Listening To My Body

It's been four weeks since I posted on this blog -- something you may or may not have noticed. To say I've been "busy" and even "overwhelmed" would be a fairly substantial understatement. Sometimes, life is like that. And I think I can reasonably assume that you (each and every one of you that read this) have noticed that.

I won't bore you with the gory details. Suffice it to say, they've been pretty gory. Emotionally, not physically, but gory nonetheless. Yet here I am, still standing (so far) and back for another round. Or another year. Or another dance around the floor of being useful. It's my mission.

It's Just Maintenance!

I once had a friend who became one of my heroes when she systematically dirtied all her dishes, cups and glasses, pots and pans, silverware and cooking utensils, took one look at the mess she had made, and then boxed it all up and lugged it to the curb. I would never do something like that myself, you understand. I can't afford it, for one thing. But I'd get tired of living with it all long before I was through the process. Still, it's the kind of thing we might dream of doing when we're tired of being "good."

The Best Laid Plans...

Some things can be planned and some resist you like a two-year-old full of birthday cake. And you can't always tell which are going to be which.

One thing that seems to be working pretty well for me right now is coming home after I shop at my favorite grocery store and remembering to do their online survey. I've mentioned this before because, while I have a few friends who are so much better off financially than I am that it really doesn't matter (within reason) how much they spend -- on groceries or anything else -- most of the people I know have to count their pennies more or less.

I'm not sure when the store implemented the practice of offering a five-dollar coupon for filling out the survey. I mean, by the time I spend an hour reading labels at the end of a long day and go through the process of checking out, I'm pretty brain dead. So past the perfunctory "thank yous" I trade with the cashier, there's little real communication going on at that stage.

The Adventure Of Low Blood Sugar

Those of us who have diabetes may get a lot of finger-wagging from medical professionals, family members, and even friends about high blood sugar. And it's absolutely true that if we're not managing our condition, if we're eating more than we should, forgetting to take our medication, or eating the wrong things, our blood glucose will be high and our risk of developing complications -- like blindness or strokes or heart attacks or neuropathy (which can cause us to lose an arm or a leg) -- are greatly increased. So I take this really seriously and try very hard to keep my numbers down where they belong.

But since 2008, when I was first diagnosed, I've had a number of adventures with low blood sugar, which can come on fast, is sometimes no fun to deal with, and can be dangerous itself. Low blood sugar can occur if we get busy and forget or don't take time to eat. It can occur if we accidentally take more medication (especially insulin) than we need. And it can occur if we exercise even moderately for a half hour or more. And those are just a few of the examples.

Denial Is Not A River In Egypt

Last week, I told you about an event where I sold ten books in thirty minutes -- a very unusual experience in my process to interest people in the book I published a year ago, Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun.

This week, my story is vastly different. I stood (or perched on a stool) for three hours while literally hundreds of people strolled by at a huge downtown event and sold...wait for it...none. I was just outside the door of a popular bookstore, had a snappy double poster on an easel to catch the attention of passers-by, and tried to make sure I wore an inviting smile. But no dice.

This Time Next Year...?

This time last year, I had just brought out my book, Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun!, I had an official launch event scheduled for October (National Diabetes Awareness Month), and I was feeling my oats. Everyday, I did something to promote my new book -- handing out flyers, attending and speaking at health fairs, talking to medical professionals, giving away book after autographed book (that I was paying for) -- and I just knew I was going to help all kinds of people suffering with diabetes. After all, there are thirty million of us and an additional five thousand new cases diagnosed every day! How could I go wrong?

As the weeks and then months went by, however, I slowly but surely realized that most folks that share my condition don't want to think about it and certainly won't pay to read about how they could (let alone need to) change how they are dealing with it -- or not. I shook my head sadly, admitting that I should have expected this disappointment, but the fact is that had I done so, I quite possibly wouldn't have written the book at all. It was a lot of work and cost me money to publish and distribute. And while I was proud of my accomplishment, I didn't have much to show for it.

It's The Little Things That Count

When I was first diagnosed with diabetes in 2008, I was 5 foot 6 inches tall and weighed 168 pounds. I was put on oral medications. I started counting carbohydrate grams like my life depended on it (because I was convinced that it did). I started hitting the gym regularly. And six months later, I weighed 118. The weight had just melted off.

Nobody was more surprised than me. I went from a size 14 to a size 2. I was rocking long form-fitting sweaters and skinny jeans. And I was almost glad I was diabetic. But the diabetic nurse educators took one look at my tiny body and told me I was borderline underweight, not good at my age. And I stayed that way for five years.

Learning To Self-Parent For Fun And Profit

I readily admit that my orientation to family (unfortunately, perhaps) is less than warm and fuzzy. I realize I wouldn't even be here if my father and mother hadn't...well...you know. And I'm glad they did, of course.

But my father was a pedophile and my mother was psychotic, so my childhood was right up there with "Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?" on steroids. I don't even like to imagine what happened to my two younger brothers and two younger sisters after I ran for my life at eighteen. It has taken me seven decades to reach a point where I'm not dragging the wreckage of my past around behind me like a dirty blanket -- often for all the world to see.

At some point in my adulthood, however, I came across a book that I found helpful in processing my "issues" and some of its ideas have remained useful over time. It was a book on "self-parenting."

"Yes, Doctor..."

I declare inside the front cover of my book, Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun!, that I am not a medical professional. I can't diagnose or treat illness (my own or anybody else's). And furthermore, each body is different, so what works for me may not work for you. Having said that, however, there are some things I've learned about managing diabetes -- and health in general -- that are valuable information. Playing an active role in your health care process is one of them.

Pushing Through

Few of us will ever run a marathon. Several years ago, I won a 5K run for women in my age range (coming within a hair's breadth of beating the first place male) and I'm still bragging about it. I haven't run competitively since because there's nowhere to go from there but down. And I get older every day that I stay alive.

My point is that running 27 miles is more than most of us are up to, especially as we age. People do it, but it takes a lot of training. It takes a lot of commitment of both time and energy. And it takes the willingness to push through the wall you hit when your body say "no." From what I understand, it's that last factor that really makes the difference. And that's the topic of today's post.

More Good Stuff I've Learned From Managing Diabetes

If you're one of my regular readers, you know that I often write about ways my diabetic condition has actually helped me. It got me down to a healthier (and cuter) weight. It kind of semi-forces me to exercise, which I would definitely not do if I wasn't diabetic. And it has introduced me to some delicious foods I probably would never have even tried if I was still gorging on fried everything and washing it all down with big gulps of sweet tea.

But there are more subtle ways learning how to manage diabetes has served me well and today's post is going to feature a couple of them.

Connecting The Dots

When I was a little girl, my mother used to sing a song I only vaguely remember. It went something like: "The thigh bone's connected to the leg bone and the leg bone's connected to the ankle bone..." and on and on from there. It had a catchy tune, so I liked it. But it also taught me an idea that has become very important to me as a person living with diabetes: things that don't necessarily appear to be connected often are, so everything I do (or don't do) affects my body and, ultimately, affects my condition, as well.

Today's post is going to feature some of the connections I've discovered since I was first diagnosed eight and a half years ago. Since each body is different, yours may not work just like mine in a particular way, but hopefully, you will find some useful information in what I've learned. Or at least, you may begin to look for the things that are connected for you.

Eating Healthy AND Saving Money

Last week, I wrote about why we should feel perfectly all right applying for and spending Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (better known as SNAP) funds. One of the reasons this is on my mind is that in the summer, I don't get paid. And regardless of how much I've put away to cover my basic bills out of the salary I get from September through May, the summer months provide a challenge. Then, if my car battery dies (like it did last week), I find myself stressing not unlike I did in the bad ole days.

Then I start thinking about those who live on a fixed income because they're retired or collecting disability benefits or unemployed or unable to work for whatever reason. They have to worry every month -- not just in the summer. And at 70 years of age, I could very easily be one of them any time now. So it helps to know that SNAP exists. But I have some other things I'm doing right now to help me get the nutritious food I need and keep my glucose in check.

Oh, SNAP!

Some of you might be surprised to learn that a woman who teaches college full-time at the age of 70 spent a decade on food stamps earlier in her life. And I make no apology for it. I got my first job at 13, worked in high school, and started paying income tax while I was still an adolescent. Not to mention sales tax and all of the other taxes and fees I've paid through the years to support our system that so often doesn't support us.

For my first five years on food stamps, I had two small children, no child support, and no college degree. That was before Bill Clinton ushered in the policies that forced women into jobs that could not begin to keep their kids from going hungry. So I could receive assistance for five years, during which time it helped my kids and me to eat. Not well, but regularly.

Managing Diabetes Is Like Managing A Business

I don't write much about my father. He had a fatal flaw. Maybe even more than one. But it occurred to me this morning that he gave me one gift that keeps on giving -- in a good way. He was a "management analyst" (whatever that means). Not that he talked about it much. When I asked him as a child what he did when he went to work, he replied with a chuckle that he "pushed papers around."

But what I saw, week after week, month after month, until I left his house at eighteen years of age, was my father sitting at a table with his checkbook, an accounting ledger, and a little red metal bucket full of bills, addressing them one after another. He didn't explain what he doing, let alone how he was doing it, but that image is burned into my mind and it has guided me through the years in ways that never let me down when I followed the guidance.

It's Complicated...

Since writing Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun!, I will pretty much talk to anybody about diabetes management any time anywhere. I don't claim to be an "expert." I'm no kind of medical professional. And there are lots of folks who have been managing diabetes quite successfully for far longer than I have.

But I have learned a few things through the years since I was diagnosed in February of 2008. And the process of spending an entire summer wading through my memories and writing it all down helped me to organize what I've learned into areas I think are the most obvious (like weight loss) or easiest to implement (like taking the stairs instead of the elevator) or even more crucial to saving one's life (like not giving up as if there is no hope when your life isn't over ~ it may have just begun).

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jog

The past couple of weeks have been an adventure. As I told you in my last blog post, I left for Cuba on May 24th to plan a conference there for 2017. That would have been adventure enough, needless to say. I hoped that I would have time before I got on the plane to schedule a post for last Sunday, but that didn't happen.

So I told myself that I'd jump right on the internet as soon as I was state-side again on June 1st to make up for leaving you hanging. But by the time I got back, I was so wiped out physically, psychologically, and emotionally, that didn't happen either.

Cuba Bound

There was a time in my life -- sometimes it feels like a million years ago and sometimes it feels like yesterday -- when I would make a decision and run with it into a fire. Nothing could stop me or even necessarily slow me down.

It wasn't that I thought I was always right. It was that I didn't think period. Each day was a millennium and I was the sun at the middle of it all. It made for some rough going on occasion. But I wasn't looking back. I was going to live forever. Or die young. And neither gave me great pause.

Age Ain't Nuthin' But A Number

Three weeks ago, I stood in front of an audience of 1900 strangers and admitted that I'm seventy years old. I had to work up to the admission for a month before the event. I had spent some years already telling people, "I'm really, really old." But I couldn't typically find the nerve to casually admit my age in conversations. Except with my doctor. Or a very close friend. And then only in a whisper.

I cracked jokes about it in front of my students in class. "I would tell you how old I am," I'd say, "but I'm afraid they'd come make me retire." Or I'd quip on a different occasion, "I'm perfectly fine with getting old. There's only two options, you know: getting old or getting dead -- and I'm not nearly ready to get dead yet."

It All Hangs In The Balance

I'm no doctor or nurse. In fact, I'm not a trained health professional at all. And I know that each body is different. Some of us are older than others. We represent different genders and body types. Some of us jump out of planes for fun. And some of us can't get out of bed. It's complicated. But I hope that, if I communicate anything at all in these posts, one of the principal messages that comes across is that balance is key to managing diabetes.

When I was diagnosed with our shared condition in February of 2008, all I heard was, "Here's a list of everything you ever loved about food and drink that you can't ever eat or drink again" (a list four feet long) "and here's a list of what you can eat and drink from this point forward" (a list that fit tidily on one page of a 4" x 6" notebook). New information was coming at me so fast, I couldn't possibly catch it all, let alone understand it. So I got some of it confused. And I got some of it wrong. And I missed some of it altogether. Not to mention brushing some of it aside until later -- years later, actually -- because it was complicated and my brains were already stir-fried.

Acting Like Grown Ups Because We Are

Twice this week, I was greatly appreciated for behaving in a kind manner. In both cases, the people involved compared my actions to those of others they had recently come into contact with. And in one case, a server actually wouldn't accept my tip because he was so grateful that I had been "nice." It's sad to me that people in public places treat those who serve them badly, so I wound up making a joke about acting like a "grown-up." But later, I got to thinking that -- though all of us grow old -- not all of us grow up.

A Day Late, But Richer Than Ever

This morning, I'm sitting down to write this post on Monday instead of Sunday (as I usually do) because I was out of town all weekend after a week so hectic that I didn't have time to write it in advance. This caused me to remember that, when I was a kid, my mother used to say ruefully when someone would fail to meet her expectations, "A day late and a dollar short..." But, though I'm a day late, I'm richer than I've ever been. Not richer in money, but richer in spirit.

Open Minds Expand Horizons

Last week, I wrote about the relationship to food that most of us have because, as best I can tell, people (like me) diagnosed with diabetes struggle -- a lot -- with that relationship. I know that more than twenty thousand people in the world die every day from hunger-related causes. And I don't want to be a whiner. But it sometimes gets tiresome thinking and re-thinking and over-thinking food the way I choose to do.

I say "choose to do" because many of us (diabetic or not) certainly don't do so. Vegans who aren't diabetic also need to pay close attention when eating outside their own kitchens. People with allergies, ulcers, lactose intolerance, or problems with gluten tend to monitor their diets, as well, if they want to avoid the immediate negative repercussions of ignoring their conditions. But people with diabetes live in a magical fog where they can eat whatever they want without necessarily experiencing an instantaneous punishment. So, like a dog eyeing a platter of chicken on a picnic table, we regularly arm wrestle our decisions and sometimes make bad ones.

Am I Blue?

Last week, I wrote about how anxiety interfaces with my diabetes. Then, this morning, while I was thumbing through a magazine for people newly diagnosed with our condition, I noticed a bit of news. Apparently, a new study has found that people with diabetes are disproportionately likely to suffer with both depression and heart attacks. The connection between diabetes and these other two issues is not new news. What came out in the study, however, is that the three separate conditions are a trinity of trouble. So addressing any of them addresses all three. And ignoring any of them ups the likelihood of their making us sicker -- and maybe even killing us -- no matter what our lives are otherwise like.

On Managing My Anxiety To Manage My Diabetes

Most people that know me, especially those that have known me for a while, will tell you that I'm wrapped a little tight. Always have been. Even as a toddler, I was a perfectionist. And being a perfectionist will amp up that anxiety level at a moment's notice over things other folks wouldn't even notice.

It's not as though I haven't worked on it over the years. And whether or not my efforts were always 100% conscious, I have made progress. The first time I was made aware that my emotional responses had improved was when my daughter (then ten or so) left a quarter size ink spot on my favorite peach-colored spread and I just said, "Well, it's only a blanket." She couldn't believe it.

But that was some time ago and I still get more anxious than most. Sometimes out of nowhere. Sometimes when it causes real problems. And sometimes when I'm doing my damnedest not to.

Practice Makes Progess, Not Perfect

Last week, I told you I was kicking my exercise regimen up a notch, so I'm reporting today on how that went. I don't know how things work for you, but I tend to think that if I'm not totally on top of my game, I've failed miserably. This is not the case, of course. But it's how I feel. And it's easier to drop a commitment if I think I've already let myself down. You may feel the same. So I'm going to share my week with you to encourage us both to keep going.

Lights! Camera! Action!

When I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was, like most people I knew, not very "active" physically. In fact, taking the stairs at work instead the elevator was pretty much the extent of it. I felt good. I looked okay. I was overweight by thirty pounds, but I saw plenty of people bigger than me. I knew I probably should be more active, but I had no motivation and, frankly, no interest.

Then came The Day, when my doctor said, "I was right. You're diabetic." And when I managed to talk my psyche down off the ceiling long enough to do some homework, it became apparent to me that things were going to have to change. All the information on managing diabetes was telling me to eat less carbs, take my medication, and exercise -- or suffer consequences I did not want to think about.

The Ooops! Factor

I've recently decided to make a shift in the direction of becoming a vegetarian. I've decided not to buy any more meat (not even a can of tuna!) until I finish eating what I already have in my kitchen -- which should be gone in a few weeks, at most. And at the rate I'm moving, I half expect I'll be over the urge to buy meat by then.

I'm reading labels even more intensely than ever. Many of my meals and snacks are vegetarian now, including this morning's breakfast: a peanut butter and banana sandwich on whole wheat toast with two dried dates on the side (one of my personal favorites). I've located my copy of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Being Vegetarian (bought more than a decade ago). I've started scanning my diabetic cookbooks for vegetarian recipes. And I'm scouting Amazon for new cookbooks in case I feel the need.

But while I'm delighted to keep you posted about my progress on this exciting new journey, that's not the point of today's post. Though it's how I came up with the idea.

"The Sky Is Falling! The Sky Is Falling!"

Therapists call it "catastrophizing" and I used to be really good at it. It means going into a panic about any little thing. A flat tire? That would be good enough to convince me the Universe was crashing. Being unable to find a parking spot? I just knew it was going to cost me my job. Locking my keys in the car would send me over the edge in a New York minute. Spilling a quart of orange juice on the kitchen floor when I'm late for an appointment would make me suicidal. And don't even think about having some restaurant worker overcook my eggs! I could go into a tizzy over anything -- big or small -- and the amount of emotion was pretty much the same. The word had been rubbed right off my panic button a long time ago.

Over the years, I made some progress with not jumping to the conclusion that my life was over every time I had a bad day. But what really helped me get the hang of breathing through minor (or even not so minor) difficulties was being diagnosed with diabetes. All of a sudden, my uncontrolled emotions could -- and generally did -- send my blood glucose levels through the roof. And now, instead of just a flat tire, I was dealing with something that could turn into a real catastrophe.

Loving The Turning Point

The Universe sent me two curves this week. And since I'm one of those folks who overthinks and over-analyzes every possible detail of her life, I've already had to talk my brain out of overdrive multiple times in a few short days. One would think I might have learned to exhale sooner by this stage of my life, but not so much.

Anyway, the first curve (on Tuesday) involved the final nudge toward becoming a vegetarian. To make a long and winding road a simple statement, suffice it to say that my overall principles are consistent with the idea of not eating animals, but my belligerent commitment to doing whatever I please based on whatever I'm used to has influenced me to ignore my principles. *sigh*

As long as I've been ducking and running from the ultimate decision to go in this direction, one might imagine that I'd just say yes and get on with it. But managing diabetes makes diet complicated, at best. And I've got the hang of the way I'm handling it now and, frankly, dread trying to figure out how to do it differently. So Wednesday unfolded with my brain a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I bounced from grieving the loss of yogurt to balancing proteins and carbs to irritation and back to grieving over and over all day till I went to bed exhausted with the issue unresolved.

With Diabetes, Every Day Is Tough

A few weeks ago, I was talking to another person diagnosed with diabetes and we agreed that we've learned through the years to just "roll with it." If that's not a term with which you're familiar, to "roll with" something just means to "go with the flow," "deal with it," "let it be what it is." But whatever term you use, it's sometimes easier said than done, huh?

That's one of the reasons I wrote Your Life Isn't Over ~ It May Have Just Begun! There were many times those first few years that I would have greatly appreciated a little book that was full of inside tips and hints all in one place and in a style that didn't make me feel as if I was reading a dictionary.

Five Things I Hate About Being Diabetic

I try to be upbeat as much as I can. It isn't always easy, but I've been around long enough to have already tried many of the possible responses to life. At one point or another, I've used rage, whining, and liquor; eating until I was stupefied; buying things nobody needs; working until I just couldn't anymore; and throwing myself headfirst off the cliff of a highly questionable romance. None of those methods ever fixed anything for more than a minute. And all of them left me with some kind of negative fallout to deal with. So whether I feel like it or not, I try hard to take the road less traveled: seeing the glass half full (or whatever platitude comes to mind at the time).

But that doesn't change the fact that there are just some things I don't like -- or even hate -- no matter how positive I try to keep my attitude. Today, just to prove I'm not really made of sugar and spice and everything unrealistic, I'm going to admit to five of them.

Rabbit Food

This is my sixth month of writing this blog. Weighing in weekly to mull over my life as a person who has diabetes and will have it, I presume, until I die, I've written on all kinds of emotional and physical issues, on traveling nightmares and triumphs, on loved ones, on what works for me and what doesn't, and when all else fails, what inspires me to keep loving my life and moving forward anyway. So I'm going to take a risk today and write on a topic that -- as important as it is -- most of us agree is not something we would ordinarily talk about in polite society: the trip we all make (or want to make) to the bathroom.

Diabetics who want to manage their condition think a lot about what and how much we put into our mouths. We compute how long it has been since we ate with the rigor of a tech whiz. We check our blood glucose level before we eat and even when we're thinking about eating. Just yesterday, I drove away from the Baskin Robbins store without going in because I checked my BG after I parked and realized that, while I was low enough to have a scoop of ice cream at 4 pm, it would prevent me from having dinner until 7 and I didn't want to wait that long. Many of  us have the food thing down to a science, whether we're happy about it or not.

On the other hand, unfortunately, few of us understand very much about what happens after we digest our food. And it's just as crucial as the eating part.

I Can Do It My-SELF!

When children are small, one of the first signs they're becoming a little person is their declaration -- usually loud and clear -- that they want to do something. "I can do it my-self!" they announce. And at that point, if those within earshot want to avoid a meltdown, they will back up and let the child try (or at least help the little one to do so).

Somewhere along the line as I matured, I reached a point where I lost some of that commitment to myself. I live alone. I support myself financially. I negotiate my own car deals. And God help the poor soul who tries to debate me on anything I know much about. But when it comes to self-care, I've had to learn some things in recent years.

Glad To Be Me

Some days, I'm on top of the world. I wake up rested. My hair acts right. A particularly feisty outfit matches the twinkle in my eye. I'm cracking jokes. My boss buys me coffee. I get good news in an email. And everybody likes me on Facebook.

Other days, I wake up at 4:30 in the morning and can't get that argument out of my head. I give up trying to go back to sleep and crawl out of bed feeling wiped out and cranky. I look in the mirror and see an ugly, old woman on her last legs. I shuffle into the kitchen to make coffee and can't even decide if I want it. "Is this how depression feels?" I ask myself and then wonder -- seriously -- if this is the first toddling steps toward suicide.

When Routines Get Broken

I'm a creature of habit, as many of us are. My life tends towards forming itself into routines and at my age, with the freedom of being a person who lives alone, those routines are not often interrupted. This works well for managing my diabetes.

My body typically wakes without an alarm at 6 a.m. after going to bed as a rule between 10 and 11 at night. As soon as I'm up, I do some stretches, make my bed, and check my blood glucose level. Then, I bring in the paper, fix my breakfast, take my insulin, eat while I read the daily news, and hit the computer for the first time of the day. Some mornings, I have to be out and about early and I often have to be in front of a classroom by 9:30, but even when I don't, the routine generally holds.

Because I'm Diabetic

I was a child of the sixties. By the time I was in my mid-twenties, I had "tuned in" to the social changes that were manifesting themselves all over the country, "dropped out" of mainstream America (leaving a job, a husband, and a walk-in closet of clothing behind), and "turned on" to alternative lifestyles that opened doors to new adventures in consciousness. Soon, I was eating brown rice and veggies, granola and home-baked bread, and salads instead of cheeseburgers, while supplementing my daily food intake with vitamin and herbal supplements. Though I was still smoking cigarettes (and other things) at that point, "dessert" or other excuses to eat sugar appeared only as "treats" on special occasions and it didn't occur to me that it should be otherwise.

When I "dropped back in" five years later, I assimilated into the norms that I realize now were moving our entire culture in an unhealthy direction. We went from fresh to canned to frozen vegetables, from homecooking to fast food, from playing outside to playing in front of a computer or a television monitor, from pushing mowers to riding mowers, from lots of sleep to lots of coffee, and from "treats" on special occasions to pop tarts for breakfast, McDonald's fries (dipped in sugar-laced catsup) and chocolate shakes for lunch, and dessert after dinner that rivaled the size of the meal. More importantly, we grazed all day on "snacks" with little to no food value and lots and lots of carbs.

When we packed on a few extra pounds, we chalked it up to middle-age and bought a larger size. And when diabetes, heart attacks, and strokes became as common as catching a cold, we drowned our anxiety in spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Chunk Fudge ice cream eaten out of the carton while we watched the Late Show on the way to bed.

Holiday Fun...?

I've written about traveling before on this blog. It's a topic that scares those of us who deal with diabetes because it can be complicated to manage our condition when on the road. The first few trips after we're diagnosed, the learning curve can seem pretty steep. But once we've got the hang of it, managing our diabetes while traveling can become just one more logistic like not forgetting your toothbrush and remembering to bring an extra pair of shoes. Until the unpredictable happens, that is. And then things can get interesting.

Most of the time, everything goes exactly as you hope it will. Unfortunately -- such as in the case of my return to Louisiana from New York City after Christmas -- a nightmare descends and you really get to find out what you're made of.