Three at a Time

                   Three? Three at a time? Really? Three? Didn’t they learned in Kindergarten like the rest of us that’s it is the polite thing to take turns.  I could even have handle two of them at a time, but three?  Why couldn’t it be that when the bronchitis wants a turn the diabetes politely says, “Oh, Bronny, you haven’t had a turn in a while, and I’m getting sick of this rain.  Why don’t I take a little vacation to the Bahamas and you can have your turn with Erin.” That way, when I have to take the steroids to return my lungs to the working condition, my blood sugars would remain stable instead of them climbing so high and being so unreasonably determined to remain that way.  And when I have to stop exercising because my lungs no longer work it won’t cause my body to be resistant to the very insulin I need to stay alive.  And when my thyroid wants to join in on the party he would say kindly to Bronny and the diabetes in some haughty British accent, “Bronny, Tess, would you two mind considerably if I were to take a go with her.  I have learned much from watching the both of you in your differing assaults on her health and would love the opportunity to try my hand.” They both would acquiesce and be off.  
    And while they are doing such a good job being so polite, possibly they could post a sign

The Thyroid Train

The details of this illness and how it has been shaping my life for the last two years are long and dull, so I won't bother with a list of all the ways it sucks to be me right now, except to mention that it is a very weird place to be when none of your emotions are actually tied into reality. My thyroid's got my limbic system all screwed up so that feelings come drifting through me with no stimulus and no connection to what is really going on outside, and they are getting more and more unreasonable. (The docs say this thing can actually make you clinically insane).

I was driving up to Orange County the other day and it was finally quiet in the car for a moment and I'm looking out the window round about Camp Pendelton and I notice two red cars. They start to form this

An Unusual Precaution

When you fist get diagnosed with Diabetes the doctors give you a brief education on the disease. I had mine while wasting time locked in a hospital for the weekend. The nurse would wheel in a TV with a VCR hooked up to it (this was in 1996) and play some outdated video very similar to the types you would see in drivers ed in high school. They would show you the basics and try to scare the crap out of you by telling you about all of the complications that can happen if you don't take good care of yourself (think, red asphalt for diabetes). They show you how to shoot up, sorry, to inject insulin and how to test the amount of sugar in your blood. But the education is brief and shallow. They don't mention the social implications of a disease that involves such a social passtime, eating. They don't mention the fear of not waking up that comes when your go to sleep the night after your blood sugars have dropped so low you had to call 911 on yourself because you knew it was very likely you would pass out in the next few