Friday, October 29, 2010

Insulin Emotions

Hey bluebirds,

Uh oh. I did a bad thing. I did a very bad thing. I was mean to my dear beautiful mother last night. And I feel AWFUL. Problem is, due to a horrid combination of high blood sugar and uh...."shark" week, I almost feel like I should just be forgiven because it wasn't my fault! I just wanted to get mad at SOMETHING, and she was there. And now I'm getting the silent treatment, and will almost definetly be banned from attending any halloween parties. I wish I could go back in time and say, "LIV, RELAX! GO READ A BOOK, DON'T PISS OFF YOUR WONDERFUL MUM!". But, alas, as a teenager I must have these monumental screw ups so I don't do the same thing while I'm attempting to make my way in society as an adult. You know when you want to go apologize to someone and hug it out and have it go back to normal, but even getting near them gives you frost bite from the cold shoulder they are giving you? I have that. Come on, ma, I already have rainods, my feet are cold enough, just smile at me!

All of this stress and guilt is not helping my blood sugar.


Your regretful chickieboo

Insulin Chick

Wednesday, October 27, 2010


It is 11pm. Time for bed. But first, I need to whine.

Whine about the fact that I am STARVING, but my blood sugar is good and I don't want to risk messing it up before I go to bed by eating. Even though I'll hate waking up feeling like there's a ravenous tiger inside my stomach, having high blood sugar all night would be even worse.

So now I'm going to walk to my bed while making a grumpy sad face.

Good night daisies.

P.s. I hope I wake up at 6.2 mmol/L and stay there all day. But if that were to happen, I suppose I wouldn't be diabetic.

If I got cured RIGHT this second, I would go eat 12 cinnamon rolls while bathing in icing and laughing maniaclly. Alas, I can only dream of a cinnamon roll icing sprinkle chocolate bath.

..... it's probably better for my figure that I stick to normal baths.

Forgetful Little Goblin

I'm a forgetful little goblin.

My blood sugar at lunch was 17mmol/L. I forgot to give myself insulin for that delicious half of a cinnamon raisin bagel I had for breakfast. So I had to give myself 5.35 units before I even got to think about the dismal lunch I was about to (not) enjoy.

Hm. Doesn't 5.35 units seems like so much insulin? I guess that's what an 8:1 ratio will do to a girl, give her a 2:1 blood to insulin ratio. On the plus side, the DDevil (I just made that up now) has really improved my mental math. I may not have a functioning pancreas, but I can divide 40 by 8 like a champ!

Another joke I just thought of, imagine saying it in a really cheesy voice. Ahem. "This b.s is b.s!" ....heh. Get it? B.s stands for blood sugar. And bull shit. What a clever sugar free cookie I am.

Love your boo bear

insulin chickorita

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

pump it up

a few months ago for my acting class, we were required to write a personal, emotional monologue about something that was happening in our lives. this is mine.

PUMP by insulin chick

Yesterday, I got my insulin pump. I dont think I’ll ever forget that car ride to the hospital. My mom had run into the store after picking me up from school to get some water. The box with the pump was in the backseat. I opened it for the first time since it came in the mail a month ago. And I held it. I followed its lines with my finger and memorized how it felt. And I cried. I cried for what seemed like forever. And I kept crying when my mom came back. Tears and mascara stained by cheeks. And I kept crying. And I yelled at my mom, I blamed her for making me get it. I still blame her.....

Sure, it might help me with my control of this, which my dad says is the big picture. But they don’t think past that. This..thing.. is attached to me, I have a tube inserted into my stomach that the insulin is pumped through. That means I can’t run away. Ever. With the needles, I could leave them in the other room, I could forget just for a second. I could move freely, I could be free. But the pump, I’m attached to it. I can’t ever get away from it. Something about being attached to it makes my stomach turn and my head spin and my heart feel sad. Sad. That’s what it makes me. Sad. There’s no running from it now, no retreating into the back of my mind where I’m a normal teenager and none of this exists. Because it’ll always be there. Me and this, this, thing, will be attached at the hip. Literally.

You know I don’t feel pretty with this. I don’t feel womanly or cute or like I can do anything. I feel like, like a monster. A robot. I know this is so shallow, my health is more important, but I won’t stand here and lie and say my health is the only thing I think about. I think about, how I'll wear a skirt, or a dress, or a bikini. How will boys react? Will it give me a weird tan? I think about these things, and I..I cry. I love that I’m athletic, a runner, soccer player. I love my leg muscles that can power through anything, that push me off my track blocks at a million miles per hour.. Will this slow me down? Do people on insulin pumps go to OFSAA?*

All I can say is, you don’t understand me. Fuck, you probably don’t understand half the things I’ve been going on about. But understand this: you’re the luckiest person in the world, because you have something that I want so bad. Something I dont remember ever having. Power. Power over your own body, a will thats your own. Fuck I’m jealous.

i write monologues like this all the time. i have millions. and ill be posting all of them. writing like this helps me to deal with my feelings, its really therapeutic. Some are structured, like this one, some are written at 2am and barely coherent. but they are all real.

trust me kitties, im an emotional gal!

meet the fabulous insulin chick


how nice of you to stop by, i don't think we're met before. please, sit down, make yourself at home. would you like some tea? scones? no? thats ok, i didnt feel like walking all the way to the kitchen anyways.

i should introduce myself i suppose. my name is liv, and im a 17 year old from the land o'lakes, or should i say great lakes. im also a type 1 diabetic, which i can only hope you deduced from the cool hip and trendy (too many adjectives?) title of this blog.

i was diagnosed march 3, 2003. i was a cute little nine year old with long blonde hair and a star soccer player. but then i lost weight, putting me just above 40 pounds, i stopped eating, sleeping, and attending school was as rare as a unicorn in bermuda (which is quite rare, only 3 recorded sightings.) and i went on down to my doctor, and then i went on down to the hospital, and then i stayed there for 4 days, utterly confused about what was happening. and here i am today.

still blonde. still playing soccer. a lot taller though. i like fantasy books with dragons and witches, playing computer games, fashion, zoology, acting, baking, singing, writing, and chillin wit da brahs. i dislike insulin pumps, blood glucose, hpa1c's, and calluses.

I shalt now delcare thoust magnificent blog thy funkalicious diabetic diary.
(with other stuff on it too!)