I hereby reclaim my independence

One of the things that bothered me after the diagnosis was my eagerness to please the endo with good numbers, to be the best person with diabetes etc. This has been a recurrent problem of mine, pleasing people even at my own expense. That lead me to believe that a good A1c (which I achieved, in the beginning, by waking up with a number of 60ish and being fine with that because it gave me a better mean and, hence, a better A1c, being that I was 60ish all night long). I felt happy mentally because I got this "good grade". I felt awful, physically because, well, I was basically low all night long and I couldn't sleep properly.
I had nightmares all the time, and if my desire to be a horror-story writer had been active at the time, boy I would've had the right material!
Now I'm dealing with reminiscences of this people-pleaser persona due to the fact that I have a meeting with my doctor tomorrow and my numbers have been awful lately (she would only look at this disastruous recent numbers).
For days I've tried to come up with arguments in my mind, arguing that I might have been a little sick, I was too busy to pay attention, food has declared war to me etc.
Which got me thinking that, again, I'm not worrying about these bad numbers. I'm just worried of how they make me look, like a bad student that didn't do his homework.
I'm not worried about the complications that I might be facing with these high and all over the place numbers, I'm just worried of being labeled as a bad diabetic.
And it hurts to be robbed of independence, to feel the need of explaining your decisions every three months. Sometimes we just get tired!
Sometimes food does declare war on us (Same food at dinner two nights in a row, same carbs, insulin, awaiting time, but a 2h test of 113 in the first night and 237 in the second; and I was eating beans. I didn't even know that beans could do that to me!).
Sometimes we just forget that the only judges of our diabetes behavior can only be ourselves.
So tomorrow I'm gonna march in that office without any excuses or explanations prepared. What I'm gonna do, instead, is work towards better numbers that would make me feel proud or guilty, and not necessarily the endocrinologist.
Note: I had to draw my own picture because Google couldn't find another image with a bad PWD. There's only me out there! And yes, stripes are back in.

Regrouping for the new year

I don't necessarily believe in the cosmic importance of the New Year's Eve anymore - it's just a date set by humanity for administrative purposes. But I can't help my urge to set resolutions, treat this new year like a new chance, new possibilities to be better, do better etc.
So I found myself thinking about what I want for myself for this new year (only for myself, I'm selfish that way; I understand that you're also supposed to wish things for your family and for the Universe; I just believe in self-control, how can I wish to control my family, much less the Universe? Ofcourse, I wish them only the best, but that's irrelevant; they have to want the wish in order for it to happen; moving on).
Diabetes takes up a lot from my resolutions. A lot. Like, 90 percent.
But it's also what makes most of my life nowadays, being merely a baby with diabetes (1 year on December 28th; present? Gary Scheiner's Think like a pancreas).
Just yesterday I was thinking that I would want to trust my abilities to control my diabetes better, to really trust my insulin to carb ratios and I was thinking that I could drop the 2 hours post meal tests, since I pay for these tests myself.
In the morning, my 2h post-breakfast is stellar, between 90 and 130. But that's just because it's slowly creeping to 140-150 before lunch. So I was thinking that I could drop that test, since it never tells me something new, and save some money. This morning my 2h test was 57.
It really is an ironic disease.
Going back to my resolutions, I still need to think about them, to organise them in neatly little bullets.
Obviously, they'll be the normal ones for people with diabetes: make better food choices, tighter control, more activity, yadda-yadda-yadda.
But they are already forcing me to have better numbers.

Resilient

Resilient is what I'd call my diabetes for the last few days. No matter what I did and how low-carb I ate, my numbers kept planking at 160. Not even trying to go up or down, just staying there, enjoying the view.
Last night I kept feeling dizzy, not being able to focus on learning for my finals, so I kept testing (~160, invariably) and correcting, but nothing changed. Before sleep, when another number of 158 greeted me, I was too afraid to correct some more and go to sleep so I just surrendered. I diagnosed my diabetes with a bad case of resilience and my body with a bad case of insulin-resistance and I just went to sleep.
This morning, after only 4 hours of sleep, I was at 79.
Go figure.

Off conversations

Have you ever wondered how strange your diabetes-related conversations must sound for the innocents passing by?
Some samples:
"Ugh, I feel so sick.
-You should make a test!
I guess it's a little too late for that"
Here I was talking about the fact that I'm over the 1-hour-after-meal or 2-hours-after-meal range and the numbers would be inconclusive.
''Ugh, I feel so sick.
-You should make a test!
I can't, my hands are dirty!"
I should've shouted that my conscience isn't clean.
To be continued.

Perfect 100!

Perfect 2h pp:

Night time hypoglicemia

I go to the bathroom of my dormroom, only to find one of my colleagues sitting on the toilet, fully clothed, studying for the exam we have in two days.
-What are you doing? Why are you in my bathroom?!
He just shrugs like he always does when he doesn't want to answer a question and I leave it to that.
I turn to the mirror, look at my hair and decide to cut it in half. Look, there are some scissors right there. Why don't you take them and cut your hair? I find myself staring at the tail in my hand. Tiny voice in my head:
-Alexandra, what are you doing? What is wrong with you?
This isn't right. This isn't real. Tiny voice again:
-You must be in hypo. Test yourself.
I must be dreaming?
Wake up. Wake up.
Ok, I'm awake now. It's really dark, but I go straight to the bag with my supplies, take it and carry myself to the bathroom, as quietly as possible considering the fact that my legs feel cemented in a certain position (I have two roommates and I try not to let my diabetes affect them at night too.)
I test myself: 52.
Hmmm. This feels too bad for it to only be 52. Nevertheless, I redo the process of putting one foot in front of the other for what seems like infinity until I get to the fridge. Can't remember what I actually ate, but must've been good because I woke up with a bs of 112 and the full length of my hair.

Pain

When you're diagnosed as a diabetic, you get a glucometer, some pens and off you go. You get used to the process rather fast-it is about surviving, after all.
They ask me about pain, when they see all the needles. I'm fine with that. It usually doesn't hurt.
But. From time to time, i kick a nerve or a blood vessel. Or there's a blunt needle involved. The sudden pain is astounding.
They ask me:"Are you sick? Are you in pain?"
No, i'm usually not in pain, not the physical kind. But psychologically...
My eyes get watery. The whole area hurts and stings and gets numbed. I blink fast, i find another area to inject and just not think about it anymore.
But there are moments when i do choose to think about the pain. From time to time, i feel some bumps under my skin in the places where i usually inject. From time to time, when i run after the bus or simply wash the dishes, i feel some phantom pains like the needles would protrude on the outside, this time. From time to time, i inject myself in the arm in front of the mirror (is the only way i succeed) and I can't, for the life of me, recognise the girl in the mirror. Who are you and what are you doing to your body? How did you learn that so fast? What have you done to me?
I was diagnosed as an (mostly) adult.
It's a trauma. I know I have to deal with it, and I'm working on it through this blog.
I try to feel everything there is to feel now, at it's time. I search for information, I want to give information, I just take care.
But from time to time, usually in the dark, in my bed, I choose to think about Before. I choose to look at the pictures from Before and wonder if Diabetes was born with me or it chose to accompany me somewhere on the road. I choose to visualise a future without this diagnosis but I don't fool myslef. I try to accept it but I'm also not ready to give up the life I imagined for me.
I think it has to do with my identity. I was in a full process of cristalizing my persona when D. came to reconfigurate everything.
But that's some blabber for another post.