Author name: Katie

Girl with crazy eyes pondering over the frustrations of hyperglycemia

Exams and diabetes

Diabetes, Uncategorized

I was freaking out. I was a couple days off from my first final of the semester, and I was completely wigging. It was an upper-level research course. I had been doing well. I knew the material. By all accounts, I should have been confident. But no, I was in full-blown freak-out mode. I don’t like exams, and no matter how well I know the material, I generally get over-run by anxiety. But this time was different. This time was worse. Dear Diabetes had gotten in my head. Not surprising, really. The midterm was a bloody gong show. Normally my blood sugars run high for exams. It’s that whole anxiety thing setting up the fight or flight response, shooting up the adrenaline – and the blood sugars. But for the midterm, Dear Diabetes decided to take me on a different kind of roller coaster. Instead of high blood sugars, they bottomed […]

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Sometimes…

Diabetes, Uncategorized

Sometimes I don’t want to stop. Sometimes I’m in the thick of a really great book, and I don’t want to stop. Sometimes I’m in the middle of writing a killer sentence, and I don’t want to stop. Sometimes I’m climbing down the Eiffel Tower in the twilight hours, and I don’t want to stop Sometimes I’m in the depths of a needed sleep, and I don’t want to stop. Sometimes I’m at 8.5 km of a strong 10 km run, and I don’t want to stop. Sometimes I’m hurting with joy, giggling so hard with my boy, and I don’t want to stop. I can see the words on the screen go blurry. I can feel the letters in my book as they punch me in the face with every bounce across the page they make. I can sense the happy flutters in my belly being strangled into sickening

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Hospital: the first

Diabetes, Uncategorized

Dear Moms, I am sorry I was such a sick kid. I am sorry I got whooping cough at three weeks old. I am sorry my appendix nearly burst at three years old. I am sorry about the whole diabetes diagnosis at nine years old that caused a tumult of ER runs and hospital stays. I am sorry I threw my lunches into the bushes and gave your plants my insulin doses and gorged out on chocolate under the covers of my bed, which no doubt added to those aforementioned sick-induced adventures. I am sorry I got jaundice at 11, and a near concussion at 17. I am sorry your mother’s intuition was forced to work over time for so many years just to ensure I made it through the night. Never in my 38 years did I imagine the anguish I put you through until now. It is an

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Food: What can we do?

Farmers' Market, Uncategorized

I don’t know why I didn’t put up my hand. I don’t know why I didn’t ask the question filling my brain the entire time she was talking. I’ve rarely been one to shy from asking questions. I’ve got journalism in my blood for goodness sake; I should have asked the question. This week I attended the latest installment of the UBC Reads Sustainability series, a program that brings well-known authors to campus to discuss issues of sustainability. It was the first I’d heard of the program, and was intrigued for a few reasons: 1) The speaker, Simran Sethi, is a journalist (see blood above) and her book is called Bread, Wine, Chocolate: The Slow Loss of Foods We Love. For those of you who’ve been long-time readers, you already know, but for those of you new to the PoP ways, chocolate might as well BE my blood. 2) I

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Pizza, worse than a tequila hangover

Diabetes, Uncategorized

Pizza, it is the bane of existence for diabetics the world over. The taste, a garlic-infused crispy crust, savoury tomatoes and fungi, oozing mozzarella, and the spice of the carefully placed basil tantalizing your taste buds. So savoury. So delectable. A treat that calls out in your dreams, lures you in your wake. But a treat, nonetheless, that makes you look at diabetes in the same manner as organic chemistry. I have had this disease for 29 years, and I have yet to master the skill of calculating the bolus’ and basals for pizza. I can eat baked cheesecake, no problem; cheese oozing quesadillas, no problem; but pizza, it has foiled me nearly every time I partake. Shame. Big Ring is a master of the pizza-making skill. Ever since we visited Italy seven years ago, he’s been perfecting the art of Neapolitan-style pizzas. But for years, I’ve been shaking my

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