this too shall pass

I just got back from dinner with my roommate, who is a total academic warrior. She and my other super-human roommate just finished up their first semester of business school at NYU. As we clinked our cheap glasses of wine together in a celebratory fashion, we mutually realized, “Holy shit. Time is flying.”

Only a few short months prior to our dinner tonight, we were standing on a snowy street in Boston. It was a Sunday in February, and in a rather nerve-wracking way, we agreed to move to New York together if she got in to NYU and I could get a job by June. We were both terrified, but excited at the prospect of a major life-change.

And here we were tonight, sharing pizza together at our favorite spot in Gramercy, celebrating the very raw fact that chasing after a goal and reaching it can be mighty intoxicating.

At the end of every year, people reflect. I always look back over my past 12 months and think, “What have I accomplished this year other than picking my nose and showering semi-regularly?” I think we’d all be surprised to find out just how far we’ve all come regardless of our age or life circumstances. Although we may sometimes have to think really hard about the type of growth we have experienced, both through positive moments and burdening challenges, there is never a year that goes by where nothing was gained at all.

Unfortunately, because humans are inherently cynical to a point, often times our negative experiences can grow to be the ones that stick out the most in our minds. We tend to let the things that have hurt us the most, or pushed us the hardest define us. Those are the moments that stay top of mind because they left a deeper impression on our brain and have forced us to conjure up strength that we may not have otherwise known we had.

In just the past day alone, I can recall saying to several different people in varying contexts, “You’ll be okay, breathe. This is only temporary.” And where did I learn that saying from? All of you, who have said it to me so many times along the way. And tonight, during my pizza fueled life-talk with my roommate, I realized that this is, single handedly, the biggest lesson I’ve learned in 2014.

All things are temporary.

Grown-ups tell us all the time, “walk it off,” “look at the big picture,” “with time this will fade,” “this might feel like the end, but it’s not the end,” and my personal favorite, “the sun will rise tomorrow whether you like it or not” (that one came from my dad, duh.) And never before in my life, as the anxiety-ridden, diabetic, crazy person I can be sometimes (or always), did I actually believe in the power of time until this year.

A few years ago, I was “famously” quoted (amongst my friends) for screaming, “IT’S OVER!!!” at the top of my lungs once when we found out a guy friend of ours had a girlfriend. We were all single and we were all crushed. But of course, I was the one to voice our devastation regarding the one less eligible bachelor in our lives. I was the person that always fell for hard stops and finish lines. I was never one for endless possibilities or opportunity for evolution. I used to dread change and spontaneity. It made me nervous. What’s the quote? “But what if I fall?” “Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?”

I think I’m starting to realize the beauty of the potential to fly.

It was so petty at the time, but now, looking back at it, recognizing this could be one of the most important pivots of my young adult life. Realizing that, in fact, uhhhh nope, no, it’s not over. Nothing is ever truly “over” has eased my sense of perpetual angst when navigating unfamiliar territory. I blame a little bit of my diabetes diagnosis on that lingering ‘tude. A sideswipe and unexpected news of a life long disease will do that to a 16-year-old girl. But maybe, 10 years later, I’m finally putting the final few pieces of my puzzle back together.

2014 was a year of extreme change for almost everyone in my life. New jobs, big moves, grad school, marriages, break-ups, scary diagnosis’s, deaths, births, you name it. And it all happened way closer to home than it’s ever happened in my whopping 26 years of life. But the one theme that continued to reign true, was the temporariness of all things “bad.” That regardless of how hard one day was, the next day would show up in all its glory, ready to help move us forward. That despite whatever fear or anxiety dominated one day, the next one would arrive like a puppy; tail wagging…completely oblivious to our challenges, licking our faces, demanding love and attention.

Just a year ago, when someone would say to me, “Chin up, this will get better.” I’d say, “Fuck you, what do you know?” not realizing how much of an asshole I was being. At the time, when things felt rough, I blamed everyone else. I had no ability to see how much control I had in making things better for myself, or that I was the one subjecting myself to a scenario that was causing stress in the first place. I didn’t realize how much of my happiness had everything to do we me independently catalyzing change. And though that’s an admittedly terrible attitude, I could never really convince myself to believe the statistics, cyclical nature, or patterns of change that happen in everyone’s lives very organically. Not to say that all things get better all of the time. But to say time doesn’t heal at least most types of wounds, would be naive. Before this year, I could never really confide in the power of fate, hard work, or just letting things go that were out of my control. I was too busy and self-absorbed to pick up on the fact that in just a few days, or week’s time…pain faded.

Since moving to New York, where I’ve been forced to stand on my own two feet, take care of myself, start a new job, and make new friends, I’ve begun to find ways to remind myself just how temporary fear or misery of all shapes and sizes can be. But also, how significant joy and pride can be. Just today, I sat in a Christmas gift swap with my girlfriends from work and proclaimed, “I didn’t even know you nerds existed 6 months ago. Here’s a present, Merry Christmas.” and, to be honest, it was a pretty rad feeling. We don’t celebrate those types of accomplishments enough.

This proof has showed up in more discreet ways, too.
“Libby, you have a low right now. In no more than 15 minutes, you’ll feel better.”
And boom, in 15 minutes, I feel better. Every single time.
“Libby, you’re really short on cash right now, but you still have a job, which means there will be more money coming in a few days. Sit tight.”
And boom, 6 days later, a pay check would arrive.
“Libby, it’s just a meeting. In an hour, you’ll forget it even happened.”
And boom, in an hour, I’d forget it even happened.

I’ve observed some role models of mine kick off their shoes and let life rip lately. So I, too, have been inspired to work really hard to get my ass in gear. I’ve made some sacrifices, left a lot of comfort in the dust, and started fresh in many aspects of my life. I’ve busted my butt to go after some things that really matter to me. I don’t believe in handouts, I believe that if we all take responsibility for our own happiness, the Universe dishes out a little favor or two along the way to keep us all motivated…to keep the wind in our sails as we move along through our respective journeys.

No one is going to take tests for us, or finish reports at work for us. No one is going to patch up broken lines of communication between friends for us. No one is going to take us to the doctor, or pay our bills. No one else is going to set our alarms and make us go to the gym. No one is going to call our boyfriends and tell them we’re sorry. That’s all on us. We have to take care of ourselves and keep our own lives in as much control as we can. We have to order our own test strips, and shake our fists at insurance companies over the phone. We have to travel across town at annoying hours to see people that matter to us because, well, it matters to us. We have to show up to our own lives so that we can grow and learn and move onward and upward. This way, when we get into places where we are struggling and we are hurting, we can know that we did our best to do what we needed to; we don’t win ’em all. That our healing isn’t up to us anymore. It is up to time. We have to know that if we can just keep moving…or swimming, as Dory would say, we’ll end up in a better place. We have to learn our lessons by doing. Kinesthetic learning. Everything in life is kinesthetic.

This too shall pass is very real. The good will stick. It doesn’t always, but it certainly has the ability to if we let it shine within us. The good should be primarily what we’re in control of. Who we surround ourselves with, the types of things we’re involved in, and the way we choose to spend our own time, should be what produces good in our hearts faster than rabbits produce other rabbits. And though it’s not always that easy or hunky dory, it’s a pretty simple concept by nature.

It’s the “bad” we don’t always get to choose. The bad sweeps in uninvited more often than not. But it’s also proven that if we let it go, “bad” can fade. It can crumble. It can disintegrate. And once we’ve realized that we’ve survived that cycle enough times, we can continue to build confidence in ourselves. We can realize going in to this new year that we are all tough as nails. That one final exam won’t ruin our whole holiday. That one argument with a loved one just was a misunderstanding. That spilling coffee on your shirt is laughable. That having a high or low out of the blue is always correctable.

Perspective, perseverance, and patience. The power P’s (I just named them that) have ruled a greater portion of my brain throughout the last year. We have to learn to trust ourselves the way we learn to trust others. We have to learn to believe with all of our being that we’re just doing the absolute best job we can to live the best lives we are able.

do not fear the fitness lows.

Remember that time you bought a fancy new gym membership, started working out again, feeling good about yourself, your new routine, the motivational LuLu Lemons you just splurged on, and then you realize you’re actually getting a little fat? Yeah, me too. But guess what, it doesn’t have to be this way.

My culprit? The biggest downfall to diabetes known to man (and by man I mean me): Fitness lows. These buggers will sneak up on me, bite me in the ass, and then, when I least expect it, make my muffin top go from mini to Costco size.

This is a challenge I’ve had since the day I was diagnosed in 2005. It’s a pretty simple equation. The harder I work out, the harder my blood sugars will fight me if I don’t pay close attention to them. Seems fair, right?

I was an athlete back in the day, so according to science, being in shape is something that was 100% mandatory for me. And, at age 26, being in shape is even more important  because things are starting to hurt when I go up stairs, and because, let’s be real… who wants to be around a lady who doesn’t take good care of her bod. Working out is something I’ve always loved to do. I thoroughly enjoy pushing my body  to punch stress in the face  and to remind myself how strong I really am. However, as a diabetic, some of the joy of this process can be sucked out if we’re not extremely careful.

For the first few years I had diabetes, I let bad behavior slide when it had anything to do with sports or fitness. I would carbo load the night before games as I always had, but found that since my pancreas had benched itself, this method was no longer terribly affective. I was all over the place, and with no pump, I had very little ability to find themes or patterns that would make my numbers more predictable. Before games, I’d let my numbers rise a bit, because the natural ability our bodies have to burn off sugar while exercising was “enough”…about 20% of the time. Other times, I would test, correct, go out there, run my ass off for 90 minutes, come back to the bench, and be rocking a solid blood sugar of 45. I still have a distinct memory of testing at half time in a playoff soccer game senior year, being scary-low, chugging a gatorade and eating a handful of skittles (#powersnack), and playing like shit the second half. We lost, it was the last game of my high school career, and I’ll never forget that after all of that, I was about 300 after the game from over-correcting. Talk about all around fail.

Years later, I would find myself training for a half marathon. Still no pump in my life, but I did have a little bit more wisdom with regard to the pre-workout, mid-workout, post-workout rise and fall of the finicky blood sugars, or so I thought. I got a little cocky with it, and would often find myself dangerously stacking my insulin dosages to avoid staying high. I was training during football season so I would also find myself eating wings and drinking Shipyards on Sundays after long runs because …well, I had just run 8 miles, what could possibly go wrong? You get the picture about where this went…

I was a roller coaster of crazy. Well, I always am anyway, I’m me. But I mean my numbers. Since I ran in the evenings my lows would strike under the cover of darkness and disrupt my slumber almost exactly at 4am when my Lantus (long-acting) insulin really kicked in. It was so brutal. I’d spring up out of bed, sweaty, shaking, feeling all around pretty black out. And, since I was 87% asleep, my willpower was minimal. I would eat. Oh my god, the disgusting concoctions I would create were something to be featured on a stoner’s food blog. I would eat frosting. I would eat pretzels. I would eat pretzels that I dunked in frosting. Then, to top it off, I’d snag a handful of Ritz and a piece of cheese because…why not. It was as if I had convinced myself that lows were a free pass. That no calories would enter my body if I was correcting a low. I would wolf this garbage down as fast as I could, not measuring anything, not counting out 25g of carbohydrates and then waiting 15 minutes to re-test. I would just binge, think about how miserable I was, then face plant back in my bed, hoping for the best. Needless to say, the guilt complex that would abruptly bubble up the second I awoke was only rivaled by the nausea I would experience post-pig out. Almost every time I did this, I would wake up in the high 200’s essentially negating all the hard work I would do all day to fuel my body to run 13 miles. It was not good. I packed on about 10 pounds during the months I was training, and I refused to believe that my low-correction process was incredibly unhealthy both physically and emotionally.

Shortly after that half marathon, which I ran very successfully with shockingly stable blood sugars, I realized it was time to make some serious changes. It was infuriating to work so fucking hard on making progress towards a fitness goal, only to derail my own efforts with offensive midnight binge fests. The lows had to stop. And, the swings overall, needed some serious attention. That’s when Derek came in, and he changed everything.

Now, when I go through my spurts of, “maybe this is the year I’ll lose my baby weight!” and start hitting the gym more regularly, I remember that soccer game in Gorham in 2005, and how disappointed I was that I hadn’t been more careful. No system is ever going to be perfect. However, frosting is not the answer. I still get insanely frustrated when my numbers plummet after a workout. But now that I have a pump, insulin stacking is harder to do, and the control to cut dosages pre-workout is a no brainer.

Diabetes and fitness can be aggressive frenemies. Working hard is already enough of a physical challenge without fearing it will be totally sabotaged by your blood sugar. It took me a while to realize, too, that allowing my numbers to rise too high for a workout to avoid the lows, was just as lethal because, as we all know, artificial insulin injections also contribute to weight gain! YAY! SO, the moral of the story is: being low makes you fat and being high makes you fat. Right? Unfortunately, this is not far from true. So what’s the solution?

TEST. Yeah, I know, it hurts like hell and takes a grand total of 1 minute to do, but it’s truthfully the only way to figure out how your body is reacting to your workout. You’re the only person that can do this for yourself because as much as we all love the Tone It Up girls and Jillian Michaels, they don’t have diabetes.

Yoga, Spin, Barry’s Bootcamp, running, whatever your flavor of workout is, they’re all going to impact you differently. You can bet your bottom dollar that high-intensity cardiovascular workouts are going to chop your numbers down… and fast, so maybe you let yourself be a little higher than normal right before a workout, and store a healthy low-correcting option in your bag so you’re not tempted to ruin your your beast mode if you do crash afterward. Yoga can be surprisingly impactful on your numbers, too. I used to get low after yoga often. My hypothesis was because of the deep, low, and slow muscle work, so now I keep a coconut water in my bag just in case.

Again, those are just my experiences, yours can be different. But, there is no need to go through life fearing the fitness lows, or making excuses to not workout because of them. Testing and being well-prepared were what saved me from my weight swings, my low binges, and all the other fun stuff that comes with trying to look like the girls on the cover of magazines. Like I say in almost every Sugars post. Just…do it for you. Do it because you have been dealt a hand of cards that makes life a little more challenging and you owe it to your body to make it a fortress. To build it up a little stronger. To give it more of a sense of life and access to more excitement. And, of course, despite the infusion set sticker on your back, so that when you look in the mirror BUTT NAKIE, you can say, “oh damn, I look good.”

mile high club

’tis the season of, ‘use up your remaining vacation days’.

i am going to italy with my family in a few days and we’re spending 8 days there. so, naturally, about 17 days ago, i wrote down a list of all the stuff i’m going to need to bring in order to ensure that i don’t have any hiccups between logan airport and the vatican. but how prepared it too prepared? is there even such a thing? since this will be my first international travel experience with my pump, i’m thinking that being a crazy organized type – A freak may be on my side this go around. i’m not saying i’ll bring an additional duffel stuffed to the brim with infusion sets, let’s be serious, bag fees are astronomical these days! but at the same time, the trade-off of peace of mind vs. a scramble for a panicked situation is totally worth the hassle. andiamo!

so, what was it that got me to this point of being an uber-organized/mini mobile CVS? welp, i used to panic at airports about this stuff. like full-blown, sweating profusely, shaking hands, speaking broken english kind of panic. i got to a point where i was  totally convinced that my blood sugar would drop below 40 before i’d even reached the gate and i’d hit the deck in front of hundreds of strangers that don’t care about me. pretty bleak outlook overall, and generally shitty attitude, i know.

what i’ve realized is that being prepared takes the edge of the whole scenario. well, that and coming to terms with the fact that an airport is areguably like, one of safest place ever for mistakes to happen. not only are they loaded with doctors (albiet totally random doctors, but hey, proof of a degree is fiiiine by me), military personel, puppies, police, grandmas, other diabetics, people in wheelchairs, people that have saved kittens from burning buildings, etc., also there is food literally everywhere.

yes, it might be a little embarrassing to walk through security presenting a crumpled, food – stained letter from your doctor and a stash of needles all while digging my pump out from in between my boobs to put on the security belt. maybe it sucks a tad to explain to TSA that your pancreas is just broken, not that you’re trying to threaten national security. yes, it’s a little less than ideal to cram tons of bags into the bathroom stall with you when all you have to do is pee yet you look like you’re moving to kenya for 3 years. but at the end of the day, the comfort in knowing that you’ve got your butt covered when things don’t go according to plan is huge and will make for smooth sailing every time (yes, pun intended.)