Re - Pffffft

Well, I haven't written anything in a while. Not from lack of inspiration, just didn't feel like it.

Nothing exciting happening. Same old stuff.

Christmas is right around the corner. As usual, I have not asked Santa for anything. I don't need anything, to be honest, except world peace, a cure for all diseases and a special place reserved for those people I cannot stand. Not much to ask for, I think. I didn't include the moon. THAT would be overdoing it. And I don't like to exaggerate.

Anyway, where was I? Right, Christmas. Yeah...I'll be glad when it's over. I'm actually excited for the New Year (not the party, but the actual year). I have big plans, big dreams, big projects.

Then the next holiday season comes around and I'll realize none of those plans, dreams, projects ever came to fruition.

And I'll be a grump again, just in time for Christmas.

Maybe this time it'll be different.

Happy Holidays. Honestly.

For a sweet girl

Just wanted to post about a 13yr old girl who lost her battle with Type 1 Diabetes.

My heart is aching for her parents and sister. I wish I could take their pain away and tell them all will be ok. But I cannot.

May you find peace at last, sweet girl, and may you look down on your family and send them little signs that you're ok now, and give them the strength they need to make it through life.

You are missed and many hearts are mourning your departure from this world.

Rest in peace, sweet girl.

Consciousness

For me the most challenging psychological aspect of having a child living with T1 D is making sure *my* fears/anxieties/anger/sadness are not transferred to my kid.

I am a very spontaneous person, and you see easily when I'm ok or not, so I have had to learn to control this part of myself, for the sake of my kid's emotional safety. And also because I am a firm believer in never giving up, so I'd like my son to get that vibe from me. Never give up! No matter what. I'm stubborn, what can I say...

So, living with D has taught me 1) humility because of it's unpredictability and 2) to be conscious of how I perceive it. Because there is someone watching me - my son.

The Never Ending Story

Although this song has nothing to with T1 D, the title pretty much sums up what it is for me.

Never ending....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwF4PPoEWD4&feature=related

Having a sad moment. Fleeting surely, but here nonetheless.

You're right, I'm wrong

Or is it the other way around?

Think about it.

The whisper

For a long time, I was screaming everything about T1 D. From the anger to the sadness, to wanting others to understand what it is having a child with D. Basically, to force upon the world what I wanted to say.

And that had its place. And that was ok.

Now, I don't want D to be in my face, nor in others' faces.

I want it to be like a whisper, ever-present, in my mind, that it is still there but that it's not the only thing there.

I'm ready to move on. Taking D with me. Instead of having it drag me along.

And that's ok too.

New insulin pump or How I hate Holland sometimes...ok, most times

We received a new insulin pump recently.

Let me tell you. I feel like I'm back to the same day as diagnosis day. The fear of the pump, and having to learn how it works. I know how it works. I can use it. But it's the change factor, the new factor. It's making me nauseaus. Or it may be the heat. It's really hot here now. But I think it's the pump.

It takes me back to the day when the nurse came to the hospital room and told us "Here, let's put the insulin pump on your son.". Lovely. Not.

And here we are, over 3 years into this rocky D road, and an insulin pump makes me feel very small. Again.

I guess because it makes me face my biggest enemy - change. The one thing I love. And hate. I love change, but I don't like the process of change. If that makes sense. It does to me, anyway.

And above all it is the symbol that we are still in Holland. Mind you, I've been to Holland, and, besides the food, it is a lovely place. But too much Holland can be hazardous to your sanity.

So, I'm left with pressing buttons on the pump, and adjusting to it. There sure is a lot of button pressing in Holland.

That's a lot of pressure.

I want Italy sometimes. Ok...most times.

Lacking the cavewoman gene

I would not have made a good prehistoric woman. Really. Just the thought of it freaks me out.
Having to live in a cave, wearing fur. Cooking whatever the hubby brought in from the day's battle with scary creatures.

No. I just couldn't. So, I wonder, where is my cavewoman gene. Where is that tiny gene which makes me a descendant from a very fierce and strong cavewoman? Maybe it got lost and gave up finding its way to me? Maybe it found out who it was to be passed onto and laughed and asked for a second draw?

Ok, so basically what I'm saying is that I want some cavewomanshipness in me. The grunting attitude to knock an approaching ferocious animal on the head, drag it to my cave, strip it of its skin, separate the meat (some for drying and some for cooking), and be able to make the perfect LFD (Little Fur Dress), all before the next Ice Age.

But it just sounds like so.much.work.

Wrinkles Anonymous

Hello, my name is Blogger and I have wrinkles.

Welcome Blogger. (*chorus of people*)

Ugh! I didn't want them this early. I am so not ready.

Yeah, yeah. It's just wrinkles, right? WRONG! It's reality playing a practical joke on me.

Yooohooo, Blogger! Look in the mirror...NOW! Yikes! On the sides of my eyes. I see them. I practice the smile-a-meter, going from a weak to the strongest smile, and there they are - smack in the middle of "average smile".

You see, I was expecting to age gracefully. I have looked much younger than my age for the past 20 years, so I was naïvely expecting to continue this for at least 10 more years.

But reality is a biatch!

I have aged more in the past 3 years than in the other 17. Coincidentally, my kid's Type 1 Diabetes was also diagnosed a little over 3 years ago. Go figure...

I have the creams. The cheap, the expensive and the crappy. Nothing works.

But I have found that if I don't smile, I don't see my wrinkles, so others won't see them either, and I may help stabilize their growth. Of course, this will affect my sociability factor. I will be seen as unfriendly. BUT my wrinkles will not be seen.

What to do? What to do?

Embrace them? Pffft...I don't like them, so I can't do that.

Ignore them? Nope, they're there, I know that.

Botox them? Heck no! As much as I hate them, I hate pain even more, even the slightest of it.

So, I guess I'll just have to live with them, for better or for worse.