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By shannon, March 9, 2010 10:28 am

There are a few things I want to write about today, but they’re not really interconnected.  So, I’m going to just jump from topic to topic.  Try to keep up

Today, I see Dr. S.  I’m not looking forward to getting my A1c because I know it’s going to be higher than last time.  I just hope it’s under 7% so that the baby progress can continue.  I’m strongly considering going back on Symlin.  I took it once before and had awful nausea, but I didn’t really give it a chance.  I stopped after a few days – mostly because we decided to start “actively trying to conceive,” which meant no Symlin.  Frankly, I wasn’t sorry to see it go. 

But now, I’m really trying to lose weight.  It’s my primary goal and I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.  I’ve got HUGE genetic factors working against me.  On my father’s side, which is the side I take after, there is not a single person under 200lbs.  I’ve always had to fight my body’s natural inclination to be heavy, but now I need a little extra help. 

The other benefit of Symlin is that it will help to reduce those spikes I get after meals AND reduce my TDD.  So, if I can handle a couple of weeks of nausea, I think it would probably help me.  I’m not looking forward to a form of MDI again, but I’ll deal.

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Next, I want to talk about Roddy Pippin.  We had some good news in our fight last week.  The Warden of the Jester III prison granted Roddy a few considerations:

1. He would be allowed to attend Sunday worship services – something he’s been denied since December.
2. He would have access to a telephone.
3. He would be allowed to change channels on the television in the infirmary (this one isn’t all that big of a deal since Roddy isn’t a TV watcher).

Unfortunately, these considerations were short-lived.  The prison P.A. said No more – “No more worship service for Pippin!  And no recreation, no law library, etc.”  The P.A. also said “Pippin is NOT allowed to leave the prison solitary confinement for the next 3 years and 8 months!”  This is not a disciplinary case issue.  So, we know that the prison P.A. is in cahoots with the D.A., but the question I have is this:  Does the P.A. have more power than the Warden?  Evidently, she does. 

There was a recent AP article done on Roddy.  While I initially liked the tone of the article, I don’t like what various publications did with it.  One, in particular, was the Dallas Morning News.  They created a headline that was not at all relevant to the article.  They did this to incite anger in their readers, and they succeeded.  I spent some time trying to respond to the nasty comments that followed the article, but most people were content believing a bunch of lies and exaggerations.  I’ve learned that it’s a losing battle with the press.  Unless/until the story breaks out of Texas journalism, it will never be told truthfully.

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Last, I want to talk about the unbelievable liar my body is making me out to be.  I sat in Dr. T.’s office last week (ironically the day my period was due) and told her how “regular” I am.  Hell, I am more reliable than a calendar.  Until this month.  I am now officially one week late.  I’m not-so-patiently waiting to have all of these tests done, which are dependent on my period.  But my period is MIA.  It’s so frustrating.

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By shannon, March 4, 2010 11:50 am

The scene:  A lab

The players:  Me, Phlebotomist (herein referred to as “Moron”), and a Supervisor

The Time:  9:14am

As part of my recent fertility consultation, I was instructed to have a blood test to determine if I carried the gene for Cystic Fibrosis.  Since I am due for my regular A1c draw, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone (I hate that expression – who actually kills a bird with a stone?).

I walked into the lab, signed in, and sat down.  I always dread having blood drawn because I know that the inevitable battle will begin. 

<digression> Since my very first blood draw (that I can remember), I’d pass out.  Faint.  Hit-the-deck.  A few years ago, I had a very nice phlebotomist tell me that I have extremely small veins and that when having my blood drawn, I should always request a butterfly.  From that moment on, I never passed out again (as long as a butterfly is used).  I know some of you will think that this is a psychological problem, but I can prove that it’s not. 

Once, I requested a butterfly, and the phlebotomist agreed to use it.  Since I never watch the actual blood draw, I assumed that the prick I felt was the agreed-upon butterfly.  After a few seconds, I started to get that feeling.  The one where you see little black dots, begin sweating, and feeling very, very tired.  The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor.  She helped me back into the chair.  I apologized for fainting and said how strange it was because I NEVER faint when a butterfly is used.  She shrugged and turned away.

That’s when I saw it.  She didn’t use a butterfly.  When I asked her about it, she claimed to have “forgotten” that I requested one.  Bitch. </digression>

Anyway, back to today.

After 15 minutes, my name was finally called.  I handed moron the lab slips and my insurance card.  She instructed me to have a seat in Room 2 across the hall.  I did.  She came into the room and began entering all of the required information into her computer.  I waited.  Finally, she spoke:

Moron:  Oh, I see it was your birthday.  Happy belated birthday.

Me:  Thanks! (thinking this draw is going to be cake!  She’s actually nice)

Me:  As you can see, I’ve got two different lab slips from two different doctors.  Is it possible to send the results of my A1c to both doctors?

Moron:  (grabbing a clipboard with a release form) Sure.  You just have to sign this release, and we can send it to anyone.

Me:  Great, thanks.  I also have one more request.  When you draw my blood, can you please use a butterfly?  Otherwise, I’ll pass out.

Moron:  (looking at me like *I’m* a moron) I’ll need to look at your arm first because we don’t use butterflies on everyone.  What’s the big deal, anyway?  A needle is a needle.

Me:  Look, I’m not afraid of needles.  I’m a type 1 diabetic, so I’m pretty used to needles.  My issue is that my veins are really small, and with the bigger needle, the blood comes out too fast and causes my blood pressure to drop until I pass out.  Every time I’ve had my blood drawn here, they’ve used a butterfly.

Moron:  Well, I’ll have to look at your arms first. (indicating that she wasn’t going to use a butterfly unless hell froze over first)

Me: (really pissed off) Fine, but don’t be surprised when I pass out.

Moron spent the next 35 minutes trying to get the paperwork straightened out.  I repeated my original instructions that Dr. T. also gets a copy of my A1c.  Moron set up the paperwork to give Dr. S. the results of the CF screen.  Hence, the moniker, moron.

Finally, she wraps the rubber band around my arm and tells me to make a fist.  She pokes my veins to find her target.  Knowing what’s coming, I look away.  I felt the needle prick, and, at first, I felt ok.  I thought that maybe she’d listened to me and used a butterfly.  But, I started to feel that all-too-familiar sensation.  The last thing I heard was her clicking off the first vial and grabbing another. 

I came to on the floor.  Moron had called for backup.  They helped me back into the chair, gave me some juice, and waited.  After 10 minutes, Moron came back into the room with Supervisor. 

Supervisor: (taking one look at my arm) Her veins are tiny.  You should have used a butterfly on her.

Me:  I asked for a butterfly, but she refused.

Supervisor:  I’ll take it from here.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to get both vials before you passed out, so I’m going to have to prick you again.

Me:  You can prick me all day as long as you use a butterfly.  I wasn’t being a baby – this is just how it is. 

Supervisor: (after the blood draw was done) You’re all set.  You can wait here for a few minutes if you need to. 

Me:  (having already spent over an hour in the lab) I’m fine.  I really need to get to work.  I would appreciate it if you’d have a talk with moron about listening to patients.  This entire scenario could have been avoided if she’d just listened to me.

Supervisor:  I intend to.  We don’t like it when you faint any more than you do.

Me:  Thanks.

Comments (0)

By shannon, February 28, 2010 1:14 pm

I’m feeling a little under the weather today, so I thought I’d give you all something to enjoy in the absence of my usual witty repertoire

Comments (1)

By shannon, February 27, 2010 9:00 am

I wanted to let you guys know about a fantastic story written about Roddy.  Maybe he’s finally going to get the national attention he needs!

Roddy has had a rough few weeks.  He had a BG of 454mg/dl on February 16th during a 75-mile ambulance trip from UTMB hospital to J-3 prison.  Instead of treating the high, a prison P.A. told the EMTs  “no insulin for Pippin!”

Then his BG was 26 mg/dl on February 21st AFTER a UTMB nurse had administered numerous tubes of oral glucose.  I have no idea how low he actually got, but it was incredibly dangerous.

One of the worst things is that he’s having these highs and lows every day, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.  This situation is becoming even more dire than it already was.  These people are out for Roddy’s blood and will settle for nothing less.

Comments (8)

By shannon, February 24, 2010 5:47 pm

It occurred to me that I’ve never properly introduced you to my little family (fury and not), so here’s a basic cast of characters in my life:

Brian and his best man.

Abby and I have been together for almost 12 years. She's fat, she snores, she sleeps on my head. I love her anyway.

Hoosier (named for the racing tire) is the coolest cat I've ever met. He does tricks, and he's scared of nothing.

Kumho (named for the other brand of racing tire that Brian uses) is an odd one. We think, based on the bizarre items he's always bringing us, that he's building some kind of world domination device. The jury's still out on that.

Monroe - Is my Yorkiepoo. He's so freaking cute that it actually nauseating sometimes. He loves me more than anything

Comments (7)

By shannon, February 17, 2010 10:20 am

So, you guys know what’s going on with Roddy Pippin, right?  If not, I’ll give you the short version.  Roddy, a Type 1 diabetic, was arrested and charged with stealing cattle in Texas.  Without the representation of a decent attorney, he accepted a plea bargain that ended up being far harsher than what he would have faced if convicted in a jury trial.  He’s currently serving the 3^rd of his four State Jail terms, two years each (for 8 years total, although through some funny math by the courts, that has somehow increased by an additional 18 months). 

I’ve been privy to Roddy’s prison medical records, and I can say that the medical care he is receiving  is sub-standard.  Roddy’s insulin doses have been prescribed not by a qualified Endo who monitors his condition, but instead by a pharmacologist who obviously knows little-to-nothing about diabetes.  Roddy is classified in the prison system as Type II IDDM.  Type 2!  He’s given amazingly large doses of Lantus and Apidra in an attempt to create an artificially-low A1c (proof that he is being well-cared for, right?).  Nearly every day, he suffers a severe low.

We ALL know how horrible lows are.  We dread that feeling, and often run high just to avoid it.  Imagine not having any control over your diabetes care.  Someone else draws the insulin from the vial and injects it into you.  Imagine the reality of suffering those lows every day.  Imagine waking up in a pool of your own blood because the latest low caused a seizure so severe, you suffered a gash on your forehead.  Imagine being isolated at all times, and that your calls for help are ignored.   You spend every day alone, waiting for the next low that will finish you off. 

To me, this is the classic definition of torture.  Worse than waterboarding because there is nothing you can say or do to stop it.  There is no information that officials are trying to extract from you; this is your life. 

Take a look at the following photos.  The one on the left was taken just before Roddy returned to prison on November 8, 2009.  It’s the picture of a healthy young man.  The one on the right was taken recently (note this was about a week after that low-induced seizure caused that forehead gash).  Roddy has lost 28 pounds and is clearly experiencing a low in this photo.  He’s not looking so healthy anymore.  And this is only three months after the photo on the right was taken!

I write to Roddy, and he writes to me.  I try to let him know how much we, as diabetics, feel for him.  I tell him about my efforts to raise awareness of his situation, and how I’m not going to let anyone forget what’s going on in Texas.  He is so contrite.  He takes full responsibility for his crimes, and regrets them.  He has maintained a positive attitude despite his situation, but lately, his letters are starting to show signs of despair.  He tries to hide it, but it’s clear that he’s in immense pain.  Sometimes, based on the handwriting, you can tell he’s just had or is about to have a low. 

It breaks my heart what Roddy’s going through.  I’ve tried to get his story out there, but that “good ole boy” network in Texas is so powerful.  Even the most liberal of news outlets won’t touch this one.  So, I’ll continue to use my blog to report on Roddy.  If anyone in a position to help would like to do so, just send me an email:  shannon at ladadeeda dot com.

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By shannon, February 10, 2010 8:54 am

A few minutes ago, as Brian and I sat around drinking coffee and watching the snow, we were debating when we last saw this much snow.  There was a storm back in 1996 that was similar to this one.  As I began to remember it more clearly, I told Brian a story about one night during that storm.

My friends and I had walked up to a local micro-brewery (I lived in DC at the time, and walking was the ONLY method of transport for us).  We had a great time drinking beer, smoking, and eating incredibly unhealthy food.  Then, after we were all good and drunk, we piled into the back of some random guy’s pickup, and he drove us home.  It was the perfect night for a bunch of twenty-somethings stuck in a blizzard.

But, when I remember that night, it’s almost as if I’m watching a film.  I don’t feel like the same person who drank with abandon and smoked Camel Lights.  This was only a few years before I was diagnosed with diabetes, but it feels like an entire lifetime ago.

As a diabetic, I rarely drink and I NEVER smoke.  That young girl who partied it up that night didn’t even know what diabetes was.  She’d never tested her blood sugar, and she certainly didn’t have to count the carbs in that plate of nachos.  When I think about her, I see nothing of my current self.

It makes me angry and resentful; I want to be that carefree girl again.  And sometimes, it’s hard to remember her without feeling immense sadness. But, with my new life came a new purpose.  Being a part of the Diabetes Community is something I treasure.  While I’d give it up in a heartbeat to be the former me, I embrace it for what it is.  My life.

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By shannon, February 8, 2010 9:19 pm

I know I’m completely slacking with the blog posting thing lately.  We’ve been snowed in since last Thursday night, and I’m starting to crack under the continued lack of human interaction (well, except for Brian).  Now, with the expected addition of another 12-18 inches of snow to the already 30+ inches we got last weekend, it’s possible that I won’t be able to leave the house until spring.

I’m just so completely sick of myself that I have absolutely noting to say (or write).  I promise to be back to normal by the spring thaw

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By shannon, February 5, 2010 9:13 am

Oh, Oprah, you had an amazing opportunity to do a show on diabetes. It could have been well-researched, with experts in endocrinology providing accurate information and dispelling the many myths that are floating around. You could have had CDEs and representatives of ALL types of diabetes.

Instead, you chose to have (your fellow cash cow) buddy, Dr. Oz, confront a room full of overweight, Type 2 diabetics, telling them that their lifestyle is to blame. Where was the discussion of genetics?Oh, that’s right. Dr. Oz said Type 1 was genetic. He also said a person is born with Type 1. And that the amount of insulin a person takes is an indication of how bad their diabetes is. All untrue.

But, what really pissed me off was the blatant exploitation of Laureen. You were doing a show about Type 2 diabetes (because they’re the majority, after all), but to really scare the shit out of everyone, you send Dr. Oz to visit Laureen in the hospital. You show graphic images of the absolute horror that diabetes has done to her body. She obliges by breaking down and sobbing accordingly. Then, as an afterthought, you make the distinction that Laureen is a Type 1. Why was she your example? Couldn’t you find a Type 2 to exploit?

7.4 million people watch your show every day. Many of them take your word as gospel. If you’d taken just a few hours  and actually researched the different types (yes, there are more than two) of diabetes (or actually read the email I sent you weeks BEFORE the show), you would have presented a show that was truly groundbreaking. Instead, it was a joke.

There are many in the diabetes community who have spent years trying to raise awareness of Type 1 diabetes, its cause, its treatment, and the fact that it is not preventable or curable. You set us back years.

So, thanks Oprah.  Your shoddy research and irresponsible reporting did more harm than good.

Comments (14)

By shannon, February 3, 2010 2:20 pm

In an attempt to come to terms with our situation and to be proactive in finding an alternative, I began researching adoption. 

Adoption scares the hell out of me.  Maybe it’s the horror stories I’ve read about birth mothers changing minds, or learning that a child has been severely abused prior to adoption, or even the enormous costs associated with the adoptive process.  I don’t know what it is, but I’m afraid.

But, since Brian and I are two good people who could provide a stable and loving environment to a child, I am willing to give it a try.  Or at least I was. 

As I spent hours reading about the adoption process, I learned a thing or three:

Adopting a child through the state is going to be a challenge.  I know that there are lots of older kids out there who need homes, but given my trepidation about it all, I really want to adopt an infant.  I want the opportunity to help shape a child and teach him or her right from wrong.  I fear that many older children have already been defined by their experiences, and while they deserve no less than a loving home, I am not prepared to undo any damage that has occurred. 

Adopting a child through a private agency (via an adoption attorney) is going to be expensive.  Probably more expensive than Brian and I could afford.  While this is the scenario most likely to provide us with an infant, it is the one that’s going to be the most difficult to pursue.   Moreover, since the process usually begins before the child is born, the chance of the birth mother changing her mind is real.

Adopting a child internationally is going to be nearly impossible.  I located a very reputable agency that handles international adoptions on a regular basis.  They have a list of countries that they work with (China, Russia, Bulgaria, Columbia, etc.), as well as the criteria that potential adoptive parents are required to meet.  On nearly every one, there is the following requirement:

No current medical conditions, chronic illnesses, infectious diseases, or severe deformities of applicants.

So, does this mean that as a Type 1 diabetic, which is a chronic condition, I am excluded as a potential parent?  I fired off an email to the agency to get the bottom line, but I have an awful feeling about it.

If anyone has any positive (and recent) adoption experiences to share, please do so.  If you know of reputable agencies or attorneys, please share that info, as well.  We’re really starting from scratch here, and it’s hard to separate fact from fiction.