diabetes

Unlocking the T-1 shackles

A Cure… It would mean I could live freely without people looking at me with pity in their eyes, or telling me tales about their grandma who had her foot amputated because of diabetes, or of a friend of a friend whose blood sugars went so low while in the shower, he passed out and drowned, or of an acquaintance who had a heart attack while pregnant because of her diabetes… It would mean I could eat freely without others telling me how to eat, that I could reach for a piece of chocolate, or a cookie, or a scoop of ice cream without family members, friends and strangers – all with outdated information – questioning, and or admonishing, whether it wise I ingest such sweet treats… It would mean I could run freely without worrying about my blood sugars crashing, or having to calculate how much to reduce my …

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Nightmare on T-1 street

It’s not like it should have come as a surprise, but it did, and my gawd, it scared the freaking bejesus out of me. Last night I woke up in a panic. I couldn’t find Little Ring, I thought I’d fallen asleep with him on my chest, but he wasn’t there. I started frantically overturning my fortress of pillows, so sure I was suffocating my boy underneath. I shook Big Ring awake, I needed help, but I couldn’t get the words out, my tongue was twisted, my body was shaking, I had a fountain of sweat coming down from my forehead. On the verge of tears, I lifted my dead weight of a body up, and desperately shot my eyes over to the bassinet – where my sweet boy was sleeping ever so peacefully. I hadn’t yet clued into what was going on, but Big Ring had. Not showing an …

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Because I can

When I walked into that studio I had fear in my eyes and trepidation in my heart. Sure I’ve posed for thousands of photos in my 34 years and, with a photographer for a husband, I have become quite adept at getting that picture-perfect shot. But the studio, that was different. The lonely life of a model… There were strobe lights, soft-box lights, small lights, large lights, blinding lights. There were tripods, wind machines, a giant, white, half-pipe backdrop. And then, there was me, my purple stretch mark attacked belly, and the cameras. Oh, and one more thing: My insulin pump. I went into this studio session feeling nervous as hell, like seriously, I was shaking, I was sweating, I had butterflies in my belly that were overpowering the kickboxing moves of thumb-sucking alien baby. But thanks to Big Ring and his superhero photo talents, I left feeling empowered. With …

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‘She’s got the Jimmy legs!’

Dear Pregnancy Guru, I tried to follow your advice, I tried to embrace the power of positive thinking, I tried to feel your words whilst repeating them over and over again: “I feel great and pregnancy is easy on my body. I feel great and pregnancy is easy on my body. I feel great and pregnancy is easy on my body…” But it didn’t work! My body has been taken over by a little thumb-sucking alien baby and quite frankly it’s not enjoying the experience. Reason number 412 as to why I will never get pregnant again: Jimmy Legs! For the past four days, I have been subjected to an excruciatingly persistent dull ache in both my legs, mostly in my calves, and mostly when I’m in a seated position – which given all the commuting I do, is 90 per cent of my day. Sometimes, however, usually in the …

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