerns I probably wouldn't have gone.  I got a lot of support from my family and doctors that this was something that I not only could do, but needed to do after my extremely stressful year of school and health issues.
Initially, the airports concerned me the most.  Our first leg of the trip in JFK ended up going extremely smoothly though.  Jackie worked her magic at check in and told the man behind the desk that she needed to sit next to her diabetic babe in case of an emergency and he assigned us a cozy seat together, although he was not able to upgrade us to first class despite our request.  At security, probably my biggest fear, they didn't even open my bag, and I was SO prepared.  Everything packaged so nicely, needles, insulin, pods, and several copies of letters from my doctor that all these supplies were necessary and that my insulin pump was not able to be removed.  And none of this was even looked at - I was almost disappointed.  Aside from several lows throughout the flight, it went very smoothly and we touched down in Madrid and 11 AM Spain time.  Once we settled into our hotel I immediately felt calmer.  With the insulin safely in the minibar refrigerator and all my bags set down, I felt like I was able to breath again and Jackie and I did as the Spanish do - we took a nice long SIESTA.  We woke up at 5 PM to begin, yes, BEGIN, our first day in Madrid.  The sun was shining and Lola and Elena were ready to take on Spain.  The main stress at that point was that I felt like I needed to hold on to my pod for dear life as we were seriously warned about the pick-pocketing.  From our own personalized walking tour, to a pub crawl later that night, to a weekend in Madrid, and many many stops at our favorite hookah bar (couldn't leave that part of us at home), I survived Madrid.  On to IBIZA!!
We needed to experience Ibiza on our own to fully understand what everyone meant about it being "so crazy."  So the first anecdote, re: diabetes, was at the Madrid airport going to Ibiza.  I was a big shot now, no one had stopped me in JFK, no problems in Madrid, but after my bags went through security the guards saw something suspicious and wanted to look through my bags.  So there it started - pulling out ziplock bags of pods, needles, etc. with puzzled looks on their faces.  I was about to show them my letter but because of the language barrier I realized it wasn't going to do any good.  So I just kept saying "diabetes, insulin", and pointed to my pump and my medical ID bracelet.  Jackie then asked the woman behind us, "how do you say diabetes in Spanish?"  "Diabetes," the woman replied.  So I knew the guard understood.  And everything was going fine, he just needed a look.  Aside from all the glucose tablets and other in case of emergency treats, I had yogurts and a container of cream cheese in my bag, two staples from Madrid.  Before we left Madrid Jackie and I decided we would try to get it through and if they make us throw it out then at least we tried.  When the guard saw the food he said in Spanish, "I will let you take the yogurts because you have diabetes but I have to take away the cream cheese."  Without even asking for an explanation of why, I took my bag and just nodded and smiled, relieved to be through this whole ordeal.  Two steps away from the guard I jut broke down crying.  For those of you who know me, this should not come as a surprise.  Nothing bad happened, if anything it was a positive experience.  Even with the language barrier I was able to explain the need for everything I had and successfully get through security.  I just felt very overwhelmed, heart racing, and shaky from the whole experience as it was my first time having to deal with it.  Jackie and I took a few steps to the side to compose myself.  She reassured me that I did great and everything was fine, things that I knew but just needed to cry it out.  Suddenly, the guard crept up behind us and offered us back the cream cheese.  We immediately grabbed it and started cracking up.  The mood was light again, we got through it, and even had our cream cheese back!
The rest of the trip was incredible.  After the Ibiza "process" (for Mama), we enjoyed great beaches, beach parties, parties parties, fiestas and not enough siestas.  The other main challenge of the trip was how low I went throughout the day.  The combination of walking and "partying" that we did almost made it feel like I didn't have diabetes for I was constantly lowing my basal dose of insulin.  For all those who don't know what the "basal" is, please direct your questions to Jackie because she is extremely well versed in diabetes management these days.  The amount of glucose tablets I went through on this one week trip is more than I think I've gone through this entire year!  But it was worth it.  The trip was incredible and our depressed state the last day just goes to show how much fun we really had.  This trip was amazing for anyone, but it was specifically important so that I can prove to myself that I won't be stopped from anything.  It's scary that I can't remember what life was like without my frienD and I'm only a week shy of a year with it, but at least I can say that this whole year was a year of firsts, and I am going to continue to experience new things and learn more that I can do anything I want.

Broken Record

So I know it's been a while and there is definitely much to report.
Unfortunately, the previous post was not the only incident relating to the malfunction of my pump.  I will preface this post by saying that I do still love my Omnipod but we haven't been on the best of terms these past 2 months.  He's (I'm not sure why it's automatically a "he" but it is) been redeeming himself these past couple of weeks but it's going to take a lot to regain my trust again.
Make a long story short - the previous post was followed by many, MANY more malfunctioning pods.  Beeps here, beeps there, pods were beeping everywhere.  Not only was I beeping everywhere I went, when I wasn't beeping, I thought I was beeping.  I was constantly unzipping my bag and taking the pods out to my ear, lifting up my shirt in public places to see if it was coming from me.  Half the time there was no beep, it had just become so the norm that there was a constant ringing in my ear.  It's difficult to write a paper, watch TV, and have a conversation when I have to keep checking on insulin delivery.  However, it did make the Saigon Grill protestors seem less annoying..
Each time a pod beeps, you need to open it up and sort of puncture it in this specific spot with something steady and sharp (a tool that has been very hard to find so all suggestions are welcomed-pens, needles, knives have all been tried) so the beeping stops.  It doesn't always work though.  And sometimes it just makes the beep louder.  The two suggestions I got from the pod reps were to either do what I just described, or stick it in the freezer until the battery dies.  I've done both.  One night I was so fed up that I took a hammer and smashed it:

After that, I threw it out on my balcony to join it's brothers:

They were a symphony of sounds: high beeps, low beeps, the ones that turn into clicks once they are tired of beeping - keeping up the beat I guess.

It was all too much.  If you haven't gathered this about my personality so far - there was A LOT of crying.  Cries of frustration, fear, anger.  I felt horrible each time I called my mom with the same story because I know she shares this frustration, maybe not equally, but just about - but I couldn't help myself.

Each time a pod fails, you call up Omnipod and give them the Lot and sequence number so they can put a replacement pod in your next shipment.  But my pod supply was dwindling.

I arrived at work one morning only to hear that dreaded beep.  I laughed.  I checked the one on my first to make sure it wasn't ME.. PHEW, it's the one in my bag.  But wait, that sounds like a duet.  Not only was the my backup pod beeping, but the backup for the backup was beeping as well!  So basically, the pod I am wearing better not die on me because all my safety's have basically betrayed me.  I shoved them at the bottom of my bag and threw my coat on top of them so that the beep wouldn't be as loud.  I then proceeded with the routine of calling up customer service and speaking to one of their "robots" (as my mother so wittily named them.  "That sounds really frustrating ma'am"... ME: FRUSTRATING?? YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH AND HOW SCARY THIS IS.  "Yes ma'am, that sounds really difficult."  WAHHHH... Without continuing with the back and forth, they agreed to overnight me a box of pods instead of waiting for the next scheduled shipment, since I explained to them that to wait until I'm down to two pods, like they suggested, before calling up and saying I need a box overnighted is ludicrous considering two failed in my bag that morning.  How could I responsibly wait until I had two left to request an overnight shipment??  A supervisor in the background must have heard me through the phone because all of a sudden the robot interrupted my rant and said that he would overnight me a box and have a "manager" contact me to "troubleshoot" this issue.  Collectively, my mother, the manager, and I agreed that I unfortunately got a defected box of pods as my first box with the Omnipod.  They wanted to sent me a totally new box and for me to Fedex them all the unopened pods with the labels they would send me.  Only of course, they overnighted everything to my house in West Hempstead after I repeatedly told them that I live in Manhattan and gave them that shipping address.  My mom was afraid to tell me when the box arrived to the house in W.H... and rightfully so because of course, the tears just came pouring out when she told me.  Luckily, I was going home for the weekend and it was Wednesday night so only two more days until I can open up my new gift!  It wasn't wrapped up with a bow, but it was exciting enough.

Anyways, I went home for the weekend, got my pods, came back and the cycle started again!  Was it another bad box?  Who knows.  The robots heard from us numerous times and again told me that I would be hearing from a "manager".

I was in school on a Thursday during my break before our 4 PM class.  I was sitting with S in the lounge when he called.  "Is this a bad time?", he asked.  No, it's fine, just in school - giving him the same obnoxious attitude I give the rest of them, that none of them deserve but who else can I take this out on.  "I hear you've been having some problems, let me make sure I'm up to date on your situation".. and he continued to describe what I had been going through since January when I got on the pump not missing a single detail.  But my mood did not change.  I sounded irritable with my short answers and bad attitude and he knew it.  "I know this must be really hard for you and this is not supposed to be happening.  I've been on the Omnipod for three years now and... " - "You're on the Omnipod???", I immediately interrupted him.  "Yes ma'am, but I don't get any special discounts for working at Omnipod."  He too had Type 1 diabetes and proceeded to tell me a bit about his transition from injections to the pump, but fortunately had not had to experience the same mishaps as me.  We ended up having a very comforting conversation, leaving me with a better feeling about the whole situation.  He left me with his personal line at the office in case I have any questions or just need some "TLC" and don't want to go through all the prompts and robots.

The fear and frustration is not gone, but like everything else - it happens once, or in this case, around 17 times.. and when it happens again it's more of a chuckle - YOU AGAIN!  I'm realizing there is just too much else going on - good and bad, to be stressing about something that I actually can control.  Easier said than done - but that's the plan.

And I will leave you with this adorable video that I came across during one of my feeling bad for myself nights which made me feel sad and confident at the same time.  Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SAO_G-FaIk

The Dreaded Beep

So I don't think I emphasized enough just how irritating that beep is when I so luckily encounter a defected pod.  It's deafening.  It's one of those ringing tones that you just can't exactly place but you know it is so irritating that it needs to be put to an end.  The first time I experienced a failed pod it took my roommate and me about ten minutes to figure out where that annoying sound was coming from.  Once we did, I took out the pod and tried to pull it apart to make the ringing stop, but it wouldn't.  So I shoved it under my pillow and checked on it two hours later to find that the ringing switched to a clicking sound, much more bearable.  It eventually stopped and after reporting it to the company I discarded it.  This episode made my second encounter much easier to decipher and put to an end.  It was a similar situation - I had just arrived home from class from the Bronx and there was that same sound.. I felt like a pro - I know what that is!  I immediately reached into my bag, pulled out my packaged pod, unwrapped it and put it under my pillow.  This time the noise didn't stop, even after the 2 hours of it lying in my bed.  No problem though... "just put it outside", J said.  So that's what I did.  I threw it on our balcony and went to bed.  It's still sitting out there.
So this is annoying, but I guess I can put up with it.  A beep every so often isn't the worst thing in the world, especially because each time it happens I can call up to report it and each defected pod will be replaced in my next shipment.  One more thing to do, one more thing to think about, but ok, bearable.. and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.
Monday morning I got up at 7 AM, as usual, and started getting ready for work.  I have been leaving a post it on my bag that says - "Bring OMNIPOD", so that I don't have a repeat of the previous post.  I know it's silly but I have been feeling proud of myself when I remember to bring everything I need with me regarding my diabetes since the day I forgot my PDM.  Monday was one of those mornings where I felt like I needed to have my music.  There's just those days where I need to be a little lost in myself when it's that early in the morning and I'm too tired to let myself start thinking and getting all anxious about what I need to do.  So I had my ipod on the whole bus ride to work, the whole walk down Third Ave. before I got my coffee from 711, the rest of the walk to the nursery school, and up the stairs to the fourth floor where I check in to the office and get ready for my day of teaching.  I didn't shut my music until I exited the stairwell on the fourth floor and walked down the hallway to the main office.  Had I shut off my music a little earlier I may have heard IT earlier, but like I said, it was just one of those mornings.  I entered the office, said good morning to my boss, and went to check my mailbox.  And there it was.  The Dreaded Beep.  No problem.  I know what that is.  I don't know where I'll shove this beeping pod until it stops ringing but I'll figure it out.  I reached into my bag to take out my "just in case" pod only to find that that is not what was beeping.  I put it up close to my ear to be sure, but nope, that is not where it was coming from.  But I know that beep.  It's my beep.  But where was it?? I lifted my shirt to expose the pod that was on my stomach and the ringing got louder.  It was coming from me.  It was from the pod that I was wearing.  I pulled out my PDM and on it it read "POD ERROR, CHANGE POD, INSULIN DELIVERY HAS STOPPED".  Insulin delivery has stopped??  I was not getting any insulin?  Well that couldn't be good..
I walked into my boss's office and by her facial expression I knew she heard the beep.  Can you imagine an obnoxious sounding beep that is not stopping, and it's coming from your own body?? HOW EMBARRASSING!  I explained to her the situation to which she was obviously very sympathetic and understanding.  I immediately left work and obviously could not find a cab to speedily take me across town to put on a new pod.  The crosstown bus was approaching the stop and I hopped on, thinking that this would probably get me across town quicker than waiting around for a taxi.  I was racing.  I was angry and scared.  I was shaking.  Had I not been diagnosed in the way I was, I don't think I would experience this extreme stress I get each time something goes wrong, but the fact is, it's going to take a while for me to be calm about all this.  I knew I was not in DKA, I knew I wasn't going to start dropping pounds or going to the bathroom or feeling a chalky mouth where all I want to do is shove ice down my throat, but the anxiety I experience even at the thought is intolerable and overwhelming.  I couldn't sit still on the bus.  I was shaking, texting.  I didn't even attempt to take my mind off of it.  My mom called them immediately, it was the last thing I wanted to be doing and I think she knew that.  On the bus, I ripped the pod off my stomach.  It's not giving me anything anyways, let me remember what it was like to not be wearing this constant reminder of my chronic diagnosis.  Once I got home, I immediately pulled out a vial of insulin, a new pod and syringe to fill it and applied it to the opposite side of my stomach that the other one was on.  About 90 units of insulin down the drain since I had just switched my pod the previous evening before I went out to watch the superbowl (or sit in front of the TV doing school work pretending to watch the superbowl).  It had been working fine the night before, I was even a bit on the lower end when I got home from the game.  Who knows when it stopped working.  What if it happened while I was sleeping.  What if it happens when I'm asleep and the beep doesn't wake me up next time.  What if the next time this happens I'm in class.  All these uncertainties are extremely disconcerting and anxiety provoking.  It's not enough I need to control my diabetes, I need to now worry about this damn pod malfunctioning on me.  I'm told I have a good attitude and that is what is getting me through.  I know I have a good attitude.  I also have incredible support.  But these things just make me mad.  I know I'm doing great.  But how can I do great if I can't rely on the mechanics and the things that are out of my control.  I would not stop the pump.  As of now, I am still fascinated by it's function and benefits.  But I guess it will always be a love-hate relationship.

"I'd leave my head at home if it weren't attached"

As most of you know, I'm a pretty routine person.  I like to stick to my schedule, do what's comfortable, and prefer not to deviate from that.  In the slight chance that I do, it takes time for me to get accustomed but I usually am able to.  I've been told by many that I look like I have my shit together, but the key word here is look.  Diabetes has been one of those things that I just had to get accustomed to, I basically was not given a choice.  "You're such a scheduled person, if it's gonna happen to anyone you're the one that can handle it!" - FYI - that does not make me feel better about having it.  But anyways, the injection regimen I was on definitely lent itself to being incorporated into my structured lifestyle and I was quite thrown when I started on the pump and did not have to wake up at 8:30 AM to give my morning dose of Lantus and worry on Friday night that I would forget to give my evening dose because my phone was off and my alarm would not sound.  These were fantastic disruptions to my routine though.  Now, all I need to remember is to check my blood sugar, which I obviously do incessantly, and bolus (that means tell my omnipod how many carbs I'm eating so it can give me the appropriate amount of insulin to cover my food) before I eat.  Me and omniP, two peas in a pod.  I'd be lost without you... I found that out the hard way.
Whether it be waking up early for school or work, or sleeping a little later than usual on a weekend, the first thing I say good morning to is my PDM (Personal Diabetes Manager, the blackberry looking thing if you didn't catch that in my previous post).  I check my blood sugar, make sure I am in range, and start my day.  It was a typical Tuesday morning and my alarm went off at 7:05.  I checked myself, 98, perfect.  Got out of bed and got ready to go to work.  It didn't feel like morning as it was a gloomy, rainy day out, and the sun was not shining into my room the way I like.  I arrived to a chaotic morning at the nursery school, with three teachers absent, and me being put on standby until they decided if I was to go about my regular schedule of teaching Hebrew to the kids or as a substitute for one of the missing teachers.  I figured I'd eat breakfast as I waited to be told where to go.  I went to my bag to get my PDM to check and bolus for my cereal only to realize I had not brought it with me.  For such a "together girl", I felt like the most irresponsible, disorganized person.  For someone that prides herself on being in control of her diabetes, I forgot the most important component of my technologically advanced system that keeps me in control.  I joke that it looks like a blackberry but I clearly gave precedence to my actual blackberry that morning when I left for work.
My first reaction - ok, I won't eat any carbs.  If I don't eat carbs then I won't need to bolus.  I brought nuts, carrots, tuna.  I could survive til 2 pm like this.  But wait, the nicest part of the PDM is that it serves as a meter as well.  Therefore, I wouldn't be able to check my blood sugar without it and that I knew was not ok.  I quickly hopped in a cab, ran up to my apt., grabbed the damn thing and ran back to work.  I made it back in great time but I was embarrassed.  I was angry at my Omnipod.  How could it stay behind like that and abandon me??  I suppose it could've been worse.  I could've been in the Bronx in the middle of a class, and not right across Central Park.  But still, the only person I wasn't embarrassed to tell was my mother to which she replied the title of this post.  As a friend in school (H) pointed out, it was bound to happen.  People leave things places all the time and I guess it couldn't have happened in a better way.  But the thought of it happening in any worse way frightens me.  So I guess the take away message quoted by my dear roommate, J, "The Omnipod: Don't leave home without it".

PUMPkin Muffins

So it's been 2 weeks now that I have been "pumping" and other than the more frequent lows because of the adjustment to the constant basal rate of insulin I am getting, the accuracy and convenience of this device is unbelievable.  My blood sugars have been more in range and it has been such a "mechaya" (for you R) to not have to whip out my needles and insulin pens each time I want to eat something.  However, the additional preparations for before I leave the house is something I still need to learn how to better deal with.  I am now leaving the house with my pricker, test strips, PDM (Personal Diabetes Manager - the blackberry looking thing), an extra packaged pod in case the one I am wearing gets knocked off or stops working (I would not be able to put it back on once it's taken off, you need to fill up a new one), a vial of insulin in case of that emergency, and if all these fail, I still have my insulin pen and needles on me at all times.  I sometimes consider bringing two packaged pods with me because of the incident that occurred the other night when I arrived home from school.  Now don't get me wrong, I love my Ominpod.  But what kind of person would I be if I didn't do my due diligence and memorize the Omnipod website, read blogs, and people's thoughts on the Omnipod before I actually got it.  I was well aware that in each box of "pods" people usually get one or two duds/defects.  I was obviously dreading the first time I encounter my first dud.  After a tiring day of classes in the Bronx, I entered my apartment and was welcomed by a loud, obnoxious screeching beep.  My roommate and I searched the apartment to try and figure out where this horrible sound was coming from, only to realize it was coming from my own bag.  My "safety" pod was acting out and needed to be destroyed.  I stuck it under my pillow and called my Omnipod representative who instructed me to throw it away and that it will be replaced.  I was obviously glad that this happened in my apartment but fear the next time I have a dud in my bag and it gets set off in the middle of class or while I'm teaching.  But I guess that should be the worst of my problems.
Anyways, this weekend was my first time traveling out of the city since I started on the pump.  But what better place to spend the weekend than with two of my oldest friends, A and E, in A and her husband's house in Brooklyn.  Yup, Brooklyn.  I didn't even realize until I was packing up my pumpkin muffins (made with canned pumpkin and not real ones, contrary to popular belief) that I made for the weekend.  I ended up packing 3 extra pods because I knew that I was due to change it at 6 PM Friday evening, right before we would sit down for dinner, and wanted to be prepared for any mishaps.  Thank Gd, all went pretty smoothly and my 2 friends watched as I filled the syringe with insulin, then the pod, and finally stuck it on my stomach and waited for it to insert itself.  A was impressed with the pod's ability to prime itself while E watched with proud eyes as I swiftly discarded my needle (ya that's right, I'm getting pretty good at it).  As usual, being with my friends, and specifically these ones, just adds to my confidence that I can and will do this as best as I can.  Having them learn the lingo, ask questions, and communicate with me about how I'm feeling at all times helps me fully incorporate this into my every day life without it being more annoying than it has to be.  As usual, I reflect on the month after I was first diagnosed.  I thought I would never leave the confines of my parents home, let alone my "station" in the kitchen where I would leave my meter and other supplies.  But here I am, traveling to school, work, and to other boroughs for the weekend.  Saturday nights are stressful at times, most recently because I'm realizing that crowded areas are starting to make me nervous in case someone knocks my pod off at a party or social gathering and the lows I get in the middle of my night.  But I am reminded by close patient people around me to keep checking myself and ensure that I'm ok.
While paired up in class to practice giving a clinical interview, H and my exchange may have gotten a little too deep for what was asked of us in the twenty minutes we had to practice - but that just means we're gonna be the best psychologists!!  But in all seriousness, I was able to realize something very valuable in our conversation.  It will always be on my mind.  It will always be something I need to think about.  I can't make a move without knowing what my blood sugar is.  I can't take a walk, I can't eat, I can't go to sleep without knowing that number and using it to figure out my next move.  At times I have unusually high expectations for people to know this but I am aware that it is asking too much and is completely unrealistic.  But the truth is, everyone has their "thing", and this is mine.  Everyone wakes up each morning with whatever is bothering them or making them happy, and that will probably influence their mood for the rest of the day.  I'm not unique in this.  I am now wearing a constant reminder that I have diabetes and it is not going away.  But at the same time, each of us has something that we are keeping inside.  I think it's important for us to be sensitive to others and to be mindful that everyone is starting their day off with SOMETHING.  

I'm Pumped That You're Pumped

When I described my personality, eating habits, and general routine to the various doctors and diabetes educators in the hospital I received similar responses from all of them - "You'll be a great candidate for the pump".  The pump?  It sounded gross.  However, once it was described to me it seemed like and is the biggest advancement in the world of diabetes, that is until they find a cure.  "Can she get it before she comes home?", my dad asked the doctor.  Well, not exactly... but I didn't realize it would be this soon.

The first few months post diagnosis were used to get myself back to being, well, myself.  I was so far off from who I used to be after all the mayhem that I needed a month of recovery in my house and even after that I still didn't feel like doing much of anything once I moved back to the city.  I felt different, alone, restricted, and even more OCD and neurotic than I could have ever imagined, even for me.  I had a hard time explaining to people how I felt and would end up feeling bitter towards those closest to me.  I was forced to wake up each morning for the morning dose of Lantus and remember to give the second half in the evening.  Eating was always a question, should I round up or round down?  Starting a new program in school was scary enough but to bring all my new gadgets and figure out when it was time to start pricking in front of my new friends for the next 5 years was a looming question in my mind.  It was no surprise though that my classmates are so caring and understanding.  After all, we're gonna be psychologists.   The first day of school S.E. brought it right up, eliminating any possible discomfort on my end and told me to tell her everything about it and she would be there if I needed anything.  We just became friends, but she couldn't have made me feel more at ease.  Eventually, school was safe.  I mastered it.  Checking, shooting up, and eating based on my classes and schedule.  I had heard that at times of stress the blood sugar would spike and I definitely got to experience that.  Right before bed the night before a final I checked my blood sugar, 267.  Screw it, I'm going to sleep.  I woke up, took my final, and was back to my low 100's again.  I began mastering Shabbas, exercise, and even going out as well.  I was pretty impressed with myself.  AND I knew it was only going to get easier.. 

My family and I made the decision to go on the Insulin pump over my winter vacation.  This way I would have time to adjust before I start classes again.  My diabetes educator definitely minimized the whole adjustment, but I guess she just doesn't know me that well.  For those of you that do- I take time adjusting to any new situation and I knew I would need ample time to adapt to this.  So after, my first semester in graduate school and 5 months as a Type 1 diabetic, I was ready to begin the pump.  

Last Wednesday I arrived at Mt. Sinai hospital at 8 AM to meet K for the insertion of a sensor on my lower back.  This would measure my blood sugar every ten seconds for the next 6 days, creating a better picture of my trends, highs and lows, and the effects of other variables on my blood sugar.  I felt like a robot having a chip inserted, and I felt like I was being watched, like I needed to be extra good because everything is being seriously documented.  The whole procedure took 30 minutes and I was home by 9 AM.  I went about my day until 1 PM when B arrived for my first Omnipod training session.  We sat for about 2 hours while we went through the different settings and functions of the Omnipod, most of which I knew already because I obviously did my due diligence.  The draw to the Omnipod for those of you not fluent in diabetes jargon and pump talk is the lack of tubing.  Other pumps (Animus, Minimed - google them), have tubes attached to the insertion point that then connect to a beeper looking thing.  I've seen this kind on the majority of people I know with diabetes but I'm not one for tubing.  K, the woman who inserted my sensor works for one of the tubing pump companies and was doing her best to sell me on it that Wednesday morning, telling me I can hide the beeper in my bra!  No thanks, I'm going with the pod for now.  ANYWAYS - After 2 hours of training, we applied my first pod filled with saline for a practice week.  This was done about ten minutes before B left.  "Are you ok?  Are you overwhelmed?", she asked me before she left.  Nope, I'm totally good.  Ya Right.

Bye B!  (Bawling E.D.)

"So, it's always there.  Just sitting there.  Should I just always wear a sweat shirt?  Then it really won't show.  I chose this one because it has no tubes but it's still this thing sitting on my stomach, showing through my clothes.  I don't want this anymore.  I'll keep the shots.  I wasn't fed up enough to be doing this.  The shots were fine and I can live with it.  Don't tell me it's not that bad and don't tell me it's not a big deal.  You don't have to wear it."

Was what I said all Wednesday.

Thursday was a bit more positive.  I kind of ignored it.  I went through the motions.  I pretended it was real.  Decreased my basal when I exercised and extended my bolus when I was at a long Friday night meal.  (Look up the lingo).  This wasn't so bad.  It was actually kind of cool.  Come Sunday night, J and I were sitting down to enjoy huge Bloomingdales Froyos, which by the way I was able to figure out exactly how many carbs were in it thanks to my Omnipod, and I almost forgot to give my shot, I was getting so used to this pump thing.  So this is me.  I freak out, I figure it out, and I'm good.  And to those of you who have to hear me freak out, you know who you are- thank you and I'm sorry all at the same time.

So today was the day.  B arrived at 9 AM.  Together we filled the pod with insulin and I applied it.  It's not pumping my basal yet since I still gave my Lantus last night but later today it will begin.  I'm feeling excited.  I'm pumped.  And J is pumped that I'm pumped.  We're gonna pump it up.

And just so you can have a better picture:

But don't tell me it's not that bad.  Just notice the super cool blackberry looking controller.

  

I heard it's better to be high than low..

.... were the words of a good friend trying to make me laugh before I headed out to a Phish concert, my first outing without one of my parents or siblings since I had been home.  I was phreaking out.  I was all packed up, my meter, test strips, Novolog, Lantus, sandwich, snacks.  However, it turned into one of the most anxious experiences thus far.  For those of you who have never been to one of these shows, well do some research. My dad ended up picking me up in the middle of the show.  Nothing bad happened, I guess it just didn't feel like the most conducive atmosphere at the moment.  Thoughts were racing through my head... would I ever be able to go to a concert again?  Each time my sister and I went to Lord and Taylor or to the supermarket, I would make her drive for fear that I would go low in the middle of the outing.  I was still learning what the signs of a low blood sugar were and would often realize too late, stuffing glucose tablets in my mouth to stop the shaking.  It seemed like this was just the way it would be, waiting for the low to come on, treating them, and getting on with the day.  But no, that didn't seem normal.  After speaking up to the "team", my Lantus dose was decreased and my Insulin:Carb Ratio was down to 1:20.  Rosh Hashanah came and we finally found the right dose! 4 units in the AM, 5 at night.  While it was nice to eliminate the frequent hypoglycemic episodes, I was now having to wake up each morning for a shot and having to remember each evening to give the rest of the dose.  But I was finally starting to feel better, which made it all worth it.

Moving back to the city and beginning school/work was overwhelming but surprisingly doable.  After my first low in the middle of class, I realized how easily treatable and manageable it would be.  Three glucose tabs, 1..2..3........30.... I'm not shaking anymore.  What if it happens in the middle of an exam?  Don't think about it right now, I'd say to myself.  Each new experience comes and gets handled appropriately and I am realizing that I am able to tackle anything that gets in my way.  The transition back to my apartment was difficult but with two great roommates and lots of friends eager to learn and help made it much easier.  People were putting me in touch with others with diabetes, support groups, and resources to help me in the process.  Each time I would speak to someone that shared in my experience I would find myself feeling better, stronger, and optimistic.  One group in particular that has been especially helpful and I will continue to utilize has been an organization started by a group of girls with Type 1 Diabetes a few years ago.  They hold meetings, online support groups, and planned events so check them out:
act1diabetes.org
This really is manageable.  Good days are great, bad days suck, but overall I'm seeing that it IS going to be ok.  I even went to a Phish concert this month, brought my shots, stayed til the very very end, and had a great time.  You think I sound excited now?  Wait until tomorrow, I'm gonna be totally pumped.

I Summer in Long Island

I was welcomed home by Keith, a full plate of food for dinner, and a very frantic mother ready to tackle this affliction.  All my parents kept saying was, they wish it were them, they wish they could take it away from me, and I believe them.  They were amazing.  A friend's mother has diabetes as well and he told me how he always feels like he has it too.  When I was given this, so was my family.  It's unfortunate that events like this show you who is there for you and who you can count on, but I am so lucky to have had such a strong support system to get me through this difficult time.
That first night I was home I remember getting out of the shower and checking to see that my blood sugar was 98.  I was shaky.  Is this hypoglycemia?  But 98 is normal.  I'm laughing at myself now.  It was the lowest number I had seen in the past week and obviously freaked out.  I ran into my parents room.  Naturally, my mom was tucked under her covers already and my dad was reading a book.  I told them what I was feeling to which my mom popped up her head and said, go eat something!  As simple as that.  Is that all it takes?  I tried to stay calm.  I couldn't imagine how things would ever be calm when I felt so out of control.
The next few weeks consisted of doctors appointments, checking my blood sugar, counting carbs, giving shots, and googling the shit out of "type 1 diabetes".  I completely regressed and was under the total care and watch of my parents.  After that first night's episode my dad told me to pretend like I was 5 years old, and if something happens in the middle of the night I can run into their room and wake them up.  Well, it never came to THAT, but I did take advantage of their attention.  I bought accessories, my "pouch", a new bag to fit all my supplies for when I go out, whenever that day would come.. and lots and lots of snacks-sugarfree jellos, cheese, nuts - all things I can eat without an injection.  I was learning.
Telling Jordana was hard.  I had planned a whole speech for her, hid all my diabetes crap so she wouldn't see it in "my station" in the kitchen, but when she ran up to my room the day she got home from camp I couldn't contain myself and just blurted it out.  We cried for a bit, hugging on my bed, but I told her how it's all gonna become normal soon and no big deal, almost believing it myself.
Shabbas became a true day of rest.  I could get used to this life.  Lounging around the deck, laying in the sun, reading all three of the Dragon Tattoo books, and of course, more and more diabetes reading.  "Should I save the N.Y. Times for you?", my dad would always ask.  No way, nothing serious.  I watched tons of T.V., all my old sitcoms and dramas.  My days revolved around meals, shots, and checks.  Then we added in walks.
At first I would go with my mom to the Long Beach boardwalk but just sit and wait for her to finish walking.  It was like therapy.  Sitting and watching the waves, thinking, reading.  Then it was time for me to walk.  I would leave the house at 180, go for a half hour walk, and then I was 80.  Magic!  But if that's what would happens after a 30 minute walk, would I ever be able to run again?  Our walks were obviously filled with diabetes talks, more ideas, more theories on how this happened, more analysis, how great some of my friends had been.  A friend was away during the episode but was at my house the minute she got home to see my routine and reassure me that when I am ready to return to the city my friends would be there to ease the transition.
There wasn't that much crying at this point.  The only times I found myself crying were when the numbers weren't right.  "You're so good", my mom would say, "you're only crying because you want to get it right".  I was scared.  If I couldn't get it right, would I be ok?  Would I be back in the hospital?  One night after a walk, I came back to find myself at 250.  250?!?? How is that possible?  We just exercised!  The mood in the kitchen changed, stressed, anxious.  I took 4 units of Novolog to bring me down and to eat my dinner.  This was the night I was experimenting with T and Hewlett Yogurt.  Should I not?  Well, I did.  T, having been there for me every minute of every day since I had been in the hospital, picked me up to try frozen yogurt with me.  I was nervous but excited, a new food, but my favorite food.  I had to make it work.  I recounted the exercise episode with her trying to pinpoint where I went wrong.  Having passed her nursing boards already T was well versed in diabetes lingo, making it much easier to discuss.  As we pulled up to the yogurt store I knew something was wrong.  I was having my first low.  We were still in the car and I pulled out my trusty meter to figure out how much insulin to inject before we entered.  As my shaky hands inserted the test strip and pricked my finger, I waited for the results, 5..4..3..2..1..  50! No wonder!  What do I do??? T, ever so calm, instructed me to eat something and stay calm and that it was going to be fine.  And it was.  Simple as that, again.  That was the first night I realized the balancing act of diabetes.  The ups and downs, highs and lows.  How easily fixable a frightening situation could be, but how shitty it is to have to go through it in the first place.  

Oceanview Room

As my ER pencil bed stretched it's wings and let down it's wheels, I was transported up to my room in the general medicine unit.  My parents left me in the hands of two childhood friends K and S, and said they would be back the next afternoon.  As nervous as I was to be alone, I felt secure in the hospital, especially with my television and hospital meal.  If you don't know me, this was not a bad thing... I enjoy plane food and compartmentalized plates.  Just as my eyes were shutting, in waltzes Keith, knapsack on back, sefer in hand.  My little brother, well not so little anymore, had come to the ER the second he heard but wasn't allowed inside because it was too crowded.  I remember being super happy to see him since he always knows how to make me laugh.  I remember him sitting by my bed for a while, asking his usual questions filled with curiosity, trying to understand the new situation.  After my eyes were totally shut, his ride picked him up and I slept through a full night without going to the bathroom for the first time in months.
The speediness of my friends to get to that hospital to see me was amazing.  A friend that was studying for her nursing boards hopped in her car and was there the moment she heard, my new roommate and closest friend from high school came the night I was moved up to the fancy unit, one of my oldest friends dropped everything and was by my side the next afternoon, S was the first face I saw each morning (well, that is after the phlebotomist woke me up at 6 AM for the daily blood drawing) as I ate my breakfast.  Friends and family were calling around the clock.  Although my grandmother refused to believe it was true, she had to relay the news to my family in Israel who I was supposed to be spending the week with.  Needless to say I had to cancel the wine tasting even I was supposed to attend with M the night I landed in Israel.
I was dizzy.  Lots of people, calls, texts.  It was nice, but I knew in the back of my mind it would all hit me soon.  Everyone was very encouraging but I was scared.  When my friends weren't around I would read, google, search.  Celebrities with TYPE 1 DIABETES, no, not TYPE 2 guys.. ONE - Nick Jonas, Mary Tyler Moore, Bret Michaels.  Insulin, DKA, Hypoglycemia, Glucose.  It was like I was trying to study for a test only the test was for the rest of my life.  I remember I started to cry alone in my hospital room.  Not because I had diabetes, not because I was in the hospital, but because I was trying to remember if hypoglycemic means a low blood sugar or a high blood sugar and because I couldn't understand the exact function of insulin.  I hadn't even started the googling of "causes of Type 1 Diabetes".. no, that came much later when I got home and "how did this happen to me" consumed my every waking moment.  More on that later.
I remember the endocrinologist came in each day, teaching me more and more and me just trying to understand.  Obviously stressed out, trying to memorize everything, taking detailed notes so I could review it with my mom later on.  I thought I would go home that night but my "electrolytes were still of and ketones still present so", I was kept another night.  Honestly, I didn't mind.  I was petrified to leave.  I was starting to prick my finger myself and I injected once or twice, but I felt completely out of control on my own and loved being under the watch of the doctors and nurses.  They were encouraging-"if there is a chronic illness, this is the one you want to have, it's totally manageable, you seem in control-you're gonna be just fine!"  And then from my friends, "if anyone's gonna get this, it should be you - you eat healthy already and you're totally organized"... So that means I should have it????? Eek sorry - bitterness slipped out a bit there.
ANYWAYS, discharge day finally came.  I was being let out.  I felt paralyzed.  I had a follow up appointment the next day but all I could think was, can I make it from the hospital in the car back to Long Island?  I was going home to my house to be with my parents and brother until I felt ready to move back into the city and be on my own.  I had no obligations, no school, no work.  I was supposed to be in Israel anyways.  What if I get hungry in the next hour while we're stuck on the LIE in traffic?  What can I eat? What if my blood sugar is high, what if it's low.  I was consumed.  We stopped at my apartment so I could grab a couple of things.  My dad was surprisingly calm as he waited downstairs.  Walking into my room brought me back to the day where I ran up there to grab things to go to the hospital.  My room was in shambles, clothes and furniture everywhere.  I did not want to be there.  I took a few shirts and pants and a dress and heels (because I knew my oldest friend was getting engaged, other than that I did not plan on leaving my house).  I wanted to get out of there.  I grabbed two pieces of cheese - 2 grams of carbs, I knew that was very little and it would take me home.

 

D-Day (D-Weekend)

It was the beginning of the end of the enigma that had been plaguing me for months.
It was our last weekend in our first UWS apartment and we decided to host a Friday night meal to commemorate the year.  We were emotional, nostalgic, excited for the next stage, and I was feeling all around shitty.  I had a cold, a sore throat, I couldn't walk a block without running into a Starbucks to use their bathroom.  I would get stressed walking to the park on a Saturday afternoon for fear that I wouldn't be able to make it to the dirty bathrooms by the baseball field, only a few minute walk from the Great Lawn.  But I was excited for Friday night.  Good friends, good food, good drinks.
The dinner was a success but I knew something was wrong when I literally couldn't move from my bed to help my roommates and closest friends clean up from our meal.  They told me to go to bed and not to worry, that they would take care of it.  So I went to bed only to be woken up 2 hours later with the most severe chest pain I had ever experienced.  I couldn't move, I couldn't breath.  I tried to reposition myself to make the pain go away but it hurt even more.  I wanted to call my mom but being that it was Friday night, I didn't want to wake them and worry them.  I cried.  I just laid in my bed and cried from the pain.  I heard M go to the bathroom and jumped from my bed to meet her in the hall.  After startling her, she calmly took out her computer and found a 24-hour clinic downtown, since I refused to go to the ER.  However, after checking out this clinic, their strongest recommendation was to go to the Beth-Israel ER since chest pains were serious and felt I needed better attention.  After a 4-hour wait with NYC's finest drunkards, I was sent home with a tremendous dose of Motrin.  "You must have pulled a muscle lifting suitcases while getting ready to move", the doctor told me, and this was after I recited my rote list of symptoms.  Idiots.
M and I tiredly went back uptown and straight into bed.  We spent the rest of the day packing and moving suitcases back and forth between our old apartment and our new ones, 3 blocks up.  With the help of S, most of my clothing was all moved to my new apartment and the movers would only have to move my furniture come Monday.  That night we went to the movies.  I went to the bathroom 3 times during the movie and drank two snapples during it.
More moving took place on Sunday and my family came in to help me out and take me out to dinner.  The looks in their eyes when I opened the door and my frail body leading them into my apartment is unforgettable.  I am pained by the stress I caused my mom.  After the fact, she told me about her sleepless nights and how many times she was replaying the situation over in her head, trying to find an answer.  We all went for dinner at a Kosher restaurant close by.  Bathroom breaks: 4.  Cups of water: 8.
They walked me back home and went back to Long Island after I promised to go for a checkup at the doctor the next day after the movers finished with my stuff.  "Just make sure you're all better before you leave to Israel", my mom said.  I agreed.
After the movers left, I lugged myself around the corner for a checkup at a new doctor.  Again, I described to her my past few months in our get to know you session, but didn't really touch on the weight loss since that was being taken care of.  But when she asked me if I had ever had an eating disorder, I couldn't lie.  I explained to her that I was doing everything I could to gain weight, I had stopped exercising, was eating brownies and pizza every day, and really indulging.. "but the weight keeps coming off".  I must have sounded like the most mindless fool.  "Alright, I'll be right back", she calmly said to me.  After checking my urine sample, she walked back in with a vague look on her face.  "So we found sugar in your urine".  "Is that bad?", I said.  "Well, I know you're supposed to go to Israel in 2 days so we're going to do a finger prick (I didn't even know what that was), and get this under control as soon as possible".  The D-word still hadn't been spoken.  A nurse pricked my finger and put it into some sort of meter looking thing.  Little did I know that meter looking thing was about to become my right-hand man.
WOOPS!  TOO HIGH!!  My blood sugar was unreadable.  With a very calm face the doctor said it was time to call my mom.  She felt horrible since I had just been in the emergency room but I needed to go back.  I was in DKA - Diabetic Ketoacidosis.  I left the office and immediately called S.  Through my panting and crying she was able to make out my words and said she'd meet me in front of the ER.  I went back to my apartment, got a couple of things, met a friend outside my apartment and got a cab to Mt. Sinai Emergency Room.
I was checked in before I got there since I was an "emergency" although I really had no idea that I was.  All I kept seeing next to my name was "Newly Onset Diabetes".  So that's what it was.  Diabetes.  What was Diabetes anyways?? Would this be a one time thing?  How long would I be here for?  I wasn't alone.  S and D sat with me in the ER while I stuffed cookies in my mouth.  "Um, Lanz, I don't think that's the best idea", S said.  "I don't give a shit I'm starving", I said.  I had no idea I was literally raising my blood sugar by the second.  They took me in in a matter of minutes.  Walking from the waiting room into the ER was chilling.  Because of the closing of 2 other hospitals the ER was overcrowded, people and beds everywhere you looked.  But I was treated like royalty.  I was in DKA.  I got a bed with a curtain!
D waited in front for my mom to come and S came in and snuck into the bed with me.  I was immediately stuck with an IV, an insulin drip to bring down my blood sugar and saline for hydration.  Going to the bathroom became even more of inconvenience since I had to drag around this huge machine with me every time I had to go (once every 45 min.-an hour I'd say at this point).
It was a long 24 hours in the ER.  My mom and I were curled up together in the "pencil bed" for most of it.  There was crying, laughing, our usual analysis.  We exhausted the details of the preceding months and how obvious this should have been.  I was being woken up on the hour for finger pricks and more insulin.  I was responding to it.  My blood sugar was coming down.  My dad stayed with us until around 9 and then went home.  My mom and I slept, or really just laid in that bed all night long.  "Ya know, we only allow this in the pediatric unit", a nurse obnoxiously told us.  "Well she's my baby!!", my mom yelled.  My dad arrived back in the morning and obviously made his mark in Mt. Sinai's ER.  Conducting traffic, responding to questions to people who thought he worked there, to which he clearly did not have the answers, and all around lightening the mood.
11 AM - Good News - she can eat!  I was being declined any food since they needed to establish a fasting blood sugar.  Once it was determined that yes, it is Type 1 Diabetes.. I was given a meal with a sliding scale of insulin.  However, I was not being moved out of the ER yet.  Technically I was admitted to the hospital the minute I entered the ER, but because it was overcrowded there was no real room for me upstairs.  The doctors kept checking in with me in the ER but it was clearly not where they were comfortable treating patients and it was obviously not the best accommodations for a newly diagnosed diabetic.  But we dealt with it.  An endocrinologist came in to see me at one point with her Hermes bag and Prada shoes.  "So you have diabetes", she began with.  Talk about bedside manner.  She did her best to teach me how to use a meter and give a shot of insulin in between the curtains of our tiny bed and I did my best to pay attention and understand.  It was hard and overwhelming.  I didn't understand the concept yet and was trying to memorize the task before me.  I was beginning to realize this was going to be the rest of my life.
More good news - there is a bed for you upstairs!
At 4 PM the next day, a full 24 hours in the ER, I was being moved to a real room in the hospital.  I felt like I was being checked into a hotel.  Two of my oldest friends arrived at that moment.  Their faces full of fear.  But my mom, dad, and me were just super excited about my new living quarters for the next 4 days.

Rumors

I knew something was wrong but couldn't figure out what.  The signs were gradual, making it difficult to distinguish between thirst that is impossible to quench because of a hot summer day or extreme dehydration, going to the bathroom every half hour because of the quantity I was drinking or because my body was not retaining anything I gave it.  Contrary to popular belief, I did not have an eating disorder.  Because I have a malfunctioning pancreas, my body was unable to produce insulin to properly use any carbohydrates I fed it for the energy I needed.  Instead, it decided to put all that sugar into my blood and break down anything else I decided to eat.  Whether it was my green apples, my broccoli, my Hewlett yogurt, or my mini muffins, it was all being broken down incorrectly while I wasted away.

Again, it started out slow.  A pound here, a pound there.  I'm a runner, I'm the daughter of a dietitian for G-d's sake!  It wasn't that weird.  However, it started seeming drastic.  Inside I knew it wasn't normal, but I wasn't sure how to verbalize my problem.  I'm too skinny?  I can't stop losing weight?  It seemed like every girl's dream.  I felt silly complaining about it.  But I knew I was not ok.  It wasn't until a few good, no, AMAZING, friends began confronting me about my "eating disorder" that my consuming thoughts became a reality.  Although the diagnosis was incorrect, I admire the courage these friends had to address their concerns with me.  Whether it was in your blunt and lovingly harsh manner in a dressing room (you know who you are), or through your tears of worry (you also know who you are), I will never forget the look in your eyes and the love I felt.  It was because of this that I knew I could count on you when the true diagnosis was revealed.  To my honest, loyal friends who approached me in a direct and respectful way - I can't thank you enough.  It's because of you that I began seeking help and the search for an answer.
Getting up at a minimum of 4 times a night to go to the bathroom and chug a bottle of water, going to work each morning with an unquenchable thirst, dragging myself to and from my apartment for whatever "task" I needed to complete.  The symptoms were so clear.  I was a textbook example.  But because of my ignorance I had no idea how obvious these indicators were.  The worst part was I knew how much I was being talked about, I think that was the most traumatic of all.  I was consumed with having to gain weight.  The amount of times I would be amongst friends that I knew were thinking about how frail I looked or watching what I was eating created a feeling of insecurity I never knew I was capable of feeling.  So to those of you who talked about me, ummmm... no thanks?
I will never forget the weeks leading up to the answer.  They were horrible.  To know unquestionably that something is wrong with you but to not know what.  I don't know why I didn't speak up.  I always think, had I gone for a checkup just a few weeks earlier, it may not have had to happen the way it did.  The whole episode is sometimes unbelievable to me.  I am amazed at how long I allowed myself to go on feeling the way I did.  Weak, depressed, lonely, breakable, and THIRSTY!!  I was told I was a ticking time bomb.  

B.D. (Before Diabetes)

As if moving to the Upper West Side wasn't overwhelming enough...
August of 2009 was a combination of excitement, stress, and pressure and I began a new chapter of my life.  Moving in to NYC with two of my closest friends and being surrounded by others closest to me made the transition from my cozy apartment in Queens to the big city much more manageable.  The beginning of the school year was unquestionably difficult, especially for the "Type A" that I am.  With a full load of classes, working as a nursery school teacher 5 mornings a week, and working at a substance abuse clinic 2 nights a week, I was overwhelmed with school work and feelings of isolation.  However, with the help of my special friends, I was able to create a life for myself on the UWS and find an appropriate balance between the work and maintaining my ever so flourishing social life (sarcasm)!

Grueling Ridiculous Examination - the end of my social life.
I made the decision at the beginning of November to retake my GRE's and apply for the PsyD program in my school.  Needless to say, this added another level of stress to my life but it was all worth it when I was accepted into the program.  The rest of the academic year was filled with ups and downs, highs and lows, but I somehow managed to get through it.  However, this was also about the time that the symptoms of my dear friend began showing up, clouding the ups of the months leading up to the diagnosis.