Thursday, January 29, 2009

He who smelt it ...

Let's just start off by saying that a high fiber diet is good for you. It lowers cholesterol and decreases your chances of developing colorectal cancers.

On the other hand, fiber has been known to increase your chances of ... farting.

Yes. Flatus. Passing gas. Tooting. Pooting. Breaking wind. Cutting the cheese. Or, as my nephews so eloquently put it when they were young, "Making air poops".

Let's also get strainght that I'm not a morning person. I can wake up early if I need to but I don't like it and I don't think my brain starts working until about 8am.

So, I was slogging away on the treadmill at 6am this morning with my iPod on that was blasting my workout music (alot of harder alternative rock and some old school punk, by the way) and I was focusing on not falling off the damn thing (sad story - for another time). After a few minutes, I noticed that the people on the treadmills on either side of me had moved farther away.

Also, remember that walking and running causes the psoas muscles (hip flexors) to "massage" the colon as well.

I didn't think too much of it as first, until there was a little gap in my music and I heard myself "let off a little gas". I realized that the "silent but deadly" farts that I was letting loose for the last 5 minutes - were not "silent" - and obviously everyone else not wearing headphones in my vicinity noticed. Then I got a little whiff of the offending gas as it percolated through my gym shorts after a little spurt of speed at the end of my 2nd mile, and I realized anyone with a snese of smell probably noticed too!

At first, I was a little embarassed (I saw my heart rate monitor increase a little) but that soon passed. Sure, I may become to be known at the gym as the "farting guy with the obnoxious tshirts" but I don't care - it may even work to advantage - I'll always have some space around me at the time of the day when I'm at my most "antisocial-ist".

Peace. I'm going to go have a salad with cucumbers.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Procrastinat ...

Having trouble with motivation these days. Mentally, that is. Physically, I'm surprising myself by getting up early enough to work out on work days.

I "blurbed" that I want to write a book - I still do - in fact, I got some unsolicited encouragement from some old friends - but, I just need a little kick in the ass.

Well, I've been working on my flexibilty - maybe I'll try to kick my own ass ...

Monday, January 5, 2009

It's the bitch of living ...

Ok - I need to rant a little.

Sometimes in life, you can do everything right and still get screwed. Now, I don't pretend to do everything right, but I try most of the time. And believe me, it's tiring.

I woke up at 5:40 am to go to the gym before work (so I can spend time with Peter and Laura after work). I did 26 minutes of cardio on the treadmill, then another 26 minutes of circuit weight training, followed by stretching and an attempt at core work. I ate a relatively healthy breakfast and then hydrated with non-carb fluids all morning. I thought I was living the diabetes straight-edge.

Around 11am, I felt crabby. Not just a little crabby, more like set-a-basket-of-puppies-on-fire-and-then-put-out-the-flames-with-my-urine crabby. It didn't help that I had a run of particularly trying patients that were pushing all my buttons.

I knew I had to test my blood sugar. My CGSM said 110. No way. Uhn-uh. That can't be right.

I pricked my finger and the numbers glared back at me: 399.

Fuck.

I don't test for ketones, because I luckily don't produce them too easily, but I new I had to change my infusion site, put on a new CGSM patch, give myself a shot of novolog in the butt and spend the rest of the afternoon checking and chasing my blood sugars. All while continnuing to perform my job at a high level with intent and compassion.

I'm normally pretty resiliant, but my "highs" have been starting to take the wind out of my sails these days. I think I'm "burnt out" on my diabetes. I spent the next few hours not giving a crap.

But, too f'in bad. Even if I want to give up and take a holiday from my diabetes, I can't.

I can't because the diabetes never takes a holiday from me. If I ignore it, it doesn't ignore me - it slowly breaks blood vessels in my eyes, ruins neprons in my kidneys, causes inflammation and plaque in my arteries, overloads my nerves causing them to short out, messes with my emotions and makes my nights fitful and sleepless.

So, I felt sorry for myself. Then I felt angry that I have to deal with all of this. Then I felt envious of those who can go work out and play and be active without ever having to worry about getting low or wonder if you have a power bar in your back pocket if you do. Then I bargained with God that if he lets me win the lottery, then I'll be the healthiest person he had ever met. I never felt denial, though - I've had this too long and that emotion has been played out and dried up for years.

But, as I always do in these little moments of crisis, I then felt acceptance which brings me some peace. I take a deep breath, give myself a little insulin and figure out what to eat at lunch that won't be too bad for my sugars.

It't the little grieving process that I (as well as others with type 1) go through about once or twice a week. It's brought on by highs, lows, good blood test results, bad test results, good doctor's visits and bad doctor's visits.

It's the bitch of living. But, I guess it could be worse. I have a good job and a beautiful family and that's alot.

So ... rant is over. For now.

Peace.