Food, Water, Shelter…and Duct Tape?

Have we all heard the saying that only 2 things are needed in life, duct tape and WD-40? The simple theory is if something’s stuck and not suppose to be use WD-40; if it’s not stuck and should be, use duct tape. Sure, that good for a little laugh.

We, as diabetics, could have our own simplified version. Try this: there’s only 2 things a diabetic needs in life, insulin and sugar. Insulin if our blood sugar’s too high and needs to be lowered, and sugar if our blood sugar’s low and needs to be higher.

Good lord, if only it was that easy!!! WD-40, duct tape, insulin and sugar really won’t get you very far in life. That said, you’ll never be sorry for stashing all 4 in your glove compartment.

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WHERE ARE YOU, MARK???!!?!

There’s Where’s Waldo and Where in the World Is Matt Lauer; now I have a real mystery on my hands: Has anyone seen Mark Timmins?

I have no idea what he looks like and I’ve never heard the sound of his voice, but we’ve been friends for years. We have firsthand knowledge of the other’s rises and falls, (whether with blood sugars or depression) while learning to laugh at the idiot running the roller-coaster. He’s a dark guy so it may be difficult to spot him. For Mark, the darker the better. Give it to him straight and in a dirty glass. I’ve referred to him more than once as the only person who reads my blog, which isn’t a fact I can prove but I’m pretty sure it’s true.

I don’t worry that I’ve offended him: he doesn’t hold a grudge or he would’ve walked out on me long ago. He likes to be offended…he practically begs for it.

We discussed death a fair amount. More than is normal, let’s say. It was our arrangement that when I didn’t hear from him — or him from me — just assume the other is dead. He could almost out-gloom me. I’ve come to believe this is too clean an exit for Mark. I mean this in the most affectionate way, but he’s sort of a drama queen. He likes to know I need him and love him and worry when he’s unresponsive. That said, there’s a fuckload wrong with the both of us and it’s not impossible to believe Mark has gone toes-up in some Denver hospital, near his brother but far from the busy streets and warmth of Honolulu.

I’ve sent a few postcards but there’s no anticipation of a handwritten response. Yes, there’s a return address in case he’s forgotten the only address he’s ever known for me. This is what I hope is true: Mark is too pissed at the cable company to get his internet connection activated at his new address. Stubborn and dramatic, that’s my ol’ Mark.

Guess I’ll just bob on the surface while waiting for him to come up for air….

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Diabetes Burnout and the Smell of Insulin

Believe me, I’m no stranger to diabetes burnout. I get as tired of counting carbs, calibrating machines, testing blood sugars and evaluating situations as the next person. This is why it’s so strange to admit the following: the smell of insulin has never tired me. Getting sick on cotton candy or candy corn can give a lifelong aversion to even the smell of such foods; too much of a good thing – or bad thing – often puts a negative footprint on our mind. With all the ups and downs I’ve had as a person with diabetes, you’d think smelling insulin would be a gloomy trigger. Instead, the scent of insulin recalls sweet yet medicinal properties – like Band-Aids® – of which I have never wearied. Sure, it’s the associative hallmark of hospitals in general, but instead of making me anxious or panicky as you might expect, it actually soothes me somewhat, as though help is on the way. Funny how the brain works…fingerprick_fire

In case you haven’t heard, diabetes isn’t just a disease, it’s a lifestyle. I’ve been living it long enough to know it sucks... I’ve put my complaints to paper, although I can’t quite remember why I started. Maybe I thought my dark sense of humor would pay off someday, somehow? So, thanks for helping me out: if you’ve got a few minutes, grab a seat and let me enlighten you.





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