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.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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