I want to start by saying I’m grateful for insulin that keeps me alive.

I’m thankful for the Dexcom and Omnipod technology that helps me manage my type 1 diabetes.

But. I’m. Exhausted.

The last three nights I have battled dangerously low blood sugar. Friday I told my husband that if I pass out or start seizing, give me glucagon and call 911. Not amusing. Scary!

My Dexcom has been loudly alerting me to my low blood sugar. Waking me when the rebound hours later goes to high. Repeat.

I’m exhausted.

I’m trying to at least meet my Apple Watch fitness goals daily. I am staring at my Bellicon rebounder right now, trying to get the gumption to get on it and get to work.

But I’m exhausted.

This by far has been the hardest part of diabetes – I want to not feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I’m wrung out almost all the time. I’m eating low carb, I’m adjusting my pump settings, I’m trying.

There are hundreds – if not thousands – of things that affect my blood sugar.

It’s daunting.

I’m not giving up.

I’m getting up and exercising.

Then I’m going to bed.

It’s a very rainy day today. On days like this, my favorite thing to do is disappear into a book. Sitting on the couch with a lap quilt, drinking tea, and listening to the rain in the background as I read is my happy place.

My mother instilled in me a gift that will keep giving all of my days – my love of reading.

As far back as I can remember, my mom has been a voracious reader. She always had a book that she was reading – always.

As a small child, I began to mirror her behavior. I started reading a lot as soon as I was able. It was my favorite summer pastime.

I had a ritual that I modeled after what I read in “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn”. I didn’t have a stoop under a spindly tree to read beneath, but I did have an adult sized bean bag chair. I would get a small plate down, put a few saltine crackers, some cheese, and a pickle on it. I’d get a tall glass of water, and the current novel I was reading, and I’d nestle into the bean bag, until I found a cozy spot. There I spent hours reading, snacking on my salty snack, reading as fast as my mind would let me.

I still reread some of my favorite books from my adolescence, as it is like visiting an old friend. It’s always bittersweet having to say goodbye to these fictional characters as I come to the end of the story.

Reading is a great gift – and a love of reading is a wonderful thing to foster in your children or grandchildren.

Alas, anxiety and worry go hand in hand.

I struggle sometimes with anxiety. Knowing this, I practice a lot of mindfulness. I am careful to avoid triggers that will set my mind off. If I’m feeling anxious, I avoid caffeine. Keeping my blood sugars as stable as I am able to also helps, as well as doing some light exercise.

Sometimes, however, I get blindsided. Out of the blue I see or hear something that jolts my mind, and then it’s off to the races.

If it gets bad enough, more problems ensue – headaches and insomnia being the main players.

This is why I try to nip it in the bud when I am able.

Worry makes its entry when I’m caught off guard. My mind begins going around, ruminating on the worst case scenarios. Often, I will pray silently, or sing hymns, if I catch myself worrying. This tends to be a much repeated tactic.

It’s much easier said than done.

It’s taken years of therapy, meds, and experience to deal with acute bouts of anxiety that lead to worry.

The struggle continues.

I’m sitting with my husband and son, content.

It’s a good feeling. I am, at this moment, at peace.

My crazy life has been slowing down. Last September, I resigned from my full time job of almost eleven years. I was commuting around 8 hours a week on top of the 12+ hour days.

After that, I downshifted into an office job, four days a week. I worked this job until mid-June.

Then we decided to let me take some time to heal, and to rest.

It’s doing me a world of good, on every level.

I’ve always been an observant person, but now that I am not racing through life, I am enjoying the observations I am making every day.

Take today as an example. I awoke early this morning to a puppy’s insistence to go outside. As I sat on the log bench watching her saunter around the yard, the morning light had me getting up to investigate. I was delighted to find a beautiful sunrise highlighting the undulating clouds. For a few minutes, I just breathed and took in the cool air, the golden sky, the playful puppy.

Tonight, we watched the local farm team play baseball. I spent as much time watching flags snap in the occasional breeze, the light chop in the bay, and the play of the children around me, and the contrast of manicured grass and the red clay field.

Even in the visit to the drive through restaurant tonight to pick up food for our son, I smiled as I saw sherbet colored trumpet flowers draping down the barrier hedgerow just outside my window. I imagined the delight of hummingbirds finding these fluted blooms.

When I was busy, I noticed things occasionally. Now that I have slowed down, I am grateful for all the small, wonderful things that I can appreciate and enjoy.

Tomorrow it will be 30 days since I picked up Molly to begin fostering her.

Molly was part of a litter born with no home, to a feral mom that someone probably dumped on the side of the road one day in a rural area. Many attempts to catch and spay the mama dog have occurred, to no avail. Molly was part of a trio of pups destined for suffering.

The first stop was to her rescuers home. JB bathed and bathed the flea riddled pups, removing nests of fleas from the suffering seven week old babies.

Next the puppy went to respite, into the home of a veteran foster mom. For a week, she received love, deworming, and flea medicine.

The call was put out for foster homes for the pups. As soon as I saw her picture, my heart was broken. So at eight weeks old and just five pounds of fluff, the puppy came to our house so we could foster her.

This rescue is all foster volunteers, and that love and devotion has a great success rate. It is not, however, without work!

I named her Molly, and set about socializing, crate training, and growing this little pup.

My Aussie, Mitzi, is a natural mother, though she has never had a litter of her own. She taught Molly the things puppies need to know from Mama dogs.

Molly loves to wake up around 0500, and that’s been tough – but she is being crate trained, so I arose and ran her out, Mitzi by her side.

30 days tomorrow.

I’d be lying if I said my heart isn’t breaking a little bit to know that tomorrow, she goes to her forever home. She’s so confident and social and SAFE with us. She’s already overcome so much, and now she is starting over.

She’s 12 weeks old now, and has tripled in size since we got her. She’s had great food, exercise, and lots of play. Of course, she’s been very much loved.

Ah, Molly girl, you have touched our hearts. Godspeed as you go to your new home – the application has been vetted, the home study has been done. The contract is signed, and you will be spayed at 4-6 months, microchipped, and given all the necessary vaccinations.

We wish you happiness and much love. Thank you for letting us share your world for 30 days.

“Where is my pancreas!” is something that I say often. Believe me, it is not something I ever expected I would be saying.

Since October of last year, I have been wearing an insulin pump (Omnipod), and a CGM (continuous glucose monitor – Dexcom). If I have to do this diabetes thing, I’m going to try and keep things under the best control possible.

Both devices are blue tooth, and both have PDM’s (personal diabetes managers) that they transmit to. Both PDM’s are housed in a small bag that I call my pancreas. Frankly, that’s how this little bag is functioning.

When I want to know what my current blood sugar is, I glance at the Dexcom PDM, or at my iPhone or Apple Watch, to get the most recent reading. When I eat, I have to put my blood sugar and carbs in the Omnipod PDM so it will figure out how much insulin to give me, and dose accordingly.

You lucky souls who have a pancreas that is inside your body that does this for you – say your thanks.

My pancreas also holds insulin, an extra pod, syringes (lest the pods should fail), alcohol wipes, AAA batteries, test strips, and my lancet, the better to poke my fingers with. It was a lot easier when my pancreas worked.

Around six years ago, my pancreas started to poop out. Mistakenly told by my doctor that it was type 2 diabetes, I lost 30 pounds, and began to EXERCISE. Yes, the former hater of all things active began to run.

My pancreas was grateful, and continued to chug along for five more years.

Alas, last year I had to start insulin. So I started to investigate, and discovered even old gals like me could get type 1 diabetes. So I asked to be referred to an endocrinologist. August 16, 2017, I was told what I already knew – I had type 1 diabetes, not type 2.

MDI (multiple dose injections) of insulin got old quickly, as did the accompanying poking of my fingertips. So I turned to technology. Thus the paisley pancreas was born!! (www.sugarmedical.com)

I LITERALLY do not go anywhere without it. I’m getting better at remembering it – after turning my car around and heading home on more than one occasion. Because it’s Bluetooth, it has to be in the vicinity of my person, and connected devices.

I also carry glucose tabs (yucky!!) and small pouches of candy (yummy!) everywhere. I love going to events and having my bag searched – try to take my candy, lady!! Ah, it’s the little things now.

In closing, I really would love to see a cure for diabetes. I cannot imagine being a child with this mess of a disease, or the parent of a child. It’s a LOT to deal with. I thank God every day for insulin.

It literally keeps me alive.

When I was a little girl, if someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always had the same answer.

I wanted to be a wife and mother.

I always knew that art and writing would be major parts of my life, but I wanted to be a wife. And a mother.

Life didn’t work out quite like that.

Due to my subterranean low self esteem, I ran through some loser men. I couldn’t wife when I was divorcing an adulterous spouse.

I was a mother, though – to three children who brought me such joy and fulfillment. And challenge. And love! And stress. And fun!

Just over two decades ago, I became a registered nurse – strictly for practical reasons. I was a single mom with a chronically ill child, and I knew I would always have insurance, and I would always have a job.

Of course, it became much more than a job – it was a ministry. My passion! I loved critical care, but I found my niche in women’s health, specifically labor and delivery. Many moments of love, and thousands of precious memories, were made during these years. I was blessed to do what I loved!

Just over a decade ago, God blessed me with a wonderful husband. I could put down my Wonder Woman cape, and learn how to be a wife. That’s when I began to breathe again.

Over the past couple of years, my health has been a challenge. Chronic back pain would flare to debilitating, slowing me down to a stop with increasing frequency.

Then came diabetes – first incorrectly diagnosed as type 2 six years ago, and then full out type 1 last August. It’s been a rollercoaster.

Last month, my husband and I decided I would resign as a nurse, so I could concentrate on getting well. Strengthening my core. Tweaking my diet – eating the best I can.

I’ve begun all of this, but the diabetes is exhausting, and an impressively agile foe. So even without the stress of work, I’ve got my hands full.

But…

I also am – at last – primarily a wife and mother. And grandmother! Our grandkids are arriving now – twins last December to join our 6 year old grandson – and now two more grandkids early next year.

This brings great peace to me. I am content at a level that is so deep – it finally hit me today that it is probably because I have finally attained what I wanted for my life.

I guess I have grown into my childhood goals at last.

I’m so grateful!

Today is the pseudo celebration of National Hot Fudge Sundae Day. I know it’s just a way to sell ice cream, but for me, it brought back memories.

My dad was a career officer in the USAF. We moved every 1-2 years from my birth, all the way up to my sophomore year in high school. I lucked out and got to graduate in a school I spent three years in.

It’s hard to have traditions when you are packing up and leaving town so often.

Daddy and I did have a tradition, though. No matter where we were, we would go to Baskin Robbins and have ice cream.

We always got the same dessert – he would pick, and I as the dutiful daughter would follow.

For several years, our go-to dish was the hot fudge sundae. Or, as Daddy called it, the hot sludge fundae. Being the sarcastic and jovial dad that he is, that’s the way we would order them. I’ve never heard them called that, before or since.

Tonight my hubby, son, and dog went to a local drive through to get a hot fudge sundae. I smiled as I thought of all the ice cream treats my dad and I have shared. I just couldn’t go to Baskin and Robbins without him.

Next time I go see him, we will just have a delayed hot sludge fundae celebration.

(The dog of course had a dish of vanilla)

Oh, Florida, your greed is showing.

The first story that caught my eye is from Walton county, in the panhandle of Florida.

It seems somehow, someway, legislation was passed that muddied the crystal clear waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Since said legislation passed, greedy wealthy property owners, under the delusion that they own the BEACH, have put fences of markers down to just above the water line, and call the police to enforce it. Seriously!? For years they have made it difficult to get to beach accesses – now, this has gone too far.

Up next, vacation destination, Destin, Florida. More overcrowded and overdeveloped by the day, the monstrous Emerald Grande started charging for parking. $10. The hotel that was built on a spit of land that was never to be developed, but was because the right pockets were lined with cash, now is charging for parking. When it shouldn’t even exist. Wall to wall traffic, condos stacked on condos, and now paying to park just to shop. Bravo, greedy tourism barons!

Next up, downtown Pensacola, Florida – also in the panhandle. Some genius decided to make every possible parking lot and street space a pay for park scenario. Every. Single. One. We came downtown to watch a movie at the classic Saengar Theater, and spent a long time circling, looking for a free spot, even as the lots were empty. We noticed dozens of cars doing the same thing. Ironically, they are revitalizing downtown. Too bad no one can come here without shelling out to park. The businesses have to be suffering. Smooth move, brainiacs.

Pensacola Beach is considering charging to park at the one major parking lot – the one with access to both the beach, and the boardwalk. The premise is they will remove the $1 toll plazas to get on the island. Riiiight. Let me look into my crystal ball – I see toll booths, and a pay to park lot.

November is coming – find out who stands for the people. Vote for someone who gives a crap – because obviously they aren’t currently in office.

I don’t know what has happened, or when exactly it began, but for some reason, everyone is screaming.

I expect it to be loud at sports bars. Or kids venues. That makes sense.

Anywhere we go, though, it is loud. Loud. LOUD!!

The last two times we went out to high end restaurants, with nothing but subtle background music, we couldn’t hear each other speak. What was supposed to be a romantic dinner turned into straining to hear each other, while the other tables made our eardrums bleed with their loud chatter.

My nerd husband actually measured how loud it was at a recent venue, and it was over 100 decibels. Legitimately ear damaging loud.

Everyone is screaming to over-talk the nearby tables. Instead of bringing it down, the volume goes up. And up.

I think cell phones are partly to blame – everyone raises their voices and speaks louder when holding a phone. I think people are so used to shouting into a cellular device, they transfer their outside voice to every conversation, everywhere.

We even went to an outdoor concert that was so loud with the cacophony of college age concert goers, we couldn’t hear the artist on stage! We left, lest we spend two hours listening to the banal and oversharing stories of promiscuous and alcohol driven behavior.

This incessant auditory overload is keeping us at home. We go out less. We spend more time in the peace and quiet of our home.

It’s a shame.

I don’t know how to reverse this self centered shouting match communication trend. The loudest one does not win.

Common courtesy would be nice, but I fear it is long gone, along with our inside voices.