Head pats

1. Am now the owner and daily wearer of a medical ID. This time around I went with a much simpler look.

2. Am seeing eye doctor in May.

3. Am seeing endo in June. (She's too busy to see me sooner. Will try not to back out over the next, uh, two months.)

I am cautiously proud.

Illumination

Whoa, Violet. Interesting last post there. Dark much?

Okay, here’s my excuse. The path to the light must traverse the darkness. Right? Right?

And, uh, there’s no way out but through. Yeah. That.

Actually, I do believe those things, though I certainly wasn’t thinking about them when I wrote Grim Post. Sunrise dispels the night, though, whether the night intends to be dispelled or not. Holding up my junk to the light is a good way to, at the very least, see it a bit more clearly.

What I see is that I’ve gotten stuck. I knew that already, but wow. When I reread that post, I *know* it, in that deep-in-the-bones kind of way.

What I feel, rereading that post, is that I’d like to unstick myself.

I would?

Yeah. Reasons for unsticking abound, as a matter of fact.

Aha. Going to the endo because I want to is much, much different than going to the endo because I’m supposed to, or because I’m afraid, or because I feel guilty, or because Mrs. Violet is chastising me about it. I can handle going to the endo because I want to--much as I just handled eating two scoops of ice cream because I wanted to. (Peanut butter & chocolate and mint chocolate chip. I regret nothing.)

So. I’ll go. Meemeep will go with me. We will report back.

Comfortably Numb: A Confessional of Immaturity

This month marks 3.5 years since my dx. My primary question is how it could possibly be only 3.5 years as opposed to, say, 35.

I’m bored. Diabetes is boring. This post will be boring too: It resays things others have said already, things I’ve said already.

These days I pretend to be as undiabetic as I feel I can possibly get away with. I test, I count, I treat lows and highs, I carry juice. I change the set every fifth or sixth day, I order supplies occasionally, I send Medtronic a few bucks as necessary to maintain the flow of said supplies. I eat pastries and ice cream in significant quantities. I drink more alcohol than is probably advisable for a person who takes insulin.

I don’t exercise beyond walking around the city. I don’t go to the endo. I don’t have my kidneys or eyes or any other parts of me checked for complications. I don’t wear a medical ID since my pretty one broke many moons ago. I don’t read the research, I don’t read blogs, I don’t send money to the ADA or the JDRF or any other acronyms. I don’t craft my diabetic experiences into small sparkling gems of creative nonfiction.

I just don’t.

Most of the time, most of me feels okay with all that. I don’t know my a1C, but then neither does the NYC Department of Health, which suits me fine. My control seems as good as it did when I did know my a1C. I screw up the insulin occasionally, but we all do now and then. I’m here. I’m okay.

I like pretending. It’s more comfortable than the alternative. It isn’t less boring, but it requires less engagement with the boredom, as well as less engagement with the parts that aren’t boring because they’re just plain scary.

Still, there’s a small corner of my brain that cannot repress the occasional flicker of recognition that I’m being Bad, to say nothing of childish, in a way that is not in the long-term interests of Violet. Hence this post.

My prescriptions are about to run out, and last time around the refill authorizations came through with a stern admonishment, delivered via the pharmacist, that I’d have to see the endo to have them extended. And if memory serves, my friends at Medtronic will be looking for a prescription renewal come July as well.

Fine, fine. I’ll go. But I refuse to be interested.

They can’t make me.

An unsent letter from Medtronic Customer Service

Dear Valued Customer Violet:

Thanks for your recent order of lifesaving medical supplies. In filling your order, we noticed that payments on your account have fallen behind.

We understand that many people have times of financial difficulty. Heck, we aren’t perfect either! We remember those minor and major inconveniences we’ve caused you in the past. For example:

Sometimes we’ve sent supplies to your home address instead of your work address, despite your request for the latter. And one time we sent them to your old work address—you know, the one that’s halfway across the country from your current one! Sorry about that. When you have as many customers as we do, this kind of stuff gets hard to keep track of.

We also remember the time our accounting department mysteriously set up a second account in your name and started double-billing you on your pump payments. Good thing you gave us a call before we put that extra account into collections! Seriously, though, that one was definitely our bad.

Then there's the undeniable fact that not one but two of your pumps have broken during your three years as a Medtronic customer. (Please accept our condolences on the recent demise of Nellie.) That’s an unfortunate failure rate, to say the least. We’re as glad as you are that you still have one year left on your warranty! Better luck with pump #3.

You’ve been very understanding about these bumps on the road of your diabetes management. That’s why we’re writing to reassure you that even though you owe us several hundred dollars--a significant amount of money to company with $13 billion in sales in 2007--we would never dream of freezing your account and refusing to send you supplies. In particular, we would never, ever tell you that your lifesaving medical supplies are on the way and then freeze your account without informing you for, say, ten days or so. After all, that could put your health at risk! And that’s just not what we’re about here at Medtronic.

So how about it, Violet? Could we set up a payment plan?

Yours in healthful solidarity,

Medtronic Customer Service
Your Partner in Diabetes Care

Nellie vs. the Absolute Bagel

Longtime readers may recall my early attempts to conquer the bagel with cream cheese. An update is long overdue. Here is Violet's Strategy for Fatty, Bad-for-Violet Treats:

1. Estimate carbs. A generous NYC bagel tends to be 65-70 grams.

2. Tell Nellie.

3. Select dual bolus.

4. Manually add 20% to the amount of insulin Nellie suggests. This is to compensate for the Fatty Treat's tendency to slow digestion, requiring more insulin over a longer period of time.

5. Take 2/3 of the total now. Square the remaining 1/3 over 3 hours.

6. Luxuriate in everything + cream cheese.

7. Brush teeth.

This method also handles egg sammiches well and is modestly effective for pizza.

Important: Your mileage may vary and probably will. Experiment with care.

P.S. Absolute Bagels, 107th and Broadway, are the bomb. Bonus: They have a bulletin board covered with photos of happy, bagel-fed babies.

I’m Too Sexy for My Pump, part III

What? Still?!

It’s true. Even 2.7 years after first exploring this topic here and here. (Apparently I am growing sexier as I age, huzzah. Or at least holding steady.)

I know that I remain too sexy for my pump because over the course of 2007, I’ve been rejected not once but twice by potential dates who were squicked by Nellie.

A provocative statement, I know. Keep reading, gentle blog friends. I shall explain all.

It seems worthwhile to note, for purposes of anthropological interest, that both NRDs (Nellie-Rejecting Dorks) were absurdly good-looking. And I do mean absurdly. My admittedly limited experience with such individuals is that, as if in karmic recompense for their Clooneyesque appearance, they are developmentally delayed in the category of general human decency. These two fellows proved to be no exception.

I didn’t meet either NRD in person. I’ve spent much of the year in that special purgatory known as the Land of Online Dating, where I encountered NRDs One and Two. In each case Nellie came up during the correspondence stage.

Why, you ask, did Nellie come up during the correspondence stage? After all, I could’ve kept her existence concealed until my suitors were so entirely captivated by my sundry violetine charms that not even bionic breasts would have turned them away. (Eww. Hope no one from Medtronic R&D is reading this post.)

Well, Nellie became an issue during correspondence because I, um, used her as bait. This is a practice I’ve implemented when a fellow makes multiple statements that ping on my Superficiality Radar. The idea is that a great deal of time and energy can be saved by screening out NRDs before the dating process begins. It’s true that such screening has the potential to eliminate someone who would not, in fact, turn out to be NRDy if he met me in person (and was therefore captivated by my sundry violetine charms) before learning about the pump. But I wouldn’t want to date such a person, now would I?

No, no I would not.

It works like this. After three or four pings on the radar, I make casual mention of having diabetes and using a pump. If questions ensue, I send a photo—not of me, but of a kindly anonymous soul who is wearing a cousin of Nellie’s. The infusion set is visible in the photo. I write a brief but honest passage about the magnificence of the pump.

Then I wait.

NRD One very abruptly had to walk his dog—this exchange took place during an online chat—and promised to be in touch straight away the next day. Never heard from him again.

NRD Two sent an email thanking me for my honesty and explaining that he would need to think about whether he wanted to continue our conversation. Never heard from him again.

Wow. Imagine a pumpless (or a more reserved, ahem) Violet wasting her precious time and energy on either of these cretins. I might’ve gone out with them. I might even have unknowingly kissed one of them. Ewww! NRD cooties!

Who knew that Nellie would not only preserve my health and happiness but also function as an anti-NRD screening device? Not I. Maybe I should send Medtronic a testimonial for their website…

Reclamation

Hello, Violet here.

I've missed this space and what it used to mean to me. I've missed all you people, too.

I'm making this blog public again, as I'm no longer willing to sacrifice new connections with the OC out of fear.

It's raining in New York today. The notably tall building in which I work is surrounded by a cloud.

Nevertheless, things--all kinds of things--are looking sunshiney.

It's good to be back.