Off to spend the long weekend visiting the outlaws.
I have lots of long thoughtful posts brewing in the pipeline, but I am semi-forbidden to blog until I finish my autobiography. In the meantime I will leave you with this bit of snark.
Don’t get me wrong.
I heart my pregnant friends.
And I understand that sometimes pregnant ladies have achey bellies, and this leads to public belly rubbing.
But pregnant lady ahead of me in the airport security line: was it really strictly necessary to crop your t-shirt to expose your little bump, which you were so considerately rubbing?
In a weak, I have nothing to say moment, I sucumbed to Shelli’s charms and put myself up for the interview game. A reminder for those who haven’t seen this before – if you’d like to be interviewed leave a comment and say so. I’ll post questions for the first five to do so, which they will answer on their blogs with the same invitation to be interviewed.
1) What is the hardest thing about living with diabetes?
Geez, ask an easy question, why doncha? How can I choose just one? I have lots of things I hate about living with diabetes – the extra suitcase I need when I travel to carry enough supplies for just-in-case-I-get-stuck-in-a-ditch-on the side of the road in a blizzard for two weeks and the inevitable oh crap I forgot x, y, or z, the diabetes drive-by comments
(an anecdote, because I have to get this one off my chest: said to me last night, on the phone with the director of my graduate program, a somewhat ditzy woman who I genuinely love and respect, “I forget because you don’t look diabetic.” In my iciest tone, “Annabelle (not her real name, by a long shot), tell me then, what does a diabetic look like?” A good conversation ensued, in which I once again educated the world that not all people with diabetes are old, fat, and gangrenous)
Then there’s the moments when I hit the wrong spot and OW OW OW! Or the moments when my blood sugar will not cooperate with what I want to do. Or the lows – at intimate moments, in important meetings, at 3 in the morning. Yeah, all those things SUCK.
But the worst thing overall, which really encompasses all of the above, is its constant hum in the back of my mind. The am I hungry or am I low hum, the should I ask when we’re going to stop for lunch hum, the how many carbs are in that, and should I bother testing when I’ve already eaten half of it, hum. The, do I just pull out my meter and test in front of this person when I really don’t feel like having a Diabetes Conversation? That constant hum separates me from other people. While you’re jumping up and down with excitement at the thought of going to the water park, I’m wondering: how will I carry my supplies with me? Will Smokey be safe? (Also, how many people have peed in that water? Ugh.) I wish I could just be there, in the moment, without this constant buzzing that only I can hear.
2) Have you two “picked” which gender you prefer? Can you just say “the youngest one you’ve got?”
Sure, we’ve picked which gender we prefer. Pili prefers boys and I prefer girls. Babies in Guatemala are generally referred within a week or two of birth, so age doesn’t work as a decision avoidance method. And the wait for boys is less than the wait for girls, so if we say we want whichever comes first, we’re saying we want a boy. So here’s what we’ve lit upon and what our agency has agreed to: We will put our name on both lists. When we get to the top of the boy list, we will be passed over until three months have past. If we have not been referred a girl by that point (which is within the range of possibility, but not the range of extreme probability) we will take whichever comes next, which will probably be a boy. In other words, we’ve found a way to leave it somewhat up to chance. Now I just need to write my damn autobiography, yo, so I can get on to my interview with Vaseline Teeth.
3) Can you share your thesis with us in 25 words or less?
Once again, ask an easy question… My thesis is pretty specific to my work, which is not something I want to get into here. So, in 25 words or less: It has to do with making a content area which is generally seen as developmentally inappropriate for young children more accessible to them. During the discussion with my program director last night, we agreed that if I had not made substantial progress by labor day, I’d do the comprehensive exam option, and just get my damn degree already.
If that hasn’t put you to sleep, email me and I’ll tell you more.
4) Could you start a recipe blog, please? Your food pictures make.me.drool!
Aw, thanks. The comments I’ve gotten lately on my pictures, along with the recent disruption in my daily routine, have been inspiring me to focus some energy again on my photography. I love it when I do it, but am far too insecure about it to hang out my shingle as artist. I don’t think I cook enough to have my own food blog, but I’d certainly hint hint be happy to contribute to someone else’s…
5) As far as the embryos – can you do a “natural transfer” cycle – just stick um in, and add progesterone, and call it a day. ALL the while you are focuing on adoption?
A couple of people have suggested that, and I think it’s worth looking into. Mind you, I’m not the one being poked and prodded, but I think that the parts Pili minds are: a) the suppositories b) the ass shots (both of which are involved in adding progresterone) and c) being probed and medicalized in general. Right now, we’re still agreeing to disagree on what to do next. I’d like to do one more cycle, sometime before referral, and just put all four remaining embryos back, and pray that one of them sticks around long enough to say hi. Pili is still, a) bleeding, and b)not so interested in getting back on the table anytime soon.
Anyone who has more experience with this and can explain why a “natural transfer” FET would be significantly less unpleasant than an unnatural one, please speak up.
I love this fountain in flat cosmopolitan city. There are the obvious rainbows in the refraction of the sun in the spray of water.
As well as the more subtle rainbow of all the people – young old black brown peach male female tall short thin fat clothed or almost naked – enjoying this work of art together. Indeed, being part of the work of art.
And then there’s also the rainbow lights in the glass bricks, caught at a certain angle –
And the constant flow of different faces into each other on the statue itself. A funky urban rainbow.
Thanks so much for all your love the last couple of days.
I had a good, sky clearing howl last night, brought on by the crime of Pili egregiously failing to listen to me twice. I’m still sad – I loved what I did at Job that Does Not Blow – and I loved the professional credibility that I got from working there. But the plusses of having some more time on my hands – to finish the Thesis, to work on my photography, to do what I can on the adoption paperwork, are definitely there. Adoption paperwork: SIGH. As I’ve mentioned, Pili has to do a lot of these things herself. She is, I think it’s fair to say, slightly less detail oriented (i.e. anal) than I am, and also less comfortable being firm with people. So she doesn’t insist on the right language the first time around, in the face of snotty bank employees for example, and then it turns out
we have she has to go back and do it again. And I feel like the ultimate back seat driver, wishing I could just do it myself.
On the subject of Smokey and her recent crankiness: A second bolus cleared things up yesterday, and I had a stellar evening, capped off by a workout without Unfortunate Eating Incidents(!)
But I finally gave in and changed my site about 18 hours early (and took an injection) this morning after another unexplained high. There was a puffy little bubble there which oozed insulin when I took the site out. Moral of the story: Listen to Julia. And Lyrecha.
My sugars have not been playing nice today.
I had a high last night (where high is defined as 300+) due to some petulant post-dinner snacking. It came down nicely with a bedtime bolus and I woke up a little on the low side (62) this morning.
After breakfast, I was 170. I gave a wee bolus.
At lunch I was still 170. I ate the lunch special at our local Japanese resturant – miso soup, edamame, a small ball of rice, three pieces of tempura, and salmon teryiaki – which was a little hard to count for, especially since my trusty calorie-king book had exited my purse without permission.
An hour after lunch I was 231. I decided to wait and see just how much action I get out of my humalog.
Two hours after lunch (which admittedly was pretty heavy in the fat and protein dept) I was 284. I took the bolus wizard’s suggestion, and bolused 2.2u.
Smokey just beeped at me to test, so I did (three hours post lunch, one hour post bolus). 291.
Any thoughts pumpball wizards? Should I do an injection? Change my site? I just disconnected and did a fixed prime, and there is insulin coming out of the tubing…
Ugh. This does not make me happier.
Also, why do you have to manually turn off the check bg alert? Why can’t the silly pump turn the alert off itself after the meter has sent over a reading?
After a fantastic weekend in flat cosmopolitan city (shout out to our lovely hostesses and the beauticious bride & groom) I came back to work today to find out that I am being laid off from the job that does NOT blow due to not getting the grant that would pay for my position to continue.
I was very composed and did not cry in the director’s office as he and my boss explained to me how wonderful I am and how sorry they are and blah blah blah blah.
But this sentence in the letter he handed me just infuriates me:
“Art-Sweet, it has been a true pleasure to work with you and I expect our paths will cross again. Thank you for your service and dedication to Organization X. Given your qualifications, proven abilities, and broad network of colleagues, I am confident that you will able to find a full time position that suits your talents and needs soon.”
Riiight. I haven’t found a full time job that suits my talents and needs in the three years since we moved to this god forsaken corner of the country.
I will continue on at the job that blows (where the director asked me, in reference to our wedding, who would be the bride and who would be the groom) and I suppose make good use of my additional two days of free time a week to actually complete the Thesis and etc. etc. etc.
But right now, I am convinced, more so than ever, that a black cloud hangs over my head and follows me around and surrounds me with my own personal microclimate of raining crap.
We’re leaving at the crack of dawn tommorrow morning to go to flat cosmopolitan city for a wedding (congrats dearest one). I won’t be back until monday night and don’t know if I’ll have a chance to blog or comment in the interim. The horror, the horror. Will she survive?
The one good thing about waking up to make a 6:15 flight is that it means
I we don’t have to wake up at 4am for a basal check. Because we’ll already be up. Ugh.
Quickly quickly then as I still need to pack and do a couple of other things…
I HEART SMOKEY.
Our first night together was a little rough. I still had a half dose of Lantus coursing through my system and I against my better judgement decided to be a Good Diabetic and not mess with my 12 hour old basal program without consulting medical authorities first. Had I either a) called McClinic at midnight, or b) followed my instincts and programmed a 70% temporary basal, I would not have had a string of unnecessary eating incidents and a string of lows culminating at 55.
Today, however, has been bee-u-tiful. If the novelty will wear off, and I will stop using the bolus wizard when I would previously have said, eh, it’s not worth taking a shot for that half a cookie, please don’t tell me. Because I have not strayed over 160 or below 120 ALL DAY. (I should probably test before I say that, shouldn’t I?)
Anyways, must pack before my eyelids collapse. Big smoochies everyone, see you next week!
At the moment, .5u/hour of saline is pumping into my abdomen.
Tomorrow we go live. Woohoo!
I have already had a Tubing Incident. The World’s Most Wonderful Electricians came over today to fix a lengthy list of small things. For what it would have cost for them to say hi in Flat Cosmopolitan City, we had:
- two GFCIs installed
- broken closet light fixed
- two broken outlets replaced, one of which could have burned down the house
- outdoor motion-sensor light installed, switch fixed
- a couple of other things fixed
This involved me taking one of the electricians up to the attic.
I scooped up Bart to try and extricate him from the fascinating new playground of the attic. He struggled. Paws were entangled in pump tubing. Ouch.
By the by, I’m really enjoying the comments on my OLGA (obligatory lesbian gender angst) post, so do scroll down and keep them coming. Big smooches also to the lurkers who have delurked and congrats to “anon” aka My First Boyfriend, who’s newly engaged to his boyfriend. Congrats sweetie – I’m so frickin’ happy for you!
Assignment: A Bug’s Eye View
I really wanted to get out and take some pictures for this one. But it is COLD and RAINY and YUCKY and my macro lens is with my father in the Big City. So you get reheated, yet hopefully still yummy leftovers once again.
First, a couple with the bugs in the picture:
What the bug saw:
I imagine this would be one of the last things the bug saw.
Close up view.
There’s more on flickr…