Monthly Archives: April 2015

A farm farewell

I traveled the woods there.

I got stuck in the towering trees there.

I played make belief for hours on the arcs over stretching the ravines there.

I feared the quicksand there.

I found the best hiding places there.

I got stung day after day by the stinging nettles there, but not by the hidden wasp’s nests there.

My cousins weren’t quite so fortunate.

I bottle fed my baby Big Mac there, and lied on the kitchen floor crying at the headless chickens there.

I saw my first family of moles there, I caught a fish bowl’s worth of tadpoles there, I tried to nurse a broken winged baby bird there, and night after night I fell asleep to the songs of the croaking frogs there.

I went from an openly sugar-loving child to a secretly sugar-hoarding child there.

I said a final farewell to my beloved grandpa there; he still resides in the morning glories there.

I watched my dogs, Max and Molly, get married there. I watched my big, big brother say his vows there.

I said “I do” there.

The years passed. My siblings and I grew. In our stead, our boys and girls started finding the gardener snakes and frogs, the acres of hiding places, the make belief, the magic of the love and laughter that there holds. I wish mine had more time.

For nearly 30 years this was my home. It was my primary home, my second home, my home away from home. It was my safe place. Now, it is someone else’s.

Goodbye dear farm, the memory of you will always hold strong to our hearts.

With love...

With love…

Diabetes: The frienemy strikes again

Oh Diabetes. Dear, Dear, DEAR Diabetes. This was to be your day. The day the spotlight was to shine all over your youness. The day when you would think you’d want to look your best, you know, have a fresh-faced glow about you, especially in the face of flashing lights and snapping cameras. You’d think you’d want to show the world what a lowly medium, such as myself, can do with your greatness jabbed into my side.

But you’ve never really been an easy one have you, never really gone with the flow, why start now, why put on a phoney face for the reporters, hey. Nah, you wouldn’t do that.

Sure you had me fooled, weeks of cooperation, nary a hiccup to be heard. But that was your plan all along wasn’t it? I had just sat down to my desk, had just lifted my steeping cup of matcha for a quick sip before the phone interview was to begin, when you and your frienemy greatness struck once again.

There was a loud clicking noise my ears couldn’t quite detect, like the sound of an old grandfather clock when you’re trying to sleep. I thought it was coming from the bathroom, but just as I was about to get up, I felt a vibrating sensation rubbing against my back. When my hand reached around, the only thing there was your insulin pump. Before I could even contemplate what was going on, the phone rang.

And you were laughing weren’t you?

I muddled my way through the interview, talked in nonsensical sentences filled with uhms and ers, I told the daily newspaper reporter all that I had achieved athletically, was it with you, or despite you, I can’t recall, all the while wondering what the hell you were doing. You made it hard to forget what with starting to blare a high decibel alarm on top of the clicking and vibrating.

The interview lasted just shy of a half an hour. When I hung up the phone, I saw the alarm message on the pump, no delivery, call service. And I could hear that cackle of yours. I had five minutes, five minutes, to dig out my old backup insulin pump, program her, load her up with insulin and get connected to my infusion. Any other day I would have waited. Any. Other. Day.

Oh bloody, effing hell!

Oh bloody, effing hell!

But this day, this day was all about you, and the fact I wear a bloody insulin pump while running. The photographer was on his way, scheduled to be here in mere seconds, I could not exactly show off an out-of-service pump now could I?

But hey, guess what jerk face, it was actually ME who had the last laugh. I made it out to that photo shoot, my cheeks all aglow, backup pump attached, dosing away, and it was my greatness they wanted – not yours.

Photo courtesy Vancouver Sun, Nick Procaylo

Photo courtesy Vancouver Sun, Nick Procaylo

Ha. Who’s laughing now?

Here’s a link to the article:

6 p.m. BG before: 7.6
Temp. basal: -50% (1 hour)
Carbs: banana (no bolus) 30 minutes before
Workout: :30-1:00-1:30-2:00-2:30-2:30-2:00-1:30-1:00-:30 with 1:30 walk after each
Distance: 7.70 km
Time: 49:54
Average interval pace: 4:11 min/km
7:30 p.m. BG after: 5.1
Temp. basal: +50% (1.5 hours)

A new marathon of sorts

Dear Princess,

It’s time to face it, you are not normal, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but when it comes to life with Dear Diabetes, no matter how hard you try to deny it, you do have limitations.

Yes, you can run way past the time the dogs come home; yes, you can climb the Grouse Grind and continuously improve your time; yes, you can give birth; yes, you can travel the world; and yes, you can say goodbye to one beloved career and go back to school in your mid-30s, full-time and pull off some pretty spectacular grades.

Yet, still, all of that is limited by Dear Diabetes.

Let’s talk school, shall we.

I am nearing completion of my second semester, which has been an incredibly challenging semester compared to my straight A’s of the first semester. I have worked so hard, my brain is so fried, and that two week break I get in April before the next semester starts cannot come soon enough.

Two days ago I had a chemistry exam; an exam I felt I was prepared for days leading up to it, but that I started freaking out about one to two days prior. I’m sure that’s normal for most students, but what’s not normal is the blood sugar drama that accompanies the freak outs.

Seriously, I'd like to kick the person who started these signs, and double kick the person who came up with this one specifically!

Seriously, I’d like to kick the person who started these signs, and double kick the person who came up with this one specifically!


Stress causes high blood sugars. Stress causes low blood sugars. High blood sugars cause stress. Low blood sugars cause stress. High blood sugars cloud focus. Low blood sugars obliterate brain function.

Normally my blood sugars go high during an exam, which I’ve slowly started figuring out how to counteract before they take hold. But on Monday, they went the opposite route, down a path towards bottoming out.

What the freaking hell Dear Diabetes?

All morning I was dealing with lows, but I still thought I’d be facing highs later on (my exam didn’t start until 2:30 p.m.) so I didn’t make any changes to my insulin dosages. One hour before the exam, they were 6.4. Perfect. Ten minutes before the exam, they were 4.0. Borderline effing hell! I popped a few dates, lowered my basal rate by 50 per cent for the 75-minute exam duration and hoped, prayed to the exam gods, they wouldn’t go pass-out style.

Sound familiar?

Sound familiar? This was me one year ago.

Does this sound familiar? Kind of like some of my runs, hey, when Dear Diabetes gets a hold and takes control. And just like those runs, where I’m constantly thinking about what Dear Diabetes’ next move is going to be, I spent that entire exam checking the shakiness of my hands, taking stock of my vision, wondering am I okay? Should I test? What if they are low? What if I can’t complete this test? All the while trying to name alkenes; convert alcohols and carboxylic acids into esters and water; and draw high-energy, chair-conformation cyclohexanes.


I left that test mortified, not confident in my results at all, worried, broken. I walked for a long time thinking about it all and relating it to the struggles I’ve had with some of my past runs and the feelings I had with some of those runs affected by Dear Diabetes. And that’s when I had The Moment.

The Moment is a moment that I don’t have often, rarely in fact, but a moment that had me wanting to punch my fist so hard into the trunk of tree, desperately wanting to be normal, to be free from this disease. If only for 75 minutes.


• 2:20 p.m. BG before: 4.0
• Temp. basal: -50 per cent
• Carbs: 3 dates (no bolus)
• Time: 75 minutes
• Distance: To organic hell and back
• Average pace: Finishing with the sweepers
• 3:50 p.m. BG after: 4.1

But hey, test results came back today, and even with the Dear Diabetes drama, I still pulled off a decent 77 per cent; not as high as I would have liked, but given the drama, a mark I can be proud of.