Recently I’ve had a career change. I went from a meaningless, faceless job to a more fulfilling and gratifying career in personal care. I studied marketing in college. I have a knack for business and communications, so this is a far cry from anything I’ve done before.
Part of my required training was a mandatory emergency first aide class through St. John’s Ambulance. It was a fantastic course. I really enjoyed it. It’s something that I think everyone should do… put it in schools or something. It is a one day affair that covers CPR, severe bleeding, emergency burns, and the Heimlich maneuver (It is no longer to be called the Heimlich maneuver actually. Apparently the relatives of Dr. Heimlich wanted to be paid to use his name for this so they changed it. This was kind of a revelation for me. Seriously, what next? “I expect a 50 cent royalty every time someone chokes and is saved by my maneuver!” I have to physically resist rolling my eyes as I type this.)
Near the end of the day we reached a section of the program on special conditions. The first of these was diabetes. That morning we’d been given the first aide textbook. When we got to the section on diabetes I skimmed through the information on the page. I was a little dismayed but definitely unsurprised by what was listed there as to what to do in an emergency with a diabetic person.
I find that the diabetic medical community is really on the ball with the needs of diabetics. The doctors, nurses, and other health care workers really know their stuff. They seem to be well informed about the complexities of the illness both physical and emotional. It is the general medical community that seems to fall short. Their information is uneven and clumsy, sometimes sadly outdated. I don’t understand how an illness so dramatically widespread and so drastically on the rise, can be so widely misunderstood.
The advice of the St. John’s Ambulance textbook was not necessarily wrong… just incomplete, and therefore easily confusing for anyone not intimately familiar with the condition. There were two things that struck me when first reading this section; first, they list the signs and symptoms of someone suffering from either hypo or hyperglycemia. This list, the way it is written sounds absolute and very clear. That is what makes it so misleading. For example, exhaustion is listed for low blood sugars. But exhaustion and lack of energy can be a sign of both hyper and hypoglycemia. And it is so important to realize that each diabetic is different in their symptoms. In cases of extremely low sugars or extremely high sugars, dizziness, eyesight difficulties, and confusion are common. This textbook made it sound like these symptoms are strictly one or the other.
Ok… so contrary to what St. John’s ambulance would have us believe, if you are unfamiliar with diabetes it may not be easy to tell if the individual is suffering from high or low sugars. Now what?
The textbook says to give the person sugar. It has a delightful drawing of a woman sitting on the floor stating that she is confused, and a young man offering her something ( juice, I’m guessing) and saying “Here, this may help, and it definitely will not hurt.”
I was sitting in class trying to suppress my irritation.
I’ve had record high sugars. The highest recorded was something like 54. I was perfectly lucid and capable at the time. I’d driven myself to the hospital. I was a little sick but I wasn’t confused or unable to do things on my own. So what number would I have to reach before that happened? 60? 65? 75?
I don’t know.
So let’s say I get confused. And my first aide responder opens the textbook to the diabetes page and sees I’m confused and can’t breathe well and have no energy. They give me a glass of orange juice.
Then what?
Seizures? Coma? It only takes that juice seconds to do the job.
I couldn’t hold my tongue. I said some of this stuff to our first aide teacher. She responded by saying that the general rule of thumb was to give the person sugar… then wait 5 to 10 minutes because they should start to feel better right away. If they don’t, then the problem is high sugars and to call the ambulance.
Well ok.
That seemed fairly reasonable to me. In an emergency situation there are only so many options you have. However, nowhere in the book does it say any of this reasonable stuff! Just: “Give them sugar!”
Again: then what?
Well according to the book that’s it. So my poor inexperienced first aide responder thinks: “Ok, they are not better… more sugar?”
More sugar?!
How would they know what to do if I was too sick to tell them?
There is the flaw. Just a tiny bit more information and this risk is greatly diminished. One sentence: “If the sugar does not begin to revive the individual after 5 to 10 minutes, an ambulance needs to be called immediately.”
Sound reasonable?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Monday, December 7, 2009
H1N-What?
It’s an epidemic. Or is it a pandemic…?
I get my “-emic’s” mixed up.
I watch the news everyday; I consider the footage of airports filled with passengers wearing paper masks. Pictures of people coughing. Directions on how to sneeze properly. (Have you heard? They have changed the rules on this. It is supposed to be into your sleeve now, not your hands. I wonder if it will turn into another margarine VS. butter debate… which one is really better for you?)
Yesterday washing your hands was the BEST WAY to ward off the illness and today NEW RESEARCH has decided that maybe that’s not the case… (Sense a hint of sarcasm?)
Wear a mask in public places.
Sneeze into your sleeve.
Sanitize sanitize sanitize…
And good heavens don’t even mention travelling to Mexico. (It’s like talking about bombs in an airport… oh no no no no no …)
We as diabetics are considered a “high risk” category. Along with the tiny children, the asthmatics, and all others who have chronic illness or who live with someone who does. (Sheesh, does that even leave anyone?)
There has been a lot of controversy surrounding this flu shot. So the underlying question: Do we, or don’t we?
I did.
I’d heard of the sickness people were suffering from it. I’d heard rumors of seizures and swollen arms. But I get the regular flu shot every year. So I just bit the bullet and got both done at once, despite all the kerfuffle. (Seriously folks… what’s one more needle right?)
Heck I’m still waiting for the bird flu to hit, never mind this pig thing. What ever happened to that? This thing the birds were bringing overseas from, what, Asia or somewhere, that was going to wipe out human kind…? I always get this mental image in my head of flocks of rabid seagulls (all red eyed and frothing from the beak) zooming and zipping in from over the ocean and dive bombing us like war planes.
Well clearly that never happened. (It’s also like when someone mentions Mad-Cow. Isn’t your first thought always a cow-who-looks-angry? Like a Gary Larson cartoon? No? Just me?)
There has been a lot of media hype over this H1N1 thing that might be slightly disproportionate to the reality. It’s a shame that absolute truth in these situations is impossible to achieve or even guess at.
I have a friend who believes that it’s all a conspiracy and that these flu viruses are being cooked up in a lab somewhere and inflicted on us by a foreign government as a type of ware fare.
That one may be a bit of a stretch --- (I have an idea, we all just need to eat more bacon. This way there will be fewer pigs, and therefore less swine flu. Just need to eat more bacon… It’s hard to argue logic like that.)
Either way, my fellow diabetics, keep healthy, be careful. Whether or not you decide to get the H1N1 shot is for only you to choose. It’s a very personal choice so weigh your pros and cons carefully and don’t be too swayed by scare tactics and irrational propaganda. And remember: sneeze into your sleeve.
It’s the LAW now!
I get my “-emic’s” mixed up.
I watch the news everyday; I consider the footage of airports filled with passengers wearing paper masks. Pictures of people coughing. Directions on how to sneeze properly. (Have you heard? They have changed the rules on this. It is supposed to be into your sleeve now, not your hands. I wonder if it will turn into another margarine VS. butter debate… which one is really better for you?)
Yesterday washing your hands was the BEST WAY to ward off the illness and today NEW RESEARCH has decided that maybe that’s not the case… (Sense a hint of sarcasm?)
Wear a mask in public places.
Sneeze into your sleeve.
Sanitize sanitize sanitize…
And good heavens don’t even mention travelling to Mexico. (It’s like talking about bombs in an airport… oh no no no no no …)
We as diabetics are considered a “high risk” category. Along with the tiny children, the asthmatics, and all others who have chronic illness or who live with someone who does. (Sheesh, does that even leave anyone?)
There has been a lot of controversy surrounding this flu shot. So the underlying question: Do we, or don’t we?
I did.
I’d heard of the sickness people were suffering from it. I’d heard rumors of seizures and swollen arms. But I get the regular flu shot every year. So I just bit the bullet and got both done at once, despite all the kerfuffle. (Seriously folks… what’s one more needle right?)
Heck I’m still waiting for the bird flu to hit, never mind this pig thing. What ever happened to that? This thing the birds were bringing overseas from, what, Asia or somewhere, that was going to wipe out human kind…? I always get this mental image in my head of flocks of rabid seagulls (all red eyed and frothing from the beak) zooming and zipping in from over the ocean and dive bombing us like war planes.
Well clearly that never happened. (It’s also like when someone mentions Mad-Cow. Isn’t your first thought always a cow-who-looks-angry? Like a Gary Larson cartoon? No? Just me?)
There has been a lot of media hype over this H1N1 thing that might be slightly disproportionate to the reality. It’s a shame that absolute truth in these situations is impossible to achieve or even guess at.
I have a friend who believes that it’s all a conspiracy and that these flu viruses are being cooked up in a lab somewhere and inflicted on us by a foreign government as a type of ware fare.
That one may be a bit of a stretch --- (I have an idea, we all just need to eat more bacon. This way there will be fewer pigs, and therefore less swine flu. Just need to eat more bacon… It’s hard to argue logic like that.)
Either way, my fellow diabetics, keep healthy, be careful. Whether or not you decide to get the H1N1 shot is for only you to choose. It’s a very personal choice so weigh your pros and cons carefully and don’t be too swayed by scare tactics and irrational propaganda. And remember: sneeze into your sleeve.
It’s the LAW now!
Monday, November 16, 2009
Mummy and Me
There’s nobody in the world quite like our mother. She cooks for us. Feeds us soup when we’re sick. Heals our wounds both physical and emotional. She worries about us uncontrollably and loves us unconditionally. She always has the answers.
I was never certain I wanted to be a mom. The idea of trying to raise children was daunting. .. frightening. And I was selfish in some ways and I knew it. I wanted a business or creative career. I wanted to travel to exotic places. I wanted to delve into my own personal projects. I wanted to pursue my own dreams.
And to my everlasting shame, I never ever wanted to experience labor.
I know I’ve mentioned my low (low) pain threshold.
I suppose the nuclear family life was always in the back of my mind filed under “eventually”. Husband, home, children (maybe 2?) and the dog (of course). Football games, piano lessons, PTA…
Maybe that’d be nice. Stability of family life. Scrapbooks of first steps and snowball fights. Braces and school dances.
The older I got the more that seemed like maybe… maybe I do want all that. Eventually. After I travel the world, build a satisfying business career, become a published writer, and spend a few years with my husband… of course.
Of course.
Things have changed again.
I have made the decision not to have children.
After being diagnosed with diabetes it has been something of a difficult question: Do we have a child or do we not accept that risk? A non diabetic woman’s body has the ability to turn itself inside out to accomplish this feat. Ours does as well but the risks are different.
It’s amazing. Little by little I began to learn what that could mean for me should I choose to go that route. I’m clearly no medical professional, and risks vary so much from person to person, but after looking at the possibilities … at what exactly could happen to myself or my baby, throwing in my own personal health history… and it just doesn’t seem like a possibility any longer.
I guess it’s a question of trust. I don’t trust my ability to keep a perfect sugar reading through pregnancy. And how could that hurt my child? How could I live with a guilt like that should something go wrong?
It’s astounding what you don’t want until you find out you can’t have it. It’s in our nature I think. To desire what is not ours to have.
Like me and egg sandwiches.
I’m so allergic to eggs.
It’s a very intimate, personal choice, this baby decision. Something each woman has to make for herself. And it’s not like there are no other options out there; surrogacy, adoption. Each with their own emotional results.
Have you ever been asked this question: “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”
I actually hate this question. Usually it’s in reference to a career path. (what is the right answer to that, by the way? I’ve never known quite what to say)
Well , where do you see yourself in 20 years? 40 years? 50 years?
I’ve always been hazy with these imaginings. I picture me and my husband , both with white hair, our faces are fuzzy but it does appear that I am at least 100 pounds overweight.
Apparently I’m going to be fat in my old age (fat and happy I hope!).
The other thing is that I always imagine that I have grown children… with children of there own. I have to actively remove them from my little picture. When I do it seems a little empty.
I have made peace with my decision.
The pitter patter of little feet will be from Oscar (my little dachshund). Or rather Oscar IV or V or something…
I was never certain I wanted to be a mom. The idea of trying to raise children was daunting. .. frightening. And I was selfish in some ways and I knew it. I wanted a business or creative career. I wanted to travel to exotic places. I wanted to delve into my own personal projects. I wanted to pursue my own dreams.
And to my everlasting shame, I never ever wanted to experience labor.
I know I’ve mentioned my low (low) pain threshold.
I suppose the nuclear family life was always in the back of my mind filed under “eventually”. Husband, home, children (maybe 2?) and the dog (of course). Football games, piano lessons, PTA…
Maybe that’d be nice. Stability of family life. Scrapbooks of first steps and snowball fights. Braces and school dances.
The older I got the more that seemed like maybe… maybe I do want all that. Eventually. After I travel the world, build a satisfying business career, become a published writer, and spend a few years with my husband… of course.
Of course.
Things have changed again.
I have made the decision not to have children.
After being diagnosed with diabetes it has been something of a difficult question: Do we have a child or do we not accept that risk? A non diabetic woman’s body has the ability to turn itself inside out to accomplish this feat. Ours does as well but the risks are different.
It’s amazing. Little by little I began to learn what that could mean for me should I choose to go that route. I’m clearly no medical professional, and risks vary so much from person to person, but after looking at the possibilities … at what exactly could happen to myself or my baby, throwing in my own personal health history… and it just doesn’t seem like a possibility any longer.
I guess it’s a question of trust. I don’t trust my ability to keep a perfect sugar reading through pregnancy. And how could that hurt my child? How could I live with a guilt like that should something go wrong?
It’s astounding what you don’t want until you find out you can’t have it. It’s in our nature I think. To desire what is not ours to have.
Like me and egg sandwiches.
I’m so allergic to eggs.
It’s a very intimate, personal choice, this baby decision. Something each woman has to make for herself. And it’s not like there are no other options out there; surrogacy, adoption. Each with their own emotional results.
Have you ever been asked this question: “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”
I actually hate this question. Usually it’s in reference to a career path. (what is the right answer to that, by the way? I’ve never known quite what to say)
Well , where do you see yourself in 20 years? 40 years? 50 years?
I’ve always been hazy with these imaginings. I picture me and my husband , both with white hair, our faces are fuzzy but it does appear that I am at least 100 pounds overweight.
Apparently I’m going to be fat in my old age (fat and happy I hope!).
The other thing is that I always imagine that I have grown children… with children of there own. I have to actively remove them from my little picture. When I do it seems a little empty.
I have made peace with my decision.
The pitter patter of little feet will be from Oscar (my little dachshund). Or rather Oscar IV or V or something…
Monday, November 2, 2009
What happened to Compassion?
I used to make it a regular practice to buy at least one thing every time I went to the grocery store, that I would put into the food bank bin.
I would reason that someday, at some point in my life I will be in need of social services such as this. As a matter of duty I feel I should contribute now.
I am not naturally inclined to be charitable. When I say that I don’t mean to imply that I’m not generous or giving. I just mean it’s not in my nature. It’s something that I actively work at on a daily basis. In a lot of ways we live in a selfish world where each person must watch out for themselves first.
Dog eat dog.
I was out at a pub one night with some friends. The alcohol induced conversation drifted towards the state of the world. Lily, my friend who has single-handedly-decided-to-Save-The-World was getting heated about a food plight somewhere in Africa. She slammed her hand down on the table and demanded:
“Why don’t people care?”
To me the answer was clear as day:
“Lily, no one has time to care.”
I went on to explain how it’s taking up most of my energy trying to gain some control over my own illness and my own life to be able to contemplate the issues Africa is facing. My boyfriend at the time agreed and pointed out that if it wasn’t for the fact that I had diabetes, and that was something we dealt with everyday – then he wouldn’t have as much energy invested in it himself.
I’ve thought about that conversation a lot.
There are so many challenges we face in our lives. So many big, big things. So many health conditions, so many financial situations and family difficulties. Issues with lovers and stress over careers.
Big, big things.
Right now my challenge is diabetes. (Maybe it’s yours too?) Maybe it’s also my excuse.
The answer I gave to my friend was honest. But it was also shameful. We all have so much on our plates it’s hard to see beyond it.
That’s the problem.
On another day this friend of mine, Lily was lamenting on my condition. She was saying it was terrible that I’ve had to deal with all this. But maybe I could look at the good things it gave me.
I was doubtful but curious.
She said I would never have achieved such an understanding and compassion for the pain, illness, and discouragement of others any other way.
It’s a backwards gift.
But we all have it.
We all know how it feels to be afraid. To crave comfort. To feel misunderstood.
Or to feel pain. Exhaustion.
Can’t that be put to better use?
I can’t save Africa. But I can save some one.
I can listen to a friend who needs a shoulder.
I can put a can of food in the food bank.
I can smile at someone instead of frown.
I guess what I’m saying is that I can try.
I don’t want to be one of those people so consumed with their own problems they can’t see anything else. Heaven knows I’ve thrown myself enough pity-parties complete with full seasons of FRIENDS on DVD and pints of ice cream (sugar-free of course).
So no more pity-parties.
Well, less of them anyways.
The people around me have noticed a change. I don’t seem like a grouch anymore. I’m not always miserable. When you make an effort to help someone else who may be suffering – it makes your own a little less.
I promise you this.
I would reason that someday, at some point in my life I will be in need of social services such as this. As a matter of duty I feel I should contribute now.
I am not naturally inclined to be charitable. When I say that I don’t mean to imply that I’m not generous or giving. I just mean it’s not in my nature. It’s something that I actively work at on a daily basis. In a lot of ways we live in a selfish world where each person must watch out for themselves first.
Dog eat dog.
I was out at a pub one night with some friends. The alcohol induced conversation drifted towards the state of the world. Lily, my friend who has single-handedly-decided-to-Save-The-World was getting heated about a food plight somewhere in Africa. She slammed her hand down on the table and demanded:
“Why don’t people care?”
To me the answer was clear as day:
“Lily, no one has time to care.”
I went on to explain how it’s taking up most of my energy trying to gain some control over my own illness and my own life to be able to contemplate the issues Africa is facing. My boyfriend at the time agreed and pointed out that if it wasn’t for the fact that I had diabetes, and that was something we dealt with everyday – then he wouldn’t have as much energy invested in it himself.
I’ve thought about that conversation a lot.
There are so many challenges we face in our lives. So many big, big things. So many health conditions, so many financial situations and family difficulties. Issues with lovers and stress over careers.
Big, big things.
Right now my challenge is diabetes. (Maybe it’s yours too?) Maybe it’s also my excuse.
The answer I gave to my friend was honest. But it was also shameful. We all have so much on our plates it’s hard to see beyond it.
That’s the problem.
On another day this friend of mine, Lily was lamenting on my condition. She was saying it was terrible that I’ve had to deal with all this. But maybe I could look at the good things it gave me.
I was doubtful but curious.
She said I would never have achieved such an understanding and compassion for the pain, illness, and discouragement of others any other way.
It’s a backwards gift.
But we all have it.
We all know how it feels to be afraid. To crave comfort. To feel misunderstood.
Or to feel pain. Exhaustion.
Can’t that be put to better use?
I can’t save Africa. But I can save some one.
I can listen to a friend who needs a shoulder.
I can put a can of food in the food bank.
I can smile at someone instead of frown.
I guess what I’m saying is that I can try.
I don’t want to be one of those people so consumed with their own problems they can’t see anything else. Heaven knows I’ve thrown myself enough pity-parties complete with full seasons of FRIENDS on DVD and pints of ice cream (sugar-free of course).
So no more pity-parties.
Well, less of them anyways.
The people around me have noticed a change. I don’t seem like a grouch anymore. I’m not always miserable. When you make an effort to help someone else who may be suffering – it makes your own a little less.
I promise you this.
Stress Is A Four Letter Word
How do you handle stress?
I eat lemon cake.
Or fried chicken.
My best friend doesn’t eat at all. She loses her appetite completely.
My co-worker pops pills.
I know others who need to take a walk to calm down.
My boss turns into super woman and goes into a frenzy to accomplish a thousand things all at once.
Well, I cut back on the cake and chicken. I had to when stress is a constant daily factor. The calories really start to add up…
I read once that stress is related to 99% of all illnesses. Actually I think it’s written on my Lululemon shopping bag. It makes sense to me though. It raises our blood sugars, doesn’t it? It affects those with heart conditions, causes stomach ulcers… who knows what other bad and scary things could be happening inside our bodies due to this intangible, mysterious thing.
It’s illusive. It means different things to different people. Some people thrive on it. School stress is my motivation and I love what I can accomplish with it. Daily stress is something else though, the little things that pile up and up and up until – well… what?
Panic attack?
Meltdown?
Anxiety disorder?
Depression?
If you have had one of those things you’ve probably had another. They all hold hands together. And I know the answers are unclear. I feel like I’m just an uncertain being asking other uncertain beings how to “catch smoke” by trying to manage my stress.
So we medicate.
Sedate.
Meditate.
Contemplate.
Then medicate some more…
I’ve been told that depression can be a by-product of high blood sugars. So when our sugars run away on us, our stress levels run away with us.
Then our stress levels keep our sugars high.
It’s a tricky-sticky situation to find yourself in. But maybe we can try to , I don’t know…
Motivate?
Try to turn what stress we can into positive energy that pushes to us to achieve. And the stress we can’t? There will always be the stress we can’t change.
But there’s help for that.
Help we can get so that this type of stress doesn’t change us.
I eat lemon cake.
Or fried chicken.
My best friend doesn’t eat at all. She loses her appetite completely.
My co-worker pops pills.
I know others who need to take a walk to calm down.
My boss turns into super woman and goes into a frenzy to accomplish a thousand things all at once.
Well, I cut back on the cake and chicken. I had to when stress is a constant daily factor. The calories really start to add up…
I read once that stress is related to 99% of all illnesses. Actually I think it’s written on my Lululemon shopping bag. It makes sense to me though. It raises our blood sugars, doesn’t it? It affects those with heart conditions, causes stomach ulcers… who knows what other bad and scary things could be happening inside our bodies due to this intangible, mysterious thing.
It’s illusive. It means different things to different people. Some people thrive on it. School stress is my motivation and I love what I can accomplish with it. Daily stress is something else though, the little things that pile up and up and up until – well… what?
Panic attack?
Meltdown?
Anxiety disorder?
Depression?
If you have had one of those things you’ve probably had another. They all hold hands together. And I know the answers are unclear. I feel like I’m just an uncertain being asking other uncertain beings how to “catch smoke” by trying to manage my stress.
So we medicate.
Sedate.
Meditate.
Contemplate.
Then medicate some more…
I’ve been told that depression can be a by-product of high blood sugars. So when our sugars run away on us, our stress levels run away with us.
Then our stress levels keep our sugars high.
It’s a tricky-sticky situation to find yourself in. But maybe we can try to , I don’t know…
Motivate?
Try to turn what stress we can into positive energy that pushes to us to achieve. And the stress we can’t? There will always be the stress we can’t change.
But there’s help for that.
Help we can get so that this type of stress doesn’t change us.
Sick Days
For most of March I laid in bed. Counting down the days until my 24th birthday and watching the crack in my ceiling get longer…. And longer….
Rolling over in bed seemed hard.
Getting up to pee seemed like an extensive excursion.
Out of 20 days of work I missed 18 that month.
I had the flu.
And we all know what happens when we have the flu. Blood sugars sky rocket. Uncontrollably. Which in turn keeps us sick and makes it hard to recover.
Which keeps our blood sugars uncontrollably high.
And ‘round and ‘round we go…
I didn’t go to the doctor right away. I mean, who goes running to the doctor the minute they get a sniffle? No, we wait until we realize that it’s not getting better on it’s own. Right? Plus there was the added difficulty that I was so tired and sick and out of breath that making it down the hall to the bathroom was near impossible, never mind all the way to my doctor’s office.
But I wasn’t getting any better. So eventually I did go to the doctor. Because I had to.
My GP is very good. He was the one who initially realized I was diabetic. He’s intuitive. His administration girls are very nice. He always gives me what I need.
But I hate going there.
It’s the way he makes me feel when he comes into the “little” room. Like he is the parent and I am the naughty child. I have always done something wrong.
Very tall and intimidating, he looks down his nose and asks me how my blood sugars have been.
“Fine!” I squeak
He gives me the Eye.
“Good, in fact!” I lie.
He looks at me like he knows darn well I’m not being truthful but can’t very well sit there and argue with me. Not very doctorly.
If I had a tail, it would be between my legs.
On this particular visit I am once again in trouble. Apparently I should have come in right away instead of waiting two and a half weeks of illness to go to the doctor. He might as well be wagging a finger at me. I tried shamefaced to explain about not wanting to come in for every little cold… but that weak argument was silenced when he told me that the reason for this was because since I had waited so long I had now developed an infection (infections again!!) in my lungs.
Pneumonia!
I was floored. I mean, I’d know I was sick but pneumonia?! I had no idea I was that sick.
I left the doctor’s that day with 2 prescriptions and a lecture on pneumonia prevention.
Now whenever I sneeze or cough my family jokes about how I should call the doctor right away or I’ll be in trouble. (oh so funny. Everybody’s a comedian.)
Actually my throat is feeling a bit dry right now.
It might be strep.
Maybe I’d better leave a message for my doctor just in case…..
Rolling over in bed seemed hard.
Getting up to pee seemed like an extensive excursion.
Out of 20 days of work I missed 18 that month.
I had the flu.
And we all know what happens when we have the flu. Blood sugars sky rocket. Uncontrollably. Which in turn keeps us sick and makes it hard to recover.
Which keeps our blood sugars uncontrollably high.
And ‘round and ‘round we go…
I didn’t go to the doctor right away. I mean, who goes running to the doctor the minute they get a sniffle? No, we wait until we realize that it’s not getting better on it’s own. Right? Plus there was the added difficulty that I was so tired and sick and out of breath that making it down the hall to the bathroom was near impossible, never mind all the way to my doctor’s office.
But I wasn’t getting any better. So eventually I did go to the doctor. Because I had to.
My GP is very good. He was the one who initially realized I was diabetic. He’s intuitive. His administration girls are very nice. He always gives me what I need.
But I hate going there.
It’s the way he makes me feel when he comes into the “little” room. Like he is the parent and I am the naughty child. I have always done something wrong.
Very tall and intimidating, he looks down his nose and asks me how my blood sugars have been.
“Fine!” I squeak
He gives me the Eye.
“Good, in fact!” I lie.
He looks at me like he knows darn well I’m not being truthful but can’t very well sit there and argue with me. Not very doctorly.
If I had a tail, it would be between my legs.
On this particular visit I am once again in trouble. Apparently I should have come in right away instead of waiting two and a half weeks of illness to go to the doctor. He might as well be wagging a finger at me. I tried shamefaced to explain about not wanting to come in for every little cold… but that weak argument was silenced when he told me that the reason for this was because since I had waited so long I had now developed an infection (infections again!!) in my lungs.
Pneumonia!
I was floored. I mean, I’d know I was sick but pneumonia?! I had no idea I was that sick.
I left the doctor’s that day with 2 prescriptions and a lecture on pneumonia prevention.
Now whenever I sneeze or cough my family jokes about how I should call the doctor right away or I’ll be in trouble. (oh so funny. Everybody’s a comedian.)
Actually my throat is feeling a bit dry right now.
It might be strep.
Maybe I’d better leave a message for my doctor just in case…..
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Hey, listen to me!
There are some ancient medical practices that in today’s scientific times seem ludicrous, dangerous, and in extreme cases: positively barbaric. I’ve watched movies that take place in an age when all illnesses were believed to be carried through the blood. Their natural thought pattern led them to then drain as much blood from the patient as possible in order to rid them of whatever their affliction was.
It makes me wonder how many of these poor people died of blood loss rather than whatever it was that made them sick in the first place.
Did you know they used to use mercury to treat wounds and other ailments (seriously!) or that heroine was often used to cure coughs (interestingly this actually works, of course you may die…). Lobotomies were used to “cure” depression and mental illness (nothing like another hole in the head…).
It seems laughable.
Doctors would never use such outdated ideas today. As medical research advances, I’d like to think that it filters down to us as patients. I’d like to think that our Doctors and nurses make changes to their regimes and policies as new and (hopefully) improved medical information becomes available.
Well, we all hope that, don’t we?
A few weeks ago I woke up with pain…. down there. An all too familiar type of pain. My heart plummeted into my stomach – I was so scared to look… I took a peek and – lightning split the sky, thunder roared in my ears, dogs began an unearthly howl, birds fell from the sky and none of that really happened but I would have taken any of those things in exchange for what was actually the case.
An abscess.
Again.
It was on the surface this time, and small as far abscess’ go. But painful enough to not allow me to sit up. And the bigger it grew; walking was becoming more and more tricky as well. I packed a little overnight bag: extra clothes, toothbrush, book, snacks. I knew the drill. Off to the hospital.
*Sigh* here we go again.
It was the same sort of thing as every other infection hospitalization I have had. Young attractive, male intern-doctor…and a horrible horrible embarrassing extremely vulnerable situation. Wow, ladies… if it’s the young hot doctor thing that does it for you… get yourself an infection. And then maybe a salon appointment on your way in. And smile a lot despite intense pain…. Hah… anyways…
Due to the area and sensitive nature of my “issue” as I will now refer to it as, I was moved up to the Woman’s Hospital … aka- Gyno. Nice and quiet there, nurses were actually to be commended. I had some I felt went out of their way to help me when I got upset. And I really appreciate the little things, like handwashing my pants when I stained them due to my wound and got very upset. Thank you for that.
I was inspected (OW. With inspecting abscess’ everything is ow.)
I was poked for blood often.
Given morphine. (pain was bad. Could not move easily)
Poked more.
Prodded a little
More blood taken.
Hooked up to pumps for dehydration and antibiotics to get RID of this stupid thing on me that is inconveniencing my life.
Inspected again (Ow.)
I basically had to wait this one out in the hopes that antibiotics would take care of it. I was under constant scrutiny because my sugars were all over the place – like I was doing this on purpose. Like I had sugar cubes hidden under the mattress or something. I had not anticipated a lengthy hospital stay and did not have my own insulin with me. At the mercy of the institution. At the mercy of despair.
This is where the story gets dicey.
They had put me on an insulin sliding scale. Sadly I did not understand exactly what that meant for me at the time. Basically if my blood sugars read between 0 and 8 I am not allowed any insulin, between 8 and 12 and they give me a set X amount, etc.
I bet you can already see how this is going to be a problem…. Can’t you?
At 2:00am, the middle of the night I woke up starving so I wheeled my pump down to the vending machines and bought a bag of Cheetos. I then took my Cheetos and wheeled my silly-beepy-pump to the nurse’s station to get some insulin so I could eat my Cheeto-goodness.
They asked what my sugar level was.
7.2 I said proudly.
Nope. Not allowed to have insulin.
….‘K-what?
Since I was in the 0-8 range I was not allowed insulin, I was informed. At first I didn’t think they understood. Yes, I was good now… but I wanted to eat Cheetos. Didn’t they get that I needed insulin to do that?
Nope not allowed, said the nurses. I could eat my Cheetos, then in an hour or so they would come check my sugars and give me insulin to bring it back down. So I was supposed to continually let my sugar get very high in order to get my insulin to bring it back down? I was told yes. I was told that was how they always do it.
Whaaaaaat…?
Is something wrong with this picture? Please, my fellow diabetics… write to me and tell me what you think of this.
Well at that time, even through my drug-induced haze, I was sure this lunacy must have been some kind of weird mistake. That seriously couldn’t be what they “always” do with diabetics… make them ill on purpose? It just didn’t make any sense. But I didn’t want to fight about it. I just wheeled my way back to my room and decided I just wouldn’t eat until I could get insulin and speak to somebody with sense.
I was very upset.
A little while later the overnight doctor came to see me, I guess having heard about my dispute with the nurses. She asked me what ‘my problem was’ (literally).
When I explained to her my issues with the Cheetos and the nonsensical sliding scale, I was again told that was how it was always done. I told her that was wrong. I told them that would make my sugars yo-yo, which was just wrong. I knew I needed to keep my sugars more stable, lower, if I ever expected my infection to heal.
The fight that ensued was neither professional nor practical. I had not intended to get into it with her… fighting with doctors never accomplishes anything, they mostly have the attitude that they are always right (even if they are not). But I did feel provoked and spurred on by my own internal self-righteousness. She was disrespectful and sarcastic, implying that I did not know how to carb-count (as if it was some impossible thing no one could do) and kept challenging me to carb-count things and demanding to know how much insulin I would take for different hospital foods. She kept saying “Prove it! Prove it!”
It was such an unnatural, strange experience. By the end I had to tell her to leave, repeatedly because I was so upset. Finally she did.
I did not eat.
I was enraged. I knew I’d been right in trying to administer preventative insulin, instead of only corrective. The next morning the doctor I’d been admitted under came to see me. I guess news of my fight had gotten around. After telling her my views and the basic play by play of what had happened, she told me I had been right – that she did not agree with the sliding scale and assured me she would speak to that gynecologist-doctor that had fought with me and the nurses from the night before.
It felt a bit better that someone had listened to me. That someone had taken my side.
The doctors and nurses within our healthcare system are generally caring, intelligent people. They’re here to help us and guide us. They do an amazing job.
But there comes a time when we need to take responsibility for ourselves, for our own bodies and healthcare. We carb-count everyday, we dial our own insulin, inject our own shots. And we are knowledgeable and capable. If something doesn’t feel or sound right to you, you have the right to ask and speak for yourself. After leaving the hospital I did my own research. What really was a sliding scale? Why were they using such a system that seemed so contradictory to what I’d been taught?
First I realized that there is more than one kind of sliding scale. Endos sometimes use them in patients individual night time long acting insulin regimes… the type I was more interested in was when they use them to treat diabetic patients in hospitals. The results I found were interesting and shed some light on my weird hospital stay.
It seems it is generally agreed amongst the endo-community that this is an old, outdated, and cringe worthy process. It is spoken of the “lazy” way to take care of a diabetic in hospital. It’s an “easy” way for the attending doctor to leave a simple guideline for nurses to administer insulin without the need for “complicated” checking, analysis, and calculating of proper insulin needs. It takes the need for the doctor out of the picture by leaving it up to the nurse. And it ups the risk for the patient by astronomical proportions – depending on their reason for hospitalization in the first place of course. It does not take into consideration what the patient is eating or when, what their condition is, or other insulin regimes. It’s dangerous, to put it bluntly. It is reactive rather then proactive. It is shameful that this is considered common practice where I was. And what is far worse, is the way my own insight into my own condition and my own body were so quickly tuned out and disregarded. Absolutely no one took half a moment to hear what I had to say… that is until my attending came to visit me the next morning.
My nurses didn’t know better and were trying, I think, to do the right thing. .. I don’t know who or what was responsible for this sliding scale nonsense but it needs to end – now. It scares me to think of extreme yo-yo blood sugars that are completely unnecessary in a place that is supposed to be safe for us. My abscess would never have healed if I’d let that situation continue.
My urgent advice is to learn from my mistake. Have your nurse’s, your doctor’s, your endocrinologist’s (especially), phone numbers, beeper numbers… have everything with you all the time. Because I was unprepared.
I won’t be again.
If they won’t listen to you, get them in touch with those who they will listen to. It’s your body, It’s your health. Don’t let anyone disregard what you have to say.
It makes me wonder how many of these poor people died of blood loss rather than whatever it was that made them sick in the first place.
Did you know they used to use mercury to treat wounds and other ailments (seriously!) or that heroine was often used to cure coughs (interestingly this actually works, of course you may die…). Lobotomies were used to “cure” depression and mental illness (nothing like another hole in the head…).
It seems laughable.
Doctors would never use such outdated ideas today. As medical research advances, I’d like to think that it filters down to us as patients. I’d like to think that our Doctors and nurses make changes to their regimes and policies as new and (hopefully) improved medical information becomes available.
Well, we all hope that, don’t we?
A few weeks ago I woke up with pain…. down there. An all too familiar type of pain. My heart plummeted into my stomach – I was so scared to look… I took a peek and – lightning split the sky, thunder roared in my ears, dogs began an unearthly howl, birds fell from the sky and none of that really happened but I would have taken any of those things in exchange for what was actually the case.
An abscess.
Again.
It was on the surface this time, and small as far abscess’ go. But painful enough to not allow me to sit up. And the bigger it grew; walking was becoming more and more tricky as well. I packed a little overnight bag: extra clothes, toothbrush, book, snacks. I knew the drill. Off to the hospital.
*Sigh* here we go again.
It was the same sort of thing as every other infection hospitalization I have had. Young attractive, male intern-doctor…and a horrible horrible embarrassing extremely vulnerable situation. Wow, ladies… if it’s the young hot doctor thing that does it for you… get yourself an infection. And then maybe a salon appointment on your way in. And smile a lot despite intense pain…. Hah… anyways…
Due to the area and sensitive nature of my “issue” as I will now refer to it as, I was moved up to the Woman’s Hospital … aka- Gyno. Nice and quiet there, nurses were actually to be commended. I had some I felt went out of their way to help me when I got upset. And I really appreciate the little things, like handwashing my pants when I stained them due to my wound and got very upset. Thank you for that.
I was inspected (OW. With inspecting abscess’ everything is ow.)
I was poked for blood often.
Given morphine. (pain was bad. Could not move easily)
Poked more.
Prodded a little
More blood taken.
Hooked up to pumps for dehydration and antibiotics to get RID of this stupid thing on me that is inconveniencing my life.
Inspected again (Ow.)
I basically had to wait this one out in the hopes that antibiotics would take care of it. I was under constant scrutiny because my sugars were all over the place – like I was doing this on purpose. Like I had sugar cubes hidden under the mattress or something. I had not anticipated a lengthy hospital stay and did not have my own insulin with me. At the mercy of the institution. At the mercy of despair.
This is where the story gets dicey.
They had put me on an insulin sliding scale. Sadly I did not understand exactly what that meant for me at the time. Basically if my blood sugars read between 0 and 8 I am not allowed any insulin, between 8 and 12 and they give me a set X amount, etc.
I bet you can already see how this is going to be a problem…. Can’t you?
At 2:00am, the middle of the night I woke up starving so I wheeled my pump down to the vending machines and bought a bag of Cheetos. I then took my Cheetos and wheeled my silly-beepy-pump to the nurse’s station to get some insulin so I could eat my Cheeto-goodness.
They asked what my sugar level was.
7.2 I said proudly.
Nope. Not allowed to have insulin.
….‘K-what?
Since I was in the 0-8 range I was not allowed insulin, I was informed. At first I didn’t think they understood. Yes, I was good now… but I wanted to eat Cheetos. Didn’t they get that I needed insulin to do that?
Nope not allowed, said the nurses. I could eat my Cheetos, then in an hour or so they would come check my sugars and give me insulin to bring it back down. So I was supposed to continually let my sugar get very high in order to get my insulin to bring it back down? I was told yes. I was told that was how they always do it.
Whaaaaaat…?
Is something wrong with this picture? Please, my fellow diabetics… write to me and tell me what you think of this.
Well at that time, even through my drug-induced haze, I was sure this lunacy must have been some kind of weird mistake. That seriously couldn’t be what they “always” do with diabetics… make them ill on purpose? It just didn’t make any sense. But I didn’t want to fight about it. I just wheeled my way back to my room and decided I just wouldn’t eat until I could get insulin and speak to somebody with sense.
I was very upset.
A little while later the overnight doctor came to see me, I guess having heard about my dispute with the nurses. She asked me what ‘my problem was’ (literally).
When I explained to her my issues with the Cheetos and the nonsensical sliding scale, I was again told that was how it was always done. I told her that was wrong. I told them that would make my sugars yo-yo, which was just wrong. I knew I needed to keep my sugars more stable, lower, if I ever expected my infection to heal.
The fight that ensued was neither professional nor practical. I had not intended to get into it with her… fighting with doctors never accomplishes anything, they mostly have the attitude that they are always right (even if they are not). But I did feel provoked and spurred on by my own internal self-righteousness. She was disrespectful and sarcastic, implying that I did not know how to carb-count (as if it was some impossible thing no one could do) and kept challenging me to carb-count things and demanding to know how much insulin I would take for different hospital foods. She kept saying “Prove it! Prove it!”
It was such an unnatural, strange experience. By the end I had to tell her to leave, repeatedly because I was so upset. Finally she did.
I did not eat.
I was enraged. I knew I’d been right in trying to administer preventative insulin, instead of only corrective. The next morning the doctor I’d been admitted under came to see me. I guess news of my fight had gotten around. After telling her my views and the basic play by play of what had happened, she told me I had been right – that she did not agree with the sliding scale and assured me she would speak to that gynecologist-doctor that had fought with me and the nurses from the night before.
It felt a bit better that someone had listened to me. That someone had taken my side.
The doctors and nurses within our healthcare system are generally caring, intelligent people. They’re here to help us and guide us. They do an amazing job.
But there comes a time when we need to take responsibility for ourselves, for our own bodies and healthcare. We carb-count everyday, we dial our own insulin, inject our own shots. And we are knowledgeable and capable. If something doesn’t feel or sound right to you, you have the right to ask and speak for yourself. After leaving the hospital I did my own research. What really was a sliding scale? Why were they using such a system that seemed so contradictory to what I’d been taught?
First I realized that there is more than one kind of sliding scale. Endos sometimes use them in patients individual night time long acting insulin regimes… the type I was more interested in was when they use them to treat diabetic patients in hospitals. The results I found were interesting and shed some light on my weird hospital stay.
It seems it is generally agreed amongst the endo-community that this is an old, outdated, and cringe worthy process. It is spoken of the “lazy” way to take care of a diabetic in hospital. It’s an “easy” way for the attending doctor to leave a simple guideline for nurses to administer insulin without the need for “complicated” checking, analysis, and calculating of proper insulin needs. It takes the need for the doctor out of the picture by leaving it up to the nurse. And it ups the risk for the patient by astronomical proportions – depending on their reason for hospitalization in the first place of course. It does not take into consideration what the patient is eating or when, what their condition is, or other insulin regimes. It’s dangerous, to put it bluntly. It is reactive rather then proactive. It is shameful that this is considered common practice where I was. And what is far worse, is the way my own insight into my own condition and my own body were so quickly tuned out and disregarded. Absolutely no one took half a moment to hear what I had to say… that is until my attending came to visit me the next morning.
My nurses didn’t know better and were trying, I think, to do the right thing. .. I don’t know who or what was responsible for this sliding scale nonsense but it needs to end – now. It scares me to think of extreme yo-yo blood sugars that are completely unnecessary in a place that is supposed to be safe for us. My abscess would never have healed if I’d let that situation continue.
My urgent advice is to learn from my mistake. Have your nurse’s, your doctor’s, your endocrinologist’s (especially), phone numbers, beeper numbers… have everything with you all the time. Because I was unprepared.
I won’t be again.
If they won’t listen to you, get them in touch with those who they will listen to. It’s your body, It’s your health. Don’t let anyone disregard what you have to say.
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