Diabetes Wise

I Hate Packing

I hate it, hate it, hate it.

Well, not so much the actual packing. The slotting of things into spaces in the case, squeezing it all together so the lid closes with ease without too much of a struggle.

It's more the preparation that gets me. Deciding just how many pairs of shoes I need to go with all those carefully selected T-shirts and whether I have just the right balance of trousers, shorts and skirts. I hate wading through electric cables ensuring I have the correct chargers for the hordes of "essential" devices that seem to be necessary in this day and age. I hate that no matter how many trips I take, it never seems to get any easier or faster to do.

I hate it more, though, that when I've cut it through all that stuff, when most people would be done with the task, when R has reached the bottom of his to-pack list, I'm still going with an enormous list of medication and diabetes related paraphernalia, the importance of which puts everything else into the shade.

I can't believe how long that list gets: test kit and spare, strips, lancets, glucagon kits, glucose tabs, insulin, syringes, infusion sets, reservoirs and pump batteries... I could go on.

I glanced around on the Heathrow Express train earlier and couldn't help but notice how much more luggage I seem to have than other passengers.

But at the same time I cant help but think all the extra effort will be worth it for two relaxing weeks of holidays, especially in light of the anniversary I will celebrate whilst away.

The packing is done now, I'm typing this in an airport hotel bedroom, ahead of my flight tomorrow morning. And I'm looking forward to two healthy weeks in San Francisco more than I can possibly tell you all.

Something New

Have you noticed it yet?

With enormous thanks to John T Unger at Typepad Hacks, and after much playing around with HTML and CSS and much republishing of a private test blog, I've finally started to get the hang of it! The little silver tabbed navigation bar at the top of the page is my first big success. So if you're looking for my blogroll, or any other information, you need to go up to the top.

The site looks great to me in both Firefox 2.0 and Safari, but I'd appreciate feedback if it doesn't look so good to you, especially if you're using Internet Explorer.

Enjoy my new, tidier, front page!

Swan Lake

I went to see Derek Deane's interpretation of Swan Lake, performed by the English National Ballet, at the Royal Albert Hall last night.

Simply put, it was amazing.

Being in the round really brings ballet to life. We were on the second tier looking down at the dance - an enormous piece of moving artwork, filled with grace, poise and elegance.

For almost three hours I was lost in the magic as Siegfried chased Odette and Rothbart fooled him in to betrayal. As Siegfried and Rothbart - good and evil - fought, before Siegfried and Odette were finally united in eternal love.

And for three hours I didn't think about diabetes once.  I was wearing a gorgeous LBD, (Little Black Dress) my pump slipped securely inside my bra. For three hours there was not a peep. No high alarms, no low alarms. Just my basal trickling in, allowing me to enjoy the atmosphere.

That just added to the magic.

I only wish I could experience it more often.

Do you want a seat with that?

A familiar scene in a Jubilee Line Underground carriage this afternoon:  two women boarding the train at the exact same time, each from one of the two sets of central doors. Just one free seat in the central section. Each locks eyes with the seat then briefly with each other. A three second mental struggle ensues before the seat is claimed by the speedier mover. The doors bleep loudly to warn of their closing followed by the winding noise as the train begins to move and accelerates into the blackness of the tunnel.

The defeated party, I leaned back against the perch seat in the wheelchair/pushchair area adjacent to the seat I'd missed out on. Pulling my bag across my body, I rummaged inside for my test kit. My thoughts had turned to the calibration alert my pump had given me some half an hour earlier and to the Sicilian Lemon chocolate bar in my bag I was hoping to eat.

I unzipped the case, popped the lid from the test strip bottle and inserted a strip. As I readied my Multiclix, I heard a voice:

"Oh I'm so sorry. Do you need a seat?"

It took a moment fro me to realise that the person was speaking to me. The person who'd narrowly defeated in reaching the seat on my right.

I smiled my thanks, but shook my head. "No, I'm fine thanks."

And I was . The result was 6.4 (115)

A 1.8 unit bolus later, as I unwrapped my chocolate, I got to wondering.

Did she have no idea what I was doing, but presumed it to be something medical and something that therefore made me in some way less able to stand and more in need of her seat?

Or perhaps she did know what I was doing, and perceived it to be a fiddly, difficult procedure that would be easier to perform while sitting down rather than an almost thoughtless, effortless task than I could probably do in my sleep.

Or did she know what I was doing, know that it represented diabetes and so perceive me as in some way disabled, or less capable of standing on a speeding tube train?

Don't get me wrong. In the day and age where heavily pregnant women are often ignored in packed carriages, and  where I frequently struggled to get a seat when I had my leg in a plaster cast, the fact that someone is considerate enough to offer their seat to someone else, even though I didn't need it, is refreshing.

But I really hope her reasoning wasn't the last one.

How To Save A Life

There is no doubt that I owe something to the London Ambulance Service.

The EMTs and Paramedics who make up their number have attended to me and treated me, or scooped me up and carried me off to hospital, more times in the last few years than I really care to think about. Enough times to make me feel simultaneously very grateful and just a little ashamed to be so needy.

For the most part I have very little recollection of these encounters and of the people who are summoned to rescue me when I've fallen off the side of the narrow line we tread. By the time the guys in green are racing to my side, I've invariably lost my grip on reality through a blood sugar that is far lower than it should be, through a seizure or for some other reason entirely. I hate that I can't get the moments that I lose back. That I'll never know if I was combative, rude and abusive or just plain funny. I'll never know if my dignity remained intact whilst I lay on a dirty London pavement.

And I'll never know exactly how close I came to never recollecting anything again.

Now that's a very scary thought.

It's not surprising that I take some comfort from the fact that in the hands of these professionals hypoglycaemia, which has perhaps been the commonest cause of my need for assistance ever since my first ambulance ride some two decades ago, is easily treated. So easily treated that these guys actually regard it as a favourite job.

How do I know that?

Because I'm a long-term sometime reader of the blog Random Acts of Reality, written by LAS EMT Tom Reynolds. And I read it here.

Where there is an up, there is almost always a down. For me, it came in a very public place as I was reading the book version of the blog, Blood, Sweat and Tea. I'll have every recollection of my loss of dignity as the tears fell when I read this entry, that I had not read online.

There is so much that can never be known. It is an assumption to think that this was a deliberate omission of insulin, and an even bigger one to suppose that it was driven by a diabetes releated depression, although they also seem like obvious conclusions. The only thing that seems certain is that the high blood sugar dictated the outcome.

It's a reminder that another effective way to save a life, to save many lives, would be to eradicate this thing altogether.

 

For Father's Day

I've never been able to find a way to put into words exactly how much I love my dad. I love him simply for who he is and I love him for all that he has done for me.

When I was a kid, testing my blood glucose was often handled by my dad. He was often the one who crawled half asleep from his bed to test me in the middle of the night and the person who sprang to life when I wandered into my parents' room complaining of feeling "wobbley".

For years, I used to get up in the early mornings with my dad who, rose a full half hour before anyone else in the house. He'd be the one who would check my blood sugar before settling me down with something to do. I have vivid memories of him setting up a television in the spare bedroom during the 1988 Olympics. Given that Seoul is several hours ahead of UK time, the sports would be in full swing by 6.30am. I sat and watched equestrian sports with the faint babble of Radio 4's Today programme emanating from the bathroom opposite.

Later, when getting up early was no longer my thing and I was far more likely to ignore the alarm, turn over and pull the duvet over my head, it was always my dad who made sure I got up. Long after I was capable of testing my own blood sugar, he'd still do that first morning test for me, giving me a few extra precious minutes of sleep. My insulin pen would be ready and waiting for me on the breakfast table.

I remember too an occasion when I experienced severe hypoglycaemia at school. My dad, the world's most careful driver, the man who will set the cruise control so he doesn't accidentally exceed the limit in a 30 zone, rushed down the motorway not caring if he got a speeding ticket, just to make sure I was ok.

My dad had dropped everything at work and rushed to be with me  more occasions than I care to count where I've been admitted to hospital, or too ill to cope on my own. He has supported me unconditionally when everything seemed to be gong wrong and it felt like the word was against me. He is never, ever more than a phone call or email away and has never thought twice about sacrificing his own needs for those of his children.

But my relationship with my dad is about far more than just diabetes and illness. He carried me on his shoulders through crowds. He taught me to ride a bike, running behind me, hanging onto the back of the saddle and saying "I won't let go, I won't let go" then moments later "you can do it!" Years later, he sat next to me in my little red mini, and patiently taught me to reverse park. He has shaped me as the person I am. From silly rituals like face pulling and silly sayings, to teaching me right from wrong. From helping me with my tax returns to teaching me how to love.

For years, I've watched my mum and dad as a couple -  a couple who celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary on Friday - and known exactly what I wanted from a relationship. I blame my dad partly for my long years of being single. My parents' relationship has given me high standards, and it's been hard to find anyone who even comes close to matching up to my dad.

My dad has given me so much, but if he were to go and leave me just one more thing, I'd want his words. He is a brilliant speaker. I'd want from him the words he'd most want to say about me, perhaps the words he would say if I were to get married tomorrow. I'd want to hear those words  to know that I've made my dad proud of me.

And the one thing that I would want to give him back is the realisation that he can only be proud of me because of who he has made me.

Getting My Groove On

I love getting stuff in the mail.

Stuff, that is, that isn't bills or junk. Cards, letters, things I've ordered or exciting, oddly shaped packages. You can't beat the feeling of peaking into the mail box on your way in from a tiring day at work to find an interesting envelope or package peeking back at you.

Like the one I found today:

It has been almost exactly a year since Kerri posted about these.

At the time Groovy Patches were only available for Quicksets, which I wasn't using and wasn't able to use right then. But I loved the idea. In fact, I thought they might even just be the solution to the ongoing problem I experience with Silhouette/Comfort infusion sets where the little cannula viewing window pulls away from the plastic hub, leaving the point of insertion completely exposed. I've tried ordinary surgical tape and pieces of IV3000 cut down to size to deal with the issue. Both of these solutions work well enough, but look so darned ugly.

I discovered a while back that Groovy Patches were now available for Silhouette/Comfort (in both short and regular cannula lengths). Last week, perhaps spurred on by my upcoming holiday or even the simple desire for some exciting mail, I finally allowed curiosity to get the better of me and I ordered some. I've got some retro patterns, flowers, underwater scenes and even jelly beans!

I can be an impatient person at times, and this was one of them. I couldn't wait to get my groove on:

The verdict so far?

I love it! It remains to be seen if the patches will solve my problem, but I just love how much fun they are. It's great to glance down at my hip and see a little starfish instead of a large white blob. All we need now are Minilink Patches!

I'm feeling groovy... how about you?

It's About Us

Saturday night: After a day out in the heat of London and a huge lunch, R and I opted for an evening in with a bottle of wine and some DVDs. We were part way through watching 'Snakes on a Plane' which neither of us had seen in the cinema. I was finding it amusing, but not highly engaging.

My mind wandered. What should we do tomorrow... what things do I need to do this week... what needs to be planned ahead of our trip at the end of the month... my wireless router.

That's the one that held my attention. What use is a wireless router that no longer works without wires? Or worse, one that no longer seems to work at all?

You're right. Absolutely no use.

But that doesn't explain the level of vehemence with which I suddenly chose to attack the small white and silver object right then in the middle of the film, as people on screen were busy battling to save a 747 full of, erm, snakes.

"Babe. Calm down."

"Why should I? Sixty-five quid I paid for that f***ing piece of c**p."

"But you can't do anything about it now" says R, the voice of reason. "Just calm down."

A few more choice words and much tossing around of cables and chargers later, the end credits roll. There is a noticeable silence and air of indifference from R.

"Are you in a mood with me?" I demanded

Slightly exasperated sigh. "No. But I'd prefer a girlfriend who seemed a little more in control of her mood."

"Fine" I said standing up and moving towards the door. "Maybe you should find another girlfriend then" I added, somewhat quieter. "I'm going to bed."

I briefly contemplated testing my blood sugar before sleep, but I still felt too angry. Angry at the stupid wireless router. Angry that I didn't have internet access when I wanted it. Angry that R just obviously couldn't see how important, really important, this was to me at that moment.

Just as my brain slowly engaged into gear, asking the question "Why? Why on earth is it important at all?" I felt an insistent vibration down by my thigh. Reaching beneath the covers, I hauled my pump up to read the screen:

LOW

One quick fingerstick later and  was staring at the number 2.1 (38)

A few more choice expletives, as I realised that the Lucozade bottle beside my bed was empty. I hauled myself out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen. Fumbling for a new bottle with shaking hands it slipped from my grip bouncing once, maybe twice, before rolling away and coming to rest in the middle of the kitchen floor. I picked it up and twisted the top.

It almost seemed to happen in slow motion. A violent hiss and splutter and a fountain of orange foam burst out and upward over my hands, arcing at chest level before hitting the tiled floor with an insistent splatter and forming a vivid orange lake running in sticky rivulets along the cracks between the tiles.

It went everywhere. Diet coke and Mentos have nothing on shaken up Lucozade.

I rested my head on the counter, my hair trailing in the sink, unable to stop the tears anymore. If R hadn't heard the fizz as the bottle cap came off, he certainly must have heard the words that followed from me.  In a second he's behind me, his hands wrapping around me.

"It's OK babe."

"How can it be OK. I don't want this anymore. I don't want to be low anymore. I don't want to behave like this... this monster anymore."

"Let's just get you to drink this" he says, proffering the sticky Lucozade bottle minus a quarter of its contents.

I beat a retreat to bed, leaving R to clean up my mess.

When he eventually joined me, when he'd helped me to clean up my sticky, orange coated feet, the tears came again.

I wasn't just crying for what an idiot I'd been, for the silly row my low blood sugar had caused, for the mess in the kitchen or even just because I had a headache and felt lousy. I wasn't crying because I hadn't spotted the low sooner, or because the CGM hadn't alerted me sooner, or even because R hadn't spotted it - how could he? My blood sugar had been fine one hour earlier and this dimension in my behaviour is one that he, thankfully, hasn't experienced much.

I was crying more because of the realisation that this time my low was affecting someone else as much as it was affecting me.

This isn't just about me anymore. It's about us.

And while I benefit from facing this as a team, where is the benefit for R?

Somehow this makes me hate diabetes even more.

All that R could do was hold me while I cried and reassure me that he isn't going anywhere.

Me(me) Too...

This one has been going round like wildfire...

                                                                                   

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?  "Urgh... what happened to my hair"

2. How much cash do you have on you? £13.11 in my wallet, plus 5 US dollar bills (a amrketing company keeps sending them to me with surveys. I keep putting them in my wallet - saving for my next trip!)

3. What's a word that rhymes with DOOR? Floor

4. Favorite planet? Earth. I've not visited the others!

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone? R's flatmate/best mate, D

6. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone? Erm... I don't have one. My phone stays on vibrate. Permanently.

7. What shirt are you wearing? Turquoise, yellow and white horizontal striped, long length T-shirt. It looks a lot nicer than it sounds!

8. Do you label yourself? Hell yes! Diabetic, dentist, daughter, lover, friend.

9. Name the brand of the shoes you're currently wearing: See the previous post

10. Bright or Dark Room? Bright!

11. Why is there always a missing question? Erm. <shrugs>

12. What does your watch look like? Which one? I love watches, and have several. I'm curently wearing a silver bangle styles Fossil watch. It has a blue and silver sparkly face and silver bars for all the numbers except 12 and 6.

13. What were you doing at midnight last night? Crying. It's a story for another time.

14. What did your last text message you received on your cell phone say? "I'll call you soon baby"

15. Where is your nearest 7-11? There used to be one at the Tottenham Court Road end of Oxford Street. Other than that, it's probably in New York or somewhere across the pond! I do have a fantastic little shop just over the road fro me that fulfills all the functions of a 7-11 though.

16. What's a word that you say a lot? Totally.

17. Who told you he/she loved you last?  R

18. Last furry thing you touched? R's chest!

19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?  Several, all legal. Some infused, some injected, some swallowed and some transdermal.

20. How many rolls of film do you need developed? None, but the number of digital photosI have awaiting sorting and categorising doesn't bear thinking about

21. Favorite age you have been so far? None in particular. They've all been memorable and fun in their own ways.

22. Your worst enemy? Sometimes me!

23. What is your current desktop picture? A Caribbean sunset.  See opposite.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone? "Call me when you get home"

25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly, what would it be? Fly. Then I'd cash in on my special talent to make a million bucks!

26. Do you like someone? I like lots of people.

27. The last song you listened to? I just listened to the album "Heart Full of Wine" by Angus and Julia Stone. The last song is "Chocolate and Cigarettes"

28. What time of day were you born?  7.05am

29. What's your favorite number? Three. Is a magic number....

30. Where did you live in 1987? At my parent's house in Kent, in the South-East corner of England.

31. Are you jealous of anyone?  No. I'm happy with what I've got, no need for jealousy. Maybe just a little envious of people with better health though.

32. Is anyone jealous of you? Not that I'm aware of.

33. Where were you when 9/11 happened? On the 22nd floor of Guy's Hospital doing paediatric OpTek (learning how to drill childrens' teeth.) The news filtered from one end of the room to the other. No more drilling got done after that.

34. What do you do when vending machines steal your money? I can't remember the last time I used a vending machine.

35. Do you consider yourself kind? Yes.

36. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be? Nowhere. I really, really don't want a tattoo. I admire them on others, but it's not for me.

37. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be? Italian.

38. Would you move for the person you loved? I can't answer that one right now, it's too complicated.

39. Are you touchy-feely? Very, with people I know well.

40. What's your life motto? "If it's meant to be, it will be." Either that or "Let it be."

41. Name three things you have on you at all times: My pump, my medical ID, my heart.

42. What's your favorite town/city? London.

43. What was the last thing you paid for with cash? Two pints of beer, at lunchtime.

44. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it? I do this everyday in my job. Believe it or not, all our referrals are still handled by writing paper letters. If we're feeling really advanced, we might even use a fax machine!

45. Can you change the oil on a car? No.

46. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her? Living and working "up North", in a long term relationship.

47. How far back do you know your ancestry? To the potato famine in Ireland, to the mid-1800's in Italy.

48. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy? At first I took this question to mean "fancy-dress" as in costumes, in which case the answer is a friend's 30th birthday last year when I dressed as Princess Leia - the night I reconnected with R. However, after reading other responses, the answer would probably be that I wore a black knee length dress to an awards dinner at The Savoy hotel.

49. Does anything hurt on your body right now? The infusion set I put in around two hours ago after accidentally ripping the old one out. This new one stings like hell.

50. Have you ever been burned by love? Been there, done that.

51. Do you have a crush on any bloggers?  Nope. R doesn't blog!

52. Where would you like to live?  San Francisco is very cool.

Footnote

A footnote - sorry, pun intended - to my earlier post about my feet

Last weekend, before I'd even contemplated writing that post, let alone published it, R went to Amsterdam. Seeing me this weekend for the first time since, he told me excitedly that he'd got me a present:

Dutch-clog-shaped cow print slippers!

How cool are they? Just what my precious feet deserve!

MiniLink Has Landed: CGM Updates

I'm still using the Paradigm REAL-Time system, although I've switched from my clear 722 to a charcoal 522.

I still love continuous monitoring.

I still very, very lucky to have the opportunity to use it everyday.

Yes, I agree it has its problems an it can only get better.

Personally, I have very few issues with accuracy and even at the times when the numbers are not right on, I have never seen a trend be wrong. Since this thing is all about treating the trend, that is more than good enough for me.

And yes, it is expensive. I didn't have to purchase my own hardware, but I do self-fund my sensors.  If I was using one every three days that would be more than I could manage. But I'm not. I now routinely use each sensor for two whole weeks. When I remove them there is little more than a tiny red bump on my skin.

I've personally managed to avoid alarm burnout too. I use tighter or looser alarm thresholds depending on the circumstances I'm in and I even turn the alarms off completely from time to time. At first sight, the ability to do this may seem strange, but if you're not sure ask a Dexcom user. There is a fixed on low alarm on the Dexcom, and a funky sensor can lead to no end of lost sleep. I also defend this feature since, after all, the original CGMS collected data for three days that you couldn't even see until afterward, nevermind have alarms for, and yet that was still a very useful tool.

And the Paradigm system is getting better: The MiniLink.

It actually arrived a couple of months ago, during my blogging hiatus. But this little critter is just too cool to go totally unblogged.

Why?

Because this thing is truly tiny:

Especially when compared to the original Gen 1 Transmitter, which not only has the wire to connect to the sensor, but is also considerably thicker than the MiniLink.

It isn't without it's drawbacks though, the biggest one being its lack of flexibility. The wire on the original was irritating, but at least it meant that once the sensor was in, you had some choice about where exactly you stuck the rest of its bulk. With the MiniLink once the sensor is in, there is only one position for it to go, dictated by the sensor position. If you end up with the MiniLink digging into you every time you bend forwards, or showing trough your favourite outfit, there is no way to change it without having to trash the (expensive) sensor.

Also - notice the dressing over the sensor and MiniLink in the pictures. Medtronic have advertised the MiniLink as being adhesive free. For all those of us who suffered extreme irritation from the adhesive patches used to hold the old transmitter in place, this was a great selling point. Sadly, it's a no go. The MiniLink itself can easily get caught, pulling the sensor out with it. And if you want to extend your sensor life, the little bit of adhesive on the sensor itself isn't going to hold all that long, especially with bathing and swimming. Originally I had trouble covering the MiniLink with just one IV3000, but I've since learned that a diagonal angulation does the trick, which is a plus.

Two other things I've learned about the Paradigm system:

1. You can get around the day seven "Lost Sensor" alarm.
With the (original) Guardian RT, you could continue restarting the new sensor every three days for as long as you wanted. Well within reason. The only drawback was that you had to wait for a 2 hour initialisation every three days. When I moved on to the Paradigm REAL-Time it was great not to have this. Just select new sensor  and be good to go again in fifteen minutes.

Until day seven, that is.

Without fail, a "Weak Signal" alarm, followed by a "Lost Sensor" alarm will occur on day seven, and no amount of restarting will get it to go again.

For several months I continued under the misapprehension that you couldn't get around this; that Medtronic had somehow built in this feature to stop sensors being extended beyond seven days, and so improve their revenue from sensor sales.

Oh cynical me.

Turns out if you just disconnect the sensor from the transmitter/MiniLink and reconnect, you can go on for another seven days, albeit with that two hour initialisation period.

Sadly, this is another drawback of the MiniLink. It won't reconnect to the sensor at day seven if it isn't charged. Charging is remarkably quick. You plug it in to a little blue pod that holds a AAA battery and within 10 minutes or so, the charge is complete. The drawback is if your sensor end occurs when you are miles from your charger.

Just another bit of kit I now carry pretty much everywhere!

2. You can get going again even quicker at the day 3 and day 6 restarts

Initially, when I restated the sensor at day three, I would wait patiently for it to ask me for a calibration meter reading. This itself could take five - ten minutes and data readings followed 15 minutes later. The typical gap in data was 15-25 minutes.

One evening, after restarting, I realised I had not been asked for meter reading. When I checked the screen I saw that data had been coming through for a while. It then dawned on me that I had sent a calibration reading to the sensor a few minutes before it ended, having forgotten its time was due. The system had used that calibration and had skipped just a single data point.

Obviously you can't always get a number in just before sensor end, but what you can do is input a number immediately after restarting. You'll get an on-screen message saying the sensor isn't ready and the value won't be used, but ignore it, it's lying!

I now typically have just 3 missing data points at restart, and don't have to hang around waiting to be asked for that number.

You can probably guess, I won't be giving up my Paradigm REAL-Time anytime soon.

Bless These Feet!

They've walked me over the streets of Chicago, Venice and London. They've carried me up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower and the Guy's Hospital Tower. They've swum in the Caribbean Sea and walked on Brighton Beach.

They've found a home in Yellow Timberland boots and elegant ballet pumps, in ridiculous strappy high heels and comfy bedroom slippers (shaped like cows!)

Ever since I was kid I've heard the messages about how people with diabetes should take care of their feet. The spectre of amputation never seemed far away with every A1c above my desired target and with every 'Foot Care' pamphlet falling out of a diabetes related publication. It was something to fear - another thing to fear. And fear it I always did.

The idea that I'd ever come to be so frustrated that the tiny remote possibility of losing a foot no longer held so much fear was unthinkable.

Until I slipped backwards off a pavement in December 2004, breaking my ankle and rupturing my achilles tendon.

A year ago today I was in hospital, four days out from the surgical repair of my third rupture in 18 months. In that time I'd gone through so much pain, worked so hard to rebuild muscle lost by months of immobilisation in plaster and was so frustrated by my seeming inability to get this ankle healed, that the idea of "taking care of your feet" seemed an utterly laughable one. I was convinced I'd never walk properly again anyway.

But one year on, thanks to an excellent surgeon, a dedicated and wonderful physio and sheer hard work, I have a different outlook.

I still limp. I still get tired walking long distances and I can't yet run properly.

But I can walk. And having experienced what it is like not to have that ability, I'm even more concerned for the well being of my very precious little feet.

A New Beginning

If you were to scroll right back to the beginning of this blog, (and I won't provide a link because I don't particularly want to encourage everyone to go there,) you'd find that pretty much the first thing I published was about how much I hate beginnings. That still holds true, and is one reason why this is hard. I've been away so long, it feels like a totally new beginning.

If you scrolled on through the archive, you'd also find periodic entries where I apologise for long absences and often outline the reasoning behind them. The apology is definitely here, especially for each and every one of you who has taken the time to email me and ask if everything is ok - which I'm glad to say it definitely is!

The reasons are harder, because there aren't really any. I've been busy with life - a fantastic Caribbean cruise in January, an increase in professional commitments and a relationship that is going very, very well.

I posted a comment on Kevin's blog some time ago on the topic of staying away from logging diabetes data and how the longer you don't do it for the harder it is to start again. I've found the same to be so true for blogging, in which I include not only writing, but also commenting on others' entries. But, at last I've decided to take my own advice and just get going once more without feeling compelled to fill in all the gaps.

So here I am.