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.
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.
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.
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.
On page 32 of my new book on managing diabetes, I tell my favorite anecdote about the things I've learned along the way.
It was fourteen months ago. I had been diagnosed as diabetic for about six years already and had been doing a fine job of managing my disease until sometime the year before, when my best efforts and the advice of my primary physician fell flat and I needed new input. I had finally gotten an appointment with the nearest endocrinologist and it took him less than ten minutes to determine that I needed to be on insulin.
Not only was I shocked and horrified by the news, which I had feared from the moment I was first diagnosed. But additionally, I thought it meant that I was dying.
