Apparently it completely escaped my mind that yesterday, July 25, was my 16th anniversary with this blessing of Hell on Earth. Sixteen years sounds like a long time when I think about it, but I also have to remind myself that if this was 50-100 years ago, then I would be long dead by now. So, the question remains...am I blessed with this Hell on Earth or Cursed with it?

Ponderings from Within

The insulin pump...tonight, it has failed me. 26.4 mmol. What the hell is that. I changed the infusion set before I went to work. I checked my BG at 10 and it was 15.7, threw in some units, checked it again at 12: 22.2, again at 130: 26.4. That's when I had to leave work and go home to change my set. Sonce then it has slowly made its' way back down. It's now 3:30 and 20. God do I feel like shit. Once again reminded of this invisible disease playing in my body. Back to Toronto next Wednesday for more laser surgery. I just can't seem to get away from this thing. Every time I think I'm leading a normal life it resurfaces and mocks me. It scares me to think of the years to come and what it is going to do to my body. It holds my sight in its' hands and I feel like I'm living on borrowed time; that at any time it could take that away from me. Going for laser surgery seems to be part of my life. I go, have the treatment, and leave, but why should that be normal for a 26 year old? I don't think it should be, Yet it is. This is the constant battle of the unseen, and it scares me.

In reference to my last post I thought I would share some pictures. Trying to explain to someone how I see things through my damaged eyes is impossible, so I was happy to find some of these pictures. In the diagram, my eyes looks somewhat like the proliferative Diabetic retinopathy although I have had many laser surgeries and therefore bare many laser scars. The picture of the boy with the ball is looking out through a mild or small cataract. When a cataract gets bad, trying to see is like looking through wax paper - nearly impossible.

Queen of anger

I suppose that I should explain my unpleasant tone in my first post. It stems from sixteen years of frustration, betrayal, anger and bitterness. 'Complications' is a word that is highly associated with Diabetes. I seem to be the epitemy of that term. The first signs of trouble came at the age of nineteen in the form of two ulcers on my shins. They weren't just any little ulcer, they were three inches long by an inch and a half wide. It looked like I had the flesh eating disease. In time they healed, but not completely of course. Why would I be able to go back to having the smooth legs that every young woman wants? Now, seven years later, the wounds have healed, but the scars are disgusting to look at. Can I wear shorts? Not a chance. Or how about a bathing suit? Not in this life time. There was one day when I decided I would be adventurous and wear shorts to my fitness class at college. I was rewarded by a group of women calling me to their table in the cafeteria to inform me that my legs were disgusting and no one should have to look at that. Thank you. As if I was not aware of that fact as a nineteen year old girl. Why not take another crack at my self-esteem ladies? Eventually they became part of my body and I hardly notice them now. On to the next 'complication'. In May of 2005 I noticed that my sight just wasn't as sharp as it should be so I made an appointment with my optamologist. After a thorough examination he told me that he was sending me to an opthamologist in Toronto because there were some problems. On July 8, 2005 I saw Dr. Brent. It was an eight hour day as I had to undergo every kind of test imagineable. The end result? Diabetic retinopathy, macular degeneration and cataracts all in both eyes. 10 points to Diabetes - 0 for Lisa. Every Friday that summer I had to drive the 3 hours to Toronto and have laser surgery. Did it help you ask? Well, that's a complicated question. It helped with what was going on behind my eyes, but laser surgery makes cataracts worse, and that was my case. By Christmas I could hardly see. The year that followed was filled with trips to Toronto for laser surgery or Avastin injections. I have never been afraid or queasy with needles (duh, I'm a diabetic), but let me tell you, the thought of a needle going into my eyes made my stomach do flips even the circus would be jealous of. I had to get over that pretty quick - suck it up Lisa. 2007 brought the promise of regaining my sight...it was time for cataract surgery. I'm not one to believe in miracles, but that sure changed after I had both cataracts removed. It was like I was a whole new person. The world was so vivid, colourful and sharp. The day after I had my first one removed I went for a drive and had to pull over because I was crying so hard. It was my own little miracle. My doctor told me that things may go bad again, but I didn't listen, I was on cloud nine. Last week, three months after the last cataract came out, that cloud burst. I was scheduled for a follow up to the cataract surgery, but came out with devestating news. My eyesight was great: 20/30 and 20/40 compared to the 20/200 pre-operation, it was behind my eyes where the trouble lay. It seems that my eyes are still growing new blood vessels - not good. This means more laser surgery (every two weeks for 4 sessions), then more Avastin, and if that all fails, more surgery. WTF? I mean, I'm on the pump, I've been so good (well, compared to how I was before) I just don't get it. I swear someone out there has it in for me. It seems that, after a three month reprieve, I have once again returned to that frustrated, betrayed, angered and bitter girl that I was once before.

Quotes

"Diabetes is like being expected to play the piano with one hand while juggling items with another hand, all while balancing with deftness and dexterity on a tightrope" - Marlene Less

"Every day that passes brings you closer to 'living with' instead of 'suffering from' " - Kerri of SixUntilMe

...life goes on I suppose

So, Welcome to my blog. As you may have guessed from the title, I am a diabetic. I've had T1 for 16 years and I am sick of it. The 'why me' phrase doesn't even begin to touch how I feel about this abominable disease. I am sick of the daily struggle for control against the unseen. My life lies in its hands. "You have to take better care of yourself" they say, but the battle is too intense. There is no end in sight. It simply rules my life. This, of course, is just today. There are good days, but there is always the underlying knowledge, that it is there, waiting.