Thursday, August 23, 2012

"Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick and pull yourself together." -Liz Taylor

These are the words of a true woman. Of course, at my age, minus the "pour yourself a drink" part.

I don't know what it is, but I've been having some emotionally rough days. I'd like to just say I've got the end of summer blues, and am anxious about my junior year, or my diabetes, or something. But I think it's a lot deeper than that.

I've never been good with emotions. And by emotions, I mean my own emotions. Sure when I'm sad I cry, and when I'm happy I laugh, but that's about all I show on the outside about my own emotions. I've gotten really good about hiding my own emotions and helping my peers--and sometimes adults in my life--sort through their own emotions. I've learned to ignore my own, and I can't tell you why I thought this was an important skill to have. It's something I just picked up from somewhere.

I'm stressed. I'm terrified to start my junior year, and I feel like this is it. If I screw up this year, I can't go anywhere and do anything that I want. It's this pathological fear of failing. I think I get it from being an only child. If I had myself a sibling, then maybe I'd be able to not only have a partner in crime with my parents and continue torturing them in even more fun and exciting ways than I can solo, but I'd also have someone to fall back on if I mess up, or if I need help. People always tell me how lucky I am to be an only child, but I'm pretty sure it's the biggest curse in the entire world.

My A1c is getting way better, but for anyone who is reading and their A1c is high, don't make the only reason that you get your A1c down is so your mom will leave you alone. She doesn't leave you alone. Every time my blood sugar is over 150 (WHICH IS NOT THAT HIGH, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!) she threatens me with "Do you want a shot in the eye?" We recently found out a therapy for diabetic retinopathy is getting shots in your eyeballs. And so that's the newest threat. It was "You're never gonna have kids." before that, and before that "Fine, you can just lose your kidneys/eyes/feet/hands/toes/fingers/any other body part imaginable." I understand where she's coming from, but at the same time it drives me up the wall, and makes me feel terrible about myself. I feel like I can't tell her what my blood sugars are anymore, and when I do tell her on the off chance that they're good, she thinks I'm lying. And yes, I know you're thinking "Ugh, why doesn't she just talk to her mother, things will get better." Believe me, I've tried. She's just stubborn, as I am, so not a lot gets done through that.

My life is nothing short of amazing. And it's nothing short of utterly confusing either. I keep trying to reassure myself that I'm only sixteen, and things will get better. I've been dealt a very mature hand in life, and I just had to grow up a lot earlier than my peers. I hope they catch up sooner or later, because this waiting around stuff totally stinks.

 So back to the words of Liz Taylor. This woman was and is still today a genius. Her words sometimes prove to be more true than I ever thought they would be. Sometimes in life, you just have to put your big girl panties on and deal with the crap you're being fed. And as a firm believe that lipstick can completely turn your day around, and if you just grin and bear it things will get better. So, my dears, if you're having a bad day, just remember:

"Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick and pull yourself together."

Much love,

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

I SWEAR I CAN EAT THAT! And Other Troubles of a Diabetic Teenage Girl

This back surgery thing sucks. Like, REALLLLLLLY sucks. I'm sitting at home alone most of the time, and I'm at the point of recovery where I could drive, but I don't have a permit or a license because my mother didn't want me doing Driver's Ed during the school year, plus my A1c was a little high. So I can't exactly go anywhere or do anything at this point. Which sucks. I've been watching Say Yes to the Dress and pretty much every spin-off series that has resulted from it. So now I'm kind of addicted. IT'S SO GOOD THOUGH. I'm sorry, it's a consequence of being confined to the couch.

I bought candy though. See? Candy!

These are really my all time favorite candies. You obviously know what the Cotton Candy Pop Rocks are, so there's really nothing to explain there. The pile of purple and brown candy is salt water taffy. The purple is a Gig Harbor flavor, Huckleberry. I love berries, and Huckleberries are a big Gig Harbor thing, I've come to understand. The brown flavor is Root Beer Float, because let's face it. Root beer is fabulous. I also have root beer flavored gum, and I recommend that to EVERYONE ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET. Just sayin'. On the right, are four cherry Zotz. And those are freaking delicious semi-exploding candies. There are a few different flavors that are great, but cherry is my favorite :) Then Halva. Halva is basically candied bars of sesame seeds, and they're SO GOOD. It's a delicious candy, and I have an affinity for sesame seeds.

And yes, I can eat everything that is sitting on my kitchen counter. Not all in one sitting, because that would make me sick. But that would make anyone sick, diabetes or not. I hate when people say "You can't eat that. It's got sugar."


Another thing. My blood sugar seems to spike when I come into contact with my ex boyfriend. He and I split on good terms, and then he started hiding things from me. Any of my "friends" who hide things from me get the boot, and he's no exception, especially because I was basically wasting my time around him. He didn't take it so well, and he still tries to contact me, even to this day. I kicked him to the curb in February. It's kind of ridiculous. He makes my blood boil, honestly. And he can't take a hint.

Blood sugar spiked to 345 when I got an email from him this morning. In about 20 minutes, I went from 128 to 345. I MEAN REALLY, DIABETES!? COME ON. I already hate the experience, do I really need a high blood sugar on top of that?! It made me frustrated. But oh well, things happen. Gotta make it work. That's kind of how my life has been lately, really. Things happen, and you just gotta make the best of it all.

Much love,

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Bleurghpiffle. Life just sucks.

So I feel like life has decided to smack me in the face. I've been pretty miserable since Thursday because Thursday was just a miserable day. I woke up, and found out that I won't be allowed to be a CIT at camp this year. Camp starts tomorrow, and I've spent about 50% of today crying because camp is my life.

This is diabetes camp. I've been going since I was three years old. I've been a CIT twice, once for the 3-6 year old boys, and once for the 9&10 year old girls. I love doing it, and this year would've been my 13th year. So, you know, there's that. I understand why I'm not allowed to go, seeing as I'm barely three weeks off back surgery, and kids can't jump on me, and if I fall over, I'm toast. With jam. (Sidebar: My new catch-phrase is "that could've ended poorly" in reference to me stumbling over curbs, rugs, stairs, my own feet, and of course, air.) So it makes sense. But I'm still really really REALLY ReAlLy rEalLy super SUPER bummed. I honestly have no idea what I'm gonna do with myself, seeing as all the people I wanted to see are going to be knee-deep in campers while I sit at home, staring at a wall, thinking "I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally need to do my summer reading. Like, now."

Also on Thursday, I had a post-op appointment. Let's preface this story with a clarifying statement. I did not have a pediatric doctor for this surgery. What happened to me doesn't really happen to normal(ish) sixteen year old girls. It happens to adults. Therefore, I had to see an adult doctor. ALRIGHT. Back to the story. So, post-op appointment. First of all, it was called for 11:15. I didn't see the doctor until about 11:55. And as we all know, I've got a bad case of "Only Child Syndrome." My friend Matt, from Store-A-Tooth (I'll inform you about them in a future blog post, I promise) is an only child. And he informed me of this problem I have, Only Child Syndrome. Seeing as that's the case, I HATE BEING MADE TO WAIT. And I sat there, for 40 minutes, waiting for a doctor who I hate.

Now, this man could've been Batman, or Molly freaking Weasley before I had my surgery. I didn't care WHO was operating on me, as long as the pain was gone. And the pain was gone relatively quickly. And now, I'm looking for some bedside manner. And of course, I didn't get any. This guy talks to me like I'm five years old, plus, he asked to see the cut on my back, and he just ripped the bandage off and started touching. No warning about what he was going to do, and when I asked for him to wet the tape around the bandage (it makes the bandage easier to take off, and way less painful), he didn't even respond.

I get it. Adult doctors aren't as gentle as the pediatric ones, and I'm probably his first "young" patient ever, but holy crap. Can we have a little compassion for the sixteen year old who is just having the worst day ever?! When he did that, I nearly jumped into my mom's lap. Like, all composure went straight out the window. It just wasn't happening.

It was probably the most traumatic day of my entire summer. Including surgery day. And on top of all of that, I was getting TOTALLY FREAKING STIR CRAZY sitting at home having nothing to do but watch Futurama on Netflix and text Katelyn (who, by they way, was an AMAZING sport throughout the beginning two weeks of recovery. She listened to me whine, complain, and be a total pain in the butt about being confined to my house).

I made Dad drop me off at the movies, and I went by myself. And then I had a GF cupcake. Which, by the way, was delicious. Drowning my self-pity and worst day ever in Chocolate-Peanut Butter cupcake and Ice Age 4 was probably the best idea ever. So the day was saved.

Much love,