Diabetes Diary
April 2008 will mark the eighth year of my diabetes diagnosis. My struggle with this disease began during my sixth week of pregnancy. I was at my second OB visit when my doctor informed me that I was to be hospitalized… immediately. Being a gestational diabetic is no cakewalk, but I managed my disease with near-perfect compliance. I was fanatical about portion control during meals and learned not to wince while giving myself four insulin shots a day. I tested my blood glucose levels—requiring four more sticks a day—exactly two hours after every meal. I did this day in and day out, without fail. And it was worth it: I gave birth by C-section to a beautiful and healthy baby boy at 38 weeks.
For many women, gestational diabetes goes away once the baby is born. This was not to be my fate. Despite my fervent prayers and wishes, I knew—even during my pregnancy—that living with diabetes would be my lifelong challenge. After all, the disease was rife on the maternal side of my family: my grandmother, two aunts and at least one uncle had the disease.
Although I was disappointed that I had graduated from being a gestational to a type 2 diabetic, I knew I could handle it. My grandmother had been an excellent role model for controlling the disease. When she died at age 84, it was from cancer, not diabetes complications. Her youngest child, on the other hand, was the poster child, for what not to do. My aunt’s unmanaged diabetes eventually led to her having several strokes in her 50s and dying way too soon at 61.
I spent a lot of time being silently angry with my aunt. She decided that she could no longer give herself her insulin injections, which, to me, was preposterous. First, as a single woman who lived alone in a city away from family, she needed to depend on herself. She chose instead to rely on the goodwill of church members with nursing skills to stop by her house at injection time. (I don’t know the details of this arrangement, but it must have been messy.) Second, she had injected herself for years, why had she suddenly become too squeamish to do it? Now that I have some years as a diabetic under my belt, I think I have some insight. My aunt probably developed burnout and languished there.
Diabetes books, magazines and Web sites are filled with information on how to avoid or cope with burnout—a clear indication that many of us living with this disease will experience it at some point. My turn came about two years ago. A life challenge had me in its crosshairs and I slowly and steadily began to let my regimen lapse. For example, I’d leave the house without my blood glucose monitor--an essential tool for diabetics--or I’d forget to eat on time. Fortunately, I never completely abandoned my self-care regimen. In fact, I’m ready to get back on track. Starting this blog is part of my new wellness plan. I’ll be chronicling my life with diabetes, my successes, setbacks and everything in-between.
I also want to hear from you. Whether you’re a new diabetic, a veteran like me, or a concerned friend or loved one, let’s support each other. Diabetes is plaguing the black community. This disease cuts short too many of our lives, especially black women’s. But I ain’t going out like that. Together, we can learn to gain control and thrive. That’s my intention.
Until next time,
Nicole Crawford
Contributing Editor
For many women, gestational diabetes goes away once the baby is born. This was not to be my fate. Despite my fervent prayers and wishes, I knew—even during my pregnancy—that living with diabetes would be my lifelong challenge. After all, the disease was rife on the maternal side of my family: my grandmother, two aunts and at least one uncle had the disease.
Although I was disappointed that I had graduated from being a gestational to a type 2 diabetic, I knew I could handle it. My grandmother had been an excellent role model for controlling the disease. When she died at age 84, it was from cancer, not diabetes complications. Her youngest child, on the other hand, was the poster child, for what not to do. My aunt’s unmanaged diabetes eventually led to her having several strokes in her 50s and dying way too soon at 61.
I spent a lot of time being silently angry with my aunt. She decided that she could no longer give herself her insulin injections, which, to me, was preposterous. First, as a single woman who lived alone in a city away from family, she needed to depend on herself. She chose instead to rely on the goodwill of church members with nursing skills to stop by her house at injection time. (I don’t know the details of this arrangement, but it must have been messy.) Second, she had injected herself for years, why had she suddenly become too squeamish to do it? Now that I have some years as a diabetic under my belt, I think I have some insight. My aunt probably developed burnout and languished there.
Diabetes books, magazines and Web sites are filled with information on how to avoid or cope with burnout—a clear indication that many of us living with this disease will experience it at some point. My turn came about two years ago. A life challenge had me in its crosshairs and I slowly and steadily began to let my regimen lapse. For example, I’d leave the house without my blood glucose monitor--an essential tool for diabetics--or I’d forget to eat on time. Fortunately, I never completely abandoned my self-care regimen. In fact, I’m ready to get back on track. Starting this blog is part of my new wellness plan. I’ll be chronicling my life with diabetes, my successes, setbacks and everything in-between.
I also want to hear from you. Whether you’re a new diabetic, a veteran like me, or a concerned friend or loved one, let’s support each other. Diabetes is plaguing the black community. This disease cuts short too many of our lives, especially black women’s. But I ain’t going out like that. Together, we can learn to gain control and thrive. That’s my intention.
Until next time,
Nicole Crawford
Contributing Editor
posted by heart&soulmate @ 8:05 PM
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