Category Archives: Pregnancy in Diabetes

‘Ohmygawd! I just peed my pants!’

Warning: In case you didn’t notice from the headline above, this post may be TMI for some. You have been warned.

At about 7 km into Sunday’s race, my brain took a trip down memory lane, to a time when I was seven years old, walking home from school, wearing one of my favourite corduroy dresses. I was just a few blocks from home, less than 10 minutes. I had to pee, like really had to pee, my bladder was so full it was sore. I tried squeezing it in, tried walking with my legs crossed over, but the feeling wouldn’t go away, and my super skinny, short, little legs wouldn’t move fast enough. I knew there was no way I could make it. I looked to my left. I looked to my right. There was no one. I squatted, I peed, Ahhh, relief.

I wish I could say I had the same relief on Sunday…

I’ve hemmed and hawed for awhile about writing on this topic, but after Sunday’s race, I felt it was high time to once again show the real side of what pregnancy can do to your body. If you were following my blog throughout my pregnancy last year, you already know that I didn’t exactly enjoy the experience, there was no happy glow hovering overhead, but rather a long list of side effects; a list waiting to be laminated of reasons why never to get pregnant again! Today’s post is a huge point on that list.

At 7 km into Sunday’s race I was slapped with a burning sensation of mortification. Ohmygawd! I just peed my pants! Ohmygawd! Is it running down my leg! Ohmygawd! I’m peeing my pants again! Ohmygawd! STOP!!!

I went to the washroom twice prior to the race, and nowhere in that run did I feel I had to pee, it just happened. And it’s not the first time. I’ve sneezed and felt a trickle. I’ve laughed and felt a dribble. And yes, for quite a few runs, there have been drips – but all of which I was able to stop at a drop or two. But Sunday, there was no stopping it!

To all you women out there, hear me now when I say this is 100 per cent the result of carrying an 8 pound 10 ounce baby in my belly – there is NO doubt about that. Things that were once properly positioned, that fit perfectly to my body, no longer seem to be. And just as I had to realign my hips post pregnancy, it seems I need to, ahem, reconfigure other areas as well.

Sure I’ve been doing Kegal exercises, maybe not as diligent as I run and do my strength training, but, you know, when I remember I’m all over them. And I thought things were getting better, I really did, in fact, it was just this past Saturday when I told Coach NZ that I thought I’d finally curbed that nasty assed problem, and I truly believed it. It had been some runs ago since I last had a, ahem, dribbling incident. But then Sunday, with my feet burning up from the pounding, my calves throbbing from the exertion, and my breathing laboured, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, BOOM! There she flowed!

And point 46 on the Reasons Never To Get Pregnant Again list struck again!

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Both Little Ring and I were none to pleased by the incident… good thing I packed a blanket for the ride home!

TODAY’S RUN:

  • 5 a.m. BG before: 4.6
  • Temp. basal: none
  • Carbs: 2 shot blox (16g) no bolus
  • Distance: 5.17 km – 10 steady/15 tempo/5 cool down
  • Time: 30 minutes
  • Average pace: 5:46 min/km
  • 6 a.m. BG after: 8.9

You win some and you lose some, and with this run I was majorly in the losing category. My legs had nothing in them. I was supposed to be pulling a 5:00-5:15 pace for my tempo, but couldn’t seem to get below 5:30. Boo.

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The greatest accomplishment of all

I’ve climbed mountains, run marathons, traveled through various parts of the world, won writing awards, achieved As in chemistry, managed my disease to near perfection; all pretty awesome achievements.

But none of those accomplishments, not one, stand a chance next to the greatest accomplishment of my life.

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Little Ring is hands down the greatest, most impressive thing I have ever done – EVER! – with and without diabetes 😀

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* This is my fourth installment of Diabetes Blog Week with today’s topic being Accomplishments, big or small*

Dazed and confused

One year later…

I went for a run, but this time there was no Big Ring running a few steps behind me (he was at home caring for Little Ring); there was no Garmin, but rather a beat up old Timex; there was no fancy free footing either, more like a deep gutted fear of the gremlins in the pavement looking to take me down; nor was there the beginnings of a thumb-sucking alien baby in my belly.

One year later…

I was so lost in my thoughts that I actually got lost (turned around if you will) coming back from my second run of the year on the boardwalk – a route I have walked and run for nearly four years, a route I frequent nearly every day, a route I bloody well LIVE on. It’s no secret I am majorly directionally challenged, but seriously, this was an all-time low for me. I was literally 2 minutes from home when I got so dazed and confused, I thought I had missed my turn off, and actually turned around to go back! But this run was no ordinary run.

One year later…

This run was the anniversary of the run when I went down into a 10.0 face first dive into the pavement (damn those evil gremlins!) just minutes away from home; when I was so green from the pain, both Big Ring and I were sure I had a broken collar bone; when Big Ring had to force me to eat an omelette (which by the way we also unintentionally had this evening :)) before heading to the hospital; when I spent three and a half hours separated from Big Ring waiting to get an x-ray – three of which I had the biggest, most exciting news of my life to share, but could do no such thing. (It wasn’t exactly something that could be texted!)

This run was the anniversary of the run I found out about my Little Ring 😀

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Beautiful night for a beautiful run with a beautiful memory.

TONIGHT’S RUN:

  • 5:15 p.m. BG before: 4.9 (3 Stoned Wheat Thins, no bolus)
  • Temp. basal: none
  • Distance: 4 minute intervals to a total of 12 minutes with 1 minute walking between each interval.
  • 6 p.m. BG after: 5.3

And yes, my friends, that ankle update is still on it’s way.

2013: the year I get my feet back

2012: There were no sun-drenched long runs, no personal bests, no races, in fact, there was hardly any running at all. And yet, it was a year I shall cherish for always.

It was the second week of January (the day after Big Ring’s birthday) that we found out (while running!) we had a little thumb-sucking alien baby growing in my belly. I had vowed to keep up with my running, and was sure I’d be able to run the 5 km Run for Water in May, and the first Starbucks Women’s Run in June, but unfortunately my body and blood sugars had other ideas. By mid March, I had retired my running shoes to the closet, in favour of hiking and walking shoes.

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Clockwise: Starbucks (WALK) for Women in June; hiking Lynn Valley in May; retiring my running sneakers in March.

It was a year full of all-day nausea, every nasty pregnancy side effect imaginable (seriously, I could make a book that would for sure get teens to practice abstinence!), weekly doctor and dietitian frustrations, strict guidelines and rules, worries and anxieties, butterflies and wonderings. And I wouldn’t change it for a second.

It was the year my thumb-sucking alien baby became my real life Little Ring. Huge hearts!


Apparently this is what my boys do when I’m slogging away at chemistry 🙂

And now, with 2012 gone, it’s time to look ahead to 2013: the year I get my feet back.

Remember this?

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Or how about this?

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I’d be remiss if I didn’t include this one with me trailing behind, but take note, it was taken within the first minute of the run 🙂

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Well folks, it seems Big Brother wants another crack at me. And if that’s not motivation to get my stubborn feets back in tip top shape, I don’t know what is. Bring it on Big Brother. Hehe 😉

War of images

Have you ever felt like you were being pulled every which way and no matter what you did, you were not doing the right thing? That’s kind of how I’ve felt on this new adventure with Little Ring – image wise. Seriously, the journey towards him and the journey with him has been an honest to goodness war of images.

You see, all throughout my pregnancy I was given a hard time by doctors, nurses, acquaintances, and complete strangers for the amount of weight I was gaining (39 pounds in total and I delivered 3 weeks early. I’m not gonna lie, I looked like I had a giant yoga ball strapped to the front of me… but being called Tubs by a co-worker, not cool.) And then, shortly after Little Ring arrived, I started getting the complete opposite kind of comments on how great I looked for just having a baby; what was my secret; I must not be eating any sweet treats at all; my gawd, your baby is not even three months and you look like that… a little bitterness sprinkled throughout each of them. And at first I felt guilty, like I should still be huge, but then I thought, screw that, my metabolism rocks – that is most definitely something to celebrate!

Oh, but wait. Apparently it doesn’t rock quite as much as I thought it did…

Earlier this week I had my annual appointment with my diabetic doctor (who, by the way, I’ve had a major crush on since I was a teenager… he wears bow ties; it’s dorky cute ;)) and like clockwork he told me how great my Hga1C numbers were again, and how “off their rockers” the pregnancy doctors I dealt with were for persistently giving me a hard time about my weight gain. “How many other patients could they possibly have that were bringing back consistent 5.6, 5.9, 5.5 numbers?”

But, he said, that thyroid of yours is working overtime.

Apparently the dose for my under-active thyroid, which I’ve been battling for 17 years, has been a bit on the high side, which, he said, can cause rapid weight loss. Hmm…

Funny, when I was at my GPs office the other day I noticed a poster on the wall about how hypothyroidism (which is what I have) is a common post-pregnancy side effect that’s often mistaken for postnatal depression. And here I am going the complete opposite way! Did I actually get a good side effect of pregnancy? Did pregnancy cure my thyroid issues? Will I finally be able to rid myself of those dang pills I sometimes forget to take?

No. In addition to rapid weight loss, an overactive thyroid can also cause breast milk to dry up, which thankfully it hasn’t done for me, and night sweats, which, yes, I have disgustingly endured. And so now, because my dose is not the right dose, I will be starting down a new trial and error path of blood work and pills to find the perfect dose for me and my temporarily sporty thyroid gland.

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The blue pill is no longer a good pill.

But really, who’s complaining here? With 3.5 pounds to go before hitting my pre-pregnancy weight, and with all my super fancy jeans and super cute skirts fitting me comfortably – certainly not me! Hehe 🙂

Comeback postponed

I’ve been good, like really good. Despite desperately wanting to, I haven’t run, not once. I’ve painstakingly crushed those urges and longings that fill me every time I lace up a pair of my sneakers, or read a Facebook post of a favourite running chick coming off a medal-worthy run, or see those head-to-toe Lululemon girls running down the boardwalk.

Why? Because Dear Physio told me to.

Early on in the pregnancy, when I was still dealing with the shoulder injury I got while running (you know, the night I found out I was pregnant) Dear Physio, who I swear has magic shooting through his fingertips, warned me that my already unstable hips would likely take a serious beating in childbirth, and if I wanted to run injury free, post pregnancy, I would be wise to heed his advice and make it a slow (and by slow, practically non-existent) comeback to the pavement.

As much as I didn’t want to listen to those words, as much as I wanted to fight them every step of the way, I did actually follow his advice, I really, really did. (Shocking, I know!) I haven’t run, I haven’t done anything beyond walking. But a princess, an impatient one at that, can only take so much. It’s been two months, surely that’s long enough, surely I can lace up my sneaks for reals now, surely.…

Apparently not.

A visit to Dear Physio earlier this week shot those dreams to the ground. I went in for a realignment (thank you childbirth for completely messing my pelvis up) and one of the first things I said to him upon walking into his office was “Fix me up Dear Physio, these legs are itching to kick some pavement.” 😀

That didn’t go over so well.

Apparently two months isn’t long enough. Three months is the minimum, he said. Are you freaking kidding me? I tried to oppose him, I tried to prove him wrong, I listed off examples of the females out there who started back running practically seconds after giving birth. But Dear Physio was prepared. He fired back that those are the women making him rich. Dammit!

Looking at my running history, and all the times I’ve neglected to follow Dear Physio’s advice (Re: 2011 when I spent thousands of dollars on physio!), I’m thinking he might actually be on to something. So folks, it looks like I’ll be off the pavement for one more month 😦


2011: The year of stress fractures, butt bursitis, knee bursitis, ITB, alignment issues, and more.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a comeback plan in the works: There will be new running shoes in my future, and a few sports bras that can actually contain these milk jugs, oh yes, and the bike trainer will be coming out of storage, my abs will be getting a beating, and last but not least, these damn hips of mine will finally be strengthened.

Yep, I have 🙂

Don’t kill Shelby, kill the movie

Steel Magnolias? A remake? Are you freaking kidding me? Who in their right mind would go out of their way to remake that gawd awful flick? I mean, unless they were bullied by a diabetic, or had a nasty run-in with a gang of diabetics, or just have a plain ol hate on for us T-1s, there’s no plausible reason for putting this movie out on the shelves again.

Strong opinion on something seemingly small to the majority, you bet I do!

When Steel Magnolias was released in 1989, I was a young, impressionable, fairly newly diagnosed type 1. And let’s just say, it probably wasn’t the best film for me to be viewing at the time. Thanks to this movie, I spent a good part of my adolescence thinking I would be punished with kidney dialysis if I made one screw up with my disease (and believe me, I made a LOT of screw ups with Dear Diabetes). I also spent years thinking if I ever got knocked up, I’d be on a one-way train to the worlds six feet under. And even if I opted out of having little kidlets, there were still many days where I believed I wouldn’t graduate into adulthood because of my diabetes – thanks to this movie.


With shots like these, it’s not hard to imagine how a 12-year-old could think she was next in line for the Grim Reaper to attack.

It was so bad, my moms sent me to counseling in my teenage years to help deflate my doomed diabetes anxieties. I mean, seriously, it’s not exactly the greatest feeling to think you’re doomed at any age, but my gawd to think it that young, not cool.  And it wasn’t until my mid 20s, when I really took control of Dear Diabetes and started looking more into the disease and stopped listening to those without the disease, that I realized stupid Steel Magnolias was just another diabetes “know-it-all” bully.

And yet, even with that revelation in my back pocket, to this day, if I hear mention of Steel Magnolias, I cringe; if I see a glimpse of the Southern belles in that teased to the nth degree hair salon, I flip the channel in a shaken heartbeat; and when, earlier this week, I heard of the remake, I went into a rage.

It doesn’t matter how new, or how modern, or how supposedly more knowledgable a face you put on this flick, it will always be the movie that stole a chunk of my childhood. Not cool. Not cool at all.