tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-103028402024-03-07T22:13:30.850-07:00Pumplandia: Violet's Diabetes BlogPumplandia* (PUMP-LAN-dee-uh): n. 1. A fantastical yet real world in which the splendor of technology offers hope, improved health, and enhanced freedom to people with diabetes who require insulin. 2. A purplish place where ideas are exchanged in the interest of personal growth.
*Name originated by Tippytoes, January 2005Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-54206450127831903022010-08-19T15:29:00.000-07:002010-08-19T15:29:44.836-07:00In which certain complications ensueIt’s been so long since I wrote about diabetes that in order to make this post I had to hack into an ancient email account to retrieve my Blogger password. Funny how things ebb and flow: Other health problems, and plain old semi-normal life, have held my attention for some time. But diabetes has reclaimed the spotlight, and how.<br />
<br />
I started this blog a few months after my diagnosis, less than six years ago. I’ve written about fear, hope, apathy, determination. I’ve tried to maintain good control, to focus on the Now, to adapt. Always to adapt. <br />
<br />
Now I find myself adapting again. This summer I’ve found out that I have mild nonproliferative retinopathy and gastroparesis. Two complications diagnosed within two months. And certain evidence suggests they are probably not the only ones.<br />
<br />
Mild retinopathy is practically ho-hum. Almost all of us get it sooner or later; if it remains “mild” it won’t even require treatment. But gastroparesis is life-changing (more on that later). It’s also a form of autonomic neuropathy—irreversible nerve damage that can happen in one or multiple systems of the body. Some of that damage isn’t especially significant; some of it can erode quality of life; and some of it can kill us.<br />
<br />
I’m not here to whine about these issues, though I can guarantee that I will whine occasionally. I’m here because writing helps me with the work of adapting. Telling my story—and connecting with others around theirs—becomes a way of understanding who I am, which in turn helps me to live the most aware life I can. I can’t be healthy or happy without that kind of awareness. And I can’t be healthy or happy in isolation, either.<br />
<br />
So here I am.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-88982008401339063912008-04-27T15:43:00.002-07:002008-04-27T15:48:03.392-07:00Head pats1. Am now the owner and daily wearer of a medical ID. This time around I went with a <a href="http://www.n-styleid.com/CHN4_SSFLI.html">much simpler look.</a><br /><br />2. Am seeing eye doctor in May.<br /><br />3. Am seeing endo in June. (She's too busy to see me sooner. Will try not to back out over the next, uh, two months.)<br /><br />I am cautiously proud.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-52937500672245368762008-04-15T13:36:00.003-07:002008-04-15T13:40:53.695-07:00IlluminationWhoa, Violet. Interesting last post there. Dark much?<br /><br />Okay, here’s my excuse. The path to the light must traverse the darkness. Right? Right?<br /><br />And, uh, there’s no way out but through. Yeah. That.<br /><br />Actually, I do believe those things, though I certainly wasn’t thinking about them when I wrote Grim Post. Sunrise dispels the night, though, whether the night intends to be dispelled or not. Holding up my junk to the light is a good way to, at the very least, see it a bit more clearly.<br /><br />What I see is that I’ve gotten stuck. I knew that already, but wow. When I reread that post, I *know* it, in that deep-in-the-bones kind of way.<br /><br />What I feel, rereading that post, is that I’d like to unstick myself.<br /><br />I would?<br /><br />Yeah. Reasons for unsticking abound, as a matter of fact.<br /><br />Aha. Going to the endo because I want to is much, much different than going to the endo because I’m supposed to, or because I’m afraid, or because I feel guilty, or because Mrs. Violet is chastising me about it. I can handle going to the endo because I want to--much as I just handled eating two scoops of ice cream because I wanted to. (Peanut butter & chocolate and mint chocolate chip. I regret nothing.)<br /><br />So. I’ll go. Meemeep will go with me. We will report back.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-20171296119930912342008-04-09T06:44:00.001-07:002008-04-09T06:46:59.927-07:00Comfortably Numb: A Confessional of ImmaturityThis month marks 3.5 years since my dx. My primary question is how it could possibly be only 3.5 years as opposed to, say, 35.<br /><br />I’m bored. Diabetes is boring. This post will be boring too: It resays things others have said already, things I’ve said already.<br /><br />These days I pretend to be as undiabetic as I feel I can possibly get away with. I test, I count, I treat lows and highs, I carry juice. I change the set every fifth or sixth day, I order supplies occasionally, I send Medtronic a few bucks as necessary to maintain the flow of said supplies. I eat pastries and ice cream in significant quantities. I drink more alcohol than is probably advisable for a person who takes insulin.<br /><br />I don’t exercise beyond walking around the city. I don’t go to the endo. I don’t have my kidneys or eyes or any other parts of me checked for complications. I don’t wear a medical ID since my pretty one broke many moons ago. I don’t read the research, I don’t read blogs, I don’t send money to the ADA or the JDRF or any other acronyms. I don’t craft my diabetic experiences into small sparkling gems of creative nonfiction.<br /><br />I just don’t.<br /><br />Most of the time, most of me feels okay with all that. I don’t know my a1C, but then neither does the NYC Department of Health, which suits me fine. My control seems as good as it did when I did know my a1C. I screw up the insulin occasionally, but we all do now and then. I’m here. I’m okay.<br /><br />I like pretending. It’s more comfortable than the alternative. It isn’t less boring, but it requires less engagement with the boredom, as well as less engagement with the parts that aren’t boring because they’re just plain scary.<br /><br />Still, there’s a small corner of my brain that cannot repress the occasional flicker of recognition that I’m being Bad, to say nothing of childish, in a way that is not in the long-term interests of Violet. Hence this post.<br /><br />My prescriptions are about to run out, and last time around the refill authorizations came through with a stern admonishment, delivered via the pharmacist, that I’d have to see the endo to have them extended. And if memory serves, my friends at Medtronic will be looking for a prescription renewal come July as well.<br /><br />Fine, fine. I’ll go. But I refuse to be interested. <br /><br />They can’t make me.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-85179255682474254812008-02-04T09:50:00.000-07:002008-02-04T10:02:36.808-07:00An unsent letter from Medtronic Customer ServiceDear Valued Customer Violet:<br /><br />Thanks for your recent order of lifesaving medical supplies. In filling your order, we noticed that payments on your account have fallen behind.<br /><br />We understand that many people have times of financial difficulty. Heck, we aren’t perfect either! We remember those minor and major inconveniences we’ve caused you in the past. For example:<br /><br />Sometimes we’ve sent supplies to your home address instead of your work address, despite your request for the latter. And one time we sent them to your old work address—you know, the one that’s halfway across the country from your current one! Sorry about that. When you have as many customers as we do, this kind of stuff gets hard to keep track of.<br /><br />We also remember the time our accounting department mysteriously set up a second account in your name and started double-billing you on your pump payments. Good thing you gave us a call before we put that extra account into collections! Seriously, though, that one was definitely our bad.<br /><br />Then there's the undeniable fact that not one but two of your pumps have broken during your three years as a Medtronic customer. (Please accept our condolences on the recent demise of Nellie.) That’s an unfortunate failure rate, to say the least. We’re as glad as you are that you still have one year left on your warranty! Better luck with pump #3.<br /><br />You’ve been very understanding about these bumps on the road of your diabetes management. That’s why we’re writing to reassure you that even though you owe us several hundred dollars--a significant amount of money to company with <a href="http://216.139.227.101/interactive/mdt2007/">$13 billion in sales in 2007</a>--we would never dream of freezing your account and refusing to send you supplies. In particular, we would never, ever tell you that your lifesaving medical supplies are on the way and <em>then</em> freeze your account without informing you for, say, ten days or so. After all, that could put your health at risk! And that’s just not what we’re about here at Medtronic.<br /><br />So how about it, Violet? Could we set up a payment plan?<br /><br />Yours in healthful solidarity,<br /><br />Medtronic Customer Service<br />Your Partner in Diabetes CareViolethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-83988569481153337982007-11-09T12:06:00.000-07:002007-11-09T12:19:40.929-07:00Nellie vs. the Absolute BagelLongtime readers may recall <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/05/charlotte-vs-bionic-bagel.html">my early attempts</a> to conquer the bagel with cream cheese. An update is long overdue. Here is Violet's Strategy for Fatty, Bad-for-Violet Treats:<br /><br />1. Estimate carbs. A generous NYC bagel tends to be 65-70 grams.<br /><br />2. Tell Nellie. <br /><br />3. Select dual bolus. <br /><br />4. Manually add 20% to the amount of insulin Nellie suggests. This is to compensate for the Fatty Treat's tendency to slow digestion, requiring more insulin over a longer period of time.<br /><br />5. Take 2/3 of the total now. Square the remaining 1/3 over 3 hours.<br /><br />6. Luxuriate in everything + cream cheese.<br /><br />7. Brush teeth.<br /><br />This method also handles egg sammiches well and is modestly effective for pizza.<br /><br />Important: Your mileage may vary and probably will. Experiment with care.<br /><br />P.S. Absolute Bagels, 107th and Broadway, are the bomb. Bonus: They have a bulletin board covered with photos of happy, bagel-fed babies.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-46941739146592995602007-11-07T06:29:00.000-07:002007-11-07T06:38:39.312-07:00I’m Too Sexy for My Pump, part IIIWhat? Still?!<br /><br />It’s true. Even 2.7 years after first exploring this topic <a href="http://www.blogger.com/“http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/01/im-too-sexy-for-my-pump-part-1.html">here</a> and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/“http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/03/im-too-sexy-for-my-pump-part-ii.html">here</a>. (Apparently I am growing sexier as I age, huzzah. Or at least holding steady.)<br /><br />I know that I remain too sexy for my pump because over the course of 2007, I’ve been rejected not once but twice by potential dates who were squicked by Nellie.<br /><br />A provocative statement, I know. Keep reading, gentle blog friends. I shall explain all.<br /><br />It seems worthwhile to note, for purposes of anthropological interest, that both NRDs (Nellie-Rejecting Dorks) were absurdly good-looking. And I do mean absurdly. My admittedly limited experience with such individuals is that, as if in karmic recompense for their Clooneyesque appearance, they are developmentally delayed in the category of general human decency. These two fellows proved to be no exception.<br /><br />I didn’t meet either NRD in person. I’ve spent much of the year in that special purgatory known as the Land of Online Dating, where I encountered NRDs One and Two. In each case Nellie came up during the correspondence stage.<br /><br />Why, you ask, did Nellie come up during the correspondence stage? After all, I could’ve kept her existence concealed until my suitors were so entirely captivated by my sundry violetine charms that not even bionic breasts would have turned them away. (Eww. Hope no one from Medtronic R&D is reading this post.)<br /><br />Well, Nellie became an issue during correspondence because I, um, used her as bait. This is a practice I’ve implemented when a fellow makes multiple statements that ping on my Superficiality Radar. The idea is that a great deal of time and energy can be saved by screening out NRDs before the dating process begins. It’s true that such screening has the potential to eliminate someone who would not, in fact, turn out to be NRDy if he met me in person (and was therefore captivated by my sundry violetine charms) before learning about the pump. But I wouldn’t want to date such a person, now would I?<br /><br />No, no I would not.<br /><br />It works like this. After three or four pings on the radar, I make casual mention of having diabetes and using a pump. If questions ensue, I send a photo—not of me, but of a kindly anonymous soul who is wearing a cousin of Nellie’s. The infusion set is visible in the photo. I write a brief but honest passage about the magnificence of the pump.<br /><br />Then I wait.<br /><br />NRD One very abruptly had to walk his dog—this exchange took place during an online chat—and promised to be in touch straight away the next day. Never heard from him again.<br /><br />NRD Two sent an email thanking me for my honesty and explaining that he would need to think about whether he wanted to continue our conversation. Never heard from him again.<br /><br />Wow. Imagine a pumpless (or a more reserved, ahem) Violet wasting her precious time and energy on either of these cretins. I might’ve gone out with them. I might even have unknowingly kissed one of them. Ewww! NRD cooties!<br /><br />Who knew that Nellie would not only preserve my health and happiness but also function as an anti-NRD screening device? Not I. Maybe I should send Medtronic a testimonial for their website…Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-25066717423233566342007-10-19T12:07:00.000-07:002007-10-19T12:20:08.485-07:00ReclamationHello, Violet here. <br /><br />I've missed this space and what it used to mean to me. I've missed all you people, too.<br /><br />I'm making this blog public again, as I'm no longer willing to sacrifice new connections with the OC out of fear.<br /><br />It's raining in New York today. The notably tall building in which I work is surrounded by a cloud. <br /><br />Nevertheless, things--all kinds of things--are looking sunshiney.<br /><br />It's good to be back.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-85289691964090869342007-03-07T13:27:00.000-07:002007-03-07T13:37:25.026-07:00Notes to self, March 20071. Withdrawal from the blogosphere is a symptom of resurgence of the <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/05/roof-repair.html">Other D</a>.<br /><br />2. Try very hard not to take eight weeks to figure this out.<br /><br />3. The oven is not really an appropriate place to hide dirty dishes so that the cat sitter doesn’t see them.<br /><br />4. Forgetting to pay the phone bill has noteworthy and negative consequences.<br /><br />5. <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/06/psychopharmacologicalistic-expi-ali.html">Dr. Two-Fifty</a> can help. Not with the telephone, though. Or the dishes.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-63702747005166460082006-12-09T16:39:00.000-07:002006-12-09T16:45:42.693-07:00HyponostalgiaI am staring at trash bags. Hmm. Trash bags.<br /><br />No, I don’t need trash bags.<br /><br />Do I need paper towels? Yes. Yes, I do. But I don’t feel like carrying them. Paper towels are big.<br /><br />The bottles of Windex are merging into one another. It’s funny how they make Windex in lots of colors now. Something about that seems kind of un-American, even to a lefty chick like me.<br /><br />I remember that what I really need is dinner. Yes. That’s why I’m in this store, even though the clerks are rude and the prices staggering. I’m very hungry. I would really like some pot roast.<br /><br />I don’t know how to make pot roast. Well, I did make it once. It was good. But I don’t remember how I did it, except that it took a long time. I’d better just get something to microwave.<br /><br />I need milk, too. And something else. What was it?<br /><br />I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll get some brie cheese. Yes. Oh, this is expensive. Is there a small one? Why are all the numbers fuzzy? Here’s a small one. I’m really hungry. Is it okay to eat brie cheese for dinner?<br /><br />Something isn’t quite right. Something.<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />Oh!<br /><br />Yes. I prop the test kit on a display of crackers. I don’t feel low. Maybe I’m too high.<br /><br />61. Pish. That’s nothing. <br /><br />Hey. I’m low in a grocery store.<br /><br />Woo hoo! I’m low in a grocery store!<br /><br />I can eat anything, anything at all.<br /><br />These opportunities are rare. It seems very important to select the Best Possible Treat.<br /><br />I wonder where the dark chocolate is. I picture myself blogging later about dark chocolate. You will all nod appreciatively and comment on your favorite low-busting indulgences.<br /><br />I can’t find the chocolate. Maybe I should just eat something, anything. No, I should drink something. I should drink some juice. Where is the juice?<br /><br />The front of the store has a cooler with bottles of everything. There should be juice there.<br /><br />I wander in that direction. It’s crowded. The cooler is blocked by a line of people. I look at them. I know there are words, words I could say that would prompt these people to move. Then I could reach the juice.<br /><br />Other people don’t have trouble thinking of words. I remember K and her <a href="http://sixuntilme.blogspot.com/2006/04/scene.html">27 at the movie theater</a>. That's a lot lower than I am now, but she had all the words she needed.<br /><br />If I were K, I’d have words too. But I’m not K. I’m V, which is usually fine but at the moment seems a little inconvenient.<br /><br />Happily, the line of people moves while I am trying to string together a few syllables. The first bottle my hand grasps is cherry Coke. Though speechless, I have the wherewithal to check to see if it’s diet. It is not. I open it and drink.<br /><br />Gods. This stuff is good. So good. So effing good! I’d forgotten.<br /><br />Briefly I’m thirteen again. Cherry Coke has just been invented. I am watching Monty Python & the Holy Grail for the first time ever, with my first-time-ever boyfriend. We’re eating Rocky Rococo’s pepperoni pizza.<br /><br />Life is resplendent with laughter, possibilities, and carbohydrates.<br /><br />I pull out of the flashback before the part where Zoot’s twin sister begs Sir Galahad for a spanking. (Way too embarrassing. Folks did not joke about such things in West Des Moines, Iowa, in 1985.) Already I feel a little steadier. I pay for my randomly selected comestibles, including the half-bottle of soda. I even remember my PIN number in the checkout line.<br /><br />At home I clock in at 96. The brie is splendid.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-86446366383720892172006-12-03T17:02:00.000-07:002006-12-03T17:15:00.248-07:00Is That an Insulin Pump in Your Pocket, or……Are You Just Happy to Text Me?<br /><br />(a play in three brief acts)<br /><br /><br /><strong><em>Dramatis Personae</em> (in order of appearance)<br /></strong><br /><em><a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/11/why-nellie.html">Nellie</a></em>: a purple Minimed Paradigm 515; successor to <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/08/next-thing.html">Charlotte</a><br /><br /><em>Dinner Companion</em>: one of Violet’s recent one-date wonders<br /><br /><em>Violet</em>: devoted owner of Nellie<br /><br /><em>Thanksgiving Ladies</em>: Violet’s charming holiday hostess and her guests, each some thirty years Violet’s senior<br /><br /><em>Movie Companion</em>: an entertainment-oriented version of Dinner Companion<br /><br /><br /><strong>Act I </strong><br /><em>Scene: a chic Italian restaurant in Chelsea, NYC</em><br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: Beep. [pause.] Beep. [pause] Beep.<br /><br /><em>Dinner Companion </em>[slightly annoyed]: Texting?<br /><br /><em>Violet</em>: Insulin.<br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: Beep.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Act II</strong><br /><em>Scene: a holiday meal at a beautiful colonial farmhouse in Orange, Connecticut</em><br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: Beep.<br /><br /><em>Thanksgiving Lady #1 </em>[peering into Violet’s lap]: What is that thing?<br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: Beep. [pause] Beep.<br /><br /><em>Violet</em>: It’s an insulin pump…<br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: Beep.<br /><br /><em>Violet</em>: …for diabetes.<br /><br /><em>TL #2</em>: Oh, I thought it was a cell phone!<br /><br /><em>TL #1</em>: So did I.<br /><br /><em>TL #3</em>: So did I!<br /><br /><em>TL #4</em>: Is it all right that you’re eating pie, dear?<br /><br /><br /><strong>Act III</strong><br /><em>Scene: a movie theater in Gramercy</em><br /><br /><em>Movie Companion</em>: [yawns, stretches, and casually drops arm around Violet. Very high school.]<br /><br /><em>Violet</em>: (!)<br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: …<br /><br /><em>Movie Companion</em>: [unintentionally gropes Nellie, who is clipped to Violet’s waist]<br /><br /><em>Violet</em>: [face contorts as she suppresses urge to snort]<br /><br /><em>Movie Companion</em>: …<br /><br /><em>Movie Companion</em>: [removes arm from around Violet]<br /><br /><em>Nellie</em>: Beep!Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-73310624593337645782006-11-27T13:25:00.000-07:002006-11-27T18:21:03.690-07:00Transition<em>And to make an end is to make a beginning.</em><br /><em>The end is where we start from.</em><br /><br />--T. S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"<br /><br /><br />For almost two years Pumplandia has served as an outlet for my frustrations and hopes as they pertain to diabetes and to life in general. It has helped me connect with brilliant writers and compassionate human beings--and even, almost miraculously, a few individuals who are both. To some extent, I hope, this site has also been a public resource for PWDs and those who care about them.<br /><br />Recently, the actions of one person have presented me with a difficult choice between writing this blog privately or not at all. (This individual isn't part of the OC; it's a personal matter.)<br /><br />Discontinuing the writing isn't an option; my connections to this community are too important to give up. Pumplandia will therefore be shifting to an invitation-only format over the next week. Friends and known members of the OC will receive an invitation via e-mail with instructions on how to access this page. (Unfortunately, use of the invitation requires a Google account, which is free but may be irritating to some folks.) I am also happy to share access with verified medical personnel, researchers, industry types, ADA/JDRF folks, and so forth.<br /><br />If we’re pals and you don’t receive an invite by 12/4, please drop me a line, as it’s surely an oversight.<br /><br />If you’d like to continue to read Pumplandia but are not known to me by an e-mail address, please write to <a href="mailto:violetgirlz@hotmail.com">violetgirlz@hotmail.com</a> and introduce yourself. If we aren't already acquainted, please include a reference to a mutual friend or active member of the OC who will vouch for your identity, or a verifiable professional credential related to diabetes. I regret that I cannot invite readers who lack a reference of this sort.<br /><br />My hope is that all the people who are meant to read Pumplandia will find their way back to it over time. Thanks for your interest and support.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1163342174301040702006-11-12T07:32:00.000-07:002006-11-12T07:36:14.316-07:00Moderation in all things......including moderation.<br /><br />I realized this morning that the reason I haven’t posted for a while is that I’ve been feeling sheepish.<br /><br />Lately I can’t seem to follow the rules. Recent posts include the occasional reference to donuts. I left out mention of the scones, pancakes with syrup, dark chocolate, toffee, fried everything, Chinese food with luscious sweet sauces, pecan pie...<br /><br />Pecan pie!<br /><br />I hadn’t eaten pecan pie for more than two years. (It’s still good.)<br /><br />These various excesses have left me of late with numbers somewhat above average, to put it gently. It’s partly the choice of foods and partly the sheer difficulty of guessing how to cover them. Which reminds me of another interesting phenomenon: my usual habit of estimating carbs on the high side out of preference for lows over highs has fled. I keep taking too little.<br /><br />I could chalk all this up to stress or travel, but I’ve had plenty of periods of stress and/or travel in the past. I’ve kept pretty well to my food guidelines for most of them. Something different’s going on.<br /><br />I think there’s a need to rebel now and then, even for compliant Violet. Maybe especially for compliant Violet. Truth is, if I had to believe that I could never binge again for the rest of my life, I don’t know how I’d cope. The world of food is too replete with pleasures to concede them all forever.<br /><br />It’s a better strategy, I know, to have a little treat now and then as opposed to an enormous one every day (or twice a day, ahem). The former is my usual way, and I’ll get back to it soon, if for no other reason than that I’m starting to feel binged out. Yet I think there’s something to be said for claiming an audacious freedom now and then. It reminds me that I’m still alive in ways that can be measured by means other than an a1C test. It reminds me that control is a choice—yeah, the right choice, but still a choice, not an absolute, not a prison.<br /><br />It reminds me that while I may have this silly disease, it doesn’t have me. Huzzah! And I mean that in a most immoderate way.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1161893087640921622006-10-26T11:35:00.000-07:002006-10-26T13:04:48.036-07:00Notes to self1. Do not transport <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/06/guesswork.html">POC meter</a> in bag next to frozen lunch entrée. POC meter refuses to operate at temperatures below [insert random number between room temperature and that of a frozen lunch entrée]. When you find yourself going low on the subway, you will be unable to test and will have to make a random guess as to how many glucose tablets are needed to retrieve yourself from the hypoglycemic brink. By the time POC meter regains room temperature, it will mock you with a number well over 200.<br /><br />2. Stop eating donuts.<br /><br />3. Remember to take insulin with carbohydrates. (Ahem? Hello? Diabetes, anyone?) You do this by pushing the buttons on that purple thing. You know, the life-saving medical device attached to your body? Yeah, that one.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1161446130834713512006-10-21T08:53:00.000-07:002006-10-21T08:55:30.836-07:00TwoWhen you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take some time, you are fierce with reality.<br /><br />--Florida Scott-Maxwell<br /><br /><br />How I love that phrase: fierce with reality. Fierce! Check that out. Yeah, I’d like to get me some of that.<br /><br />Okay, what do I do again? Truly possess all I’ve been and done?<br /><br />Well.<br /><br />That sounds uncomfortable, to say the least. Just for starters, I’d have to acknowledge that I ate a not insubstantial donut yesterday. (75 g of carbs. 75!) And it’s a pretty slippery slope from there, believe me.<br /><br />Still...fierce. Hmm.<br /><br />Hmm.<br /><br />Donut jests aside, this fierceness project has preoccupied me ever since my ex and I split up. What I've wanted is to reach a new understanding of myself, a more profound and nuanced sense than I currently have of how I came to be at this funny little crossroads in my funny little life.<br /><br />I didn’t have sufficiently apt words for this quest until last weekend, when I started rereading William Bridges’s <em>The Way of Transition</em> and found the above quote used as an epigraph. Aha, I thought. Here’s the thing I’m trying to do. And how gentle a caveat: “may take some time.” Yes. It does.<br /><br />In a perhaps unsurprising way, given whose brain we're considering here, I find it’s easier to possess the things of which I’m ashamed than those of which I’m proud. Gargantuan Mistake #16, Shameful Error #42, Self-Absorbed Foolishness #23--these and others stand out in sharp relief against the occasional Violetine accomplishment or act of kindness. The myriad ways in which I’ve hurt myself and others simply WILL make themselves known at every opportunity. What cacophonous voices those little buggers have. They yell a lot.<br /><br />Which brings me to today.<br /><br />Two years ago today, I was diagnosed with diabetes. (The story of that week is archived in three parts: <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/05/how-i-got-here-part-1.html">here</a>, <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/05/how-i-got-here-part-2.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/05/how-i-got-here-part-3.html">here</a>.) Looking back over these two little years that feel like ten--two years during which, not so incidentally, I made a new life and then participated in its crash-and-burn free fall--I realize that possessing all I’ve been and done in relation to this one small area of diabetes entails much more pride than shame.<br /><br />There, I said it.<br /><br />Pride because: I read and learned; I changed my diet not to the point of perfection (witness the aforementioned donut) but at least to a point where I could thrive physically and mentally; I found a way to connect with others that not only feels true to my natural introversion but even nurtures it; I started on the pump despite its numerous accompanying anxieties; I was afraid; I was brave; I persevered.<br /><br />These aren't small things to have done and been. They're rather significant. A lot of them are choices I could have made differently.<br /><br />Diabetes being only one small part of my life, I have many other things to ponder, understand, possess. But today I'm willing to celebrate a few small victories and to feel a bit fiercer thereby.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1161123907145429222006-10-17T14:56:00.000-07:002006-10-17T15:25:08.063-07:00In which I overthink a new topicPursuant to #11 <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/09/24-things-that-mostly-do-not-fit-in.html">below</a>, I’ve been looking into volunteer possibilities.<br /><br />Well, there’s no place to start like the glaringly obvious: diabetes. The OC is full of people who are doing their part. Am I?<br /><br />If by “doing my part” you mean <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/03/ruminations-month-18.html">whining periodically</a> or perhaps <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/06/observed-on-f-train.html">chronicling my awkwardness</a>, then yes--yes, I am. Otherwise, well...not as such.<br /><br />It’s clearly the right thing to do, to contribute time and energy toward the causes of helping people cope, helping to raise money for the search for the <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/10/commitment-to-reality.html">Shmure</a>, and so forth. Couldn’t begin to argue against it. But there’s a wall of (self-centered, irritated, irritating) resistance within me.<br /><br />I think it’s an internal tension similar to the one described <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/11/how-we-been-doin.html">here</a>. There’s a continual negotiation between Diabetic Violet and the Rest of Violet over how many of my waking hours I’m willing to sign over to this disease.<br /><br />Diabetic Violet (hmm, perhaps she should be Violet with Diabetes out of respect for folks who hate “diabetic”?) knows that making a positive contribution to D-related causes would be a healthy—dare I say mature?—adaptation to my circumstances.<br /><br />The Rest of Violet does not want to be quite that diabetic (have quite that much diabetes???), thank you very much. She’s shooting for the middle ground.<br /><br />VWD points out that I’m always whining about isolation, about not knowing enough nonvirtual people who are tackling the same issues I am. D-related volunteer work is an obvious way to change that.<br /><br />ROV does not want diabetes to become the mainstay of my interactions with other humans. Period.<br /><br />VWD thinks ROV is in denial.<br /><br />ROV thinks VWD is a priss.<br /><br />OCers, where are you on this subject? (Um, not the question of whether VWD is a priss. The volunteering thing.)<br /><br />Happily for both Violets, one can have a positive impact on the world in quite a few ways, huzzah! So for now I am shelving the question. I’m attracted to working with animals or maybe, if I can pull together the emotional fortitude, something like <a href="http://www.volunteernyc.org/org/19123133.html">this program</a>, which provides companionship to people at the end of life.<br /><br />ROV figures diabetes will be around a while longer, after all. She will still be needed when she's ready.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1160241410908546282006-10-07T09:56:00.000-07:002006-10-07T10:16:50.953-07:00Commitment to realityI’ve been pretending to myself, these days, that I’m not paying attention to research. I pretend I’ve accepted and adapted. Cure, shmure. I’ll be delighted if it happens, but I’m not holding my breath. I am fine; I am strong. I cope, I manage, I deal. I am Getting On With My Life; I possess a Healthy Detachment.<br /><br />Hmm.<br /><br />It’s come to my attention that what I actually do, these days, is to glance sidelong at the research news, pretending not to look but in fact making quiet note of every development. (It’s an interesting talent, reading websites without consciously acknowledging that I do so.)<br /><br />I’ve had to confront my tendency toward surreptitious monitoring after last week’s news that the <a href="http://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/short/355/13/1318">Edmonton protocol is essentially a flop</a>.<br /><br />In a nutshell for the non-D-obsessed, this experimental procedure entails a noninvasive transplant of islets, those little jobbers in the pancreas that make insulin in a healthy person. In type 1, the immune system mistakenly eradicates the insulin-producing cells, leaving their former owner with diabetes.<br /><br />So: insert happy, functional islets from organ donors, salt liberally with immunosuppressant drugs, cross fingers.<br /><br />Variations on this procedure have been attempted for years with limited efficacy, but the most recent study had encouraging results at 1 year following transplantation. About half of patients were manufacturing all the insulin they needed, and a large percentage of the other half were manufacturing some and achieving improved blood glucose control thereby.<br /><br />Last week brought the news that at the 2-year mark, only 16% of patients were still functioning without insulin injections. It seems that the immune system continues to recognize the islets as invader cells and systematically destroys them. Unless/until more effective immunosuppressant drugs can be found, the Edmonton protocol is not a viable cure.<br /><br />Certainly I had no conscious fantasy of ever receiving a transplant and a cure via this process. I’m more realistic than that.<br /><br />But...crap.<br /><br />I’ve written elsewhere about my mind’s habit of making <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2005/08/next-thing.html">contracts with the universe</a>. What I realized this week is that I’ve done it in this area as well: If I do my job as a patient and forge ahead with gentle optimism and courage and blah blah blah, if I extend myself toward other PWDs and do my bit to help us all cope, I (and the rest of you) will be rewarded someday, someday, with the cure.<br /><br />Truth be told, there is no such contract. There are no guarantees. Optimism may be mentally healthier than pessimism(?), but none of us can know if or when a cure may be found. There’s a tightrope to walk here—I suppose it’s properly called realism—that lacks the comforting safety net of my previous subconscious understanding with the universe.<br /><br />So it’s time to renegotiate. What it must be, all it can be, is something like: If I do my best to take vigilant care of my diabetes, if I do my best to connect with others in my situation, I will be as physically and mentally healthy as I can be for as long as possible. In the meantime, a cure may or may not be found.<br /><br />Bah. I liked the old contract a lot better.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1159718093770964052006-10-01T08:32:00.000-07:002006-10-01T08:54:53.823-07:00SixlandiaI recognized her from the back: a logically impossible feat because, as Kerri observed moments later, there are no butt shots posted over at <a href="http://www.sixuntilme.com/">Six Until Me</a>.<br /><br />Maybe it was the hair. Maybe it was the “oh crap, I’m looking for someone I’ve never met in Grand Central Station at rush hour” posture. Somehow I just knew: here she was, the gifted writer and sensitive, hysterically funny soul whose blog has enriched my life for what must surely be hundreds of posts by now.<br /><br />I hurried over and said her name. She turned. “Violet?” My name isn’t really Violet, as K knows, but who I could really be other than Violet, to her? (For me it was a moment of secret wish fulfillment, as my nom de keyboard is what I would have named myself, had the choice been mine.)<br /><br />Being of a quiet disposition, I had wondered if this meeting would feel awkward. No such thing. We hugged and babbled and laughed as we forged our way through the crowd to an exit. Wandered down Lexington, found a diner. I was on Day Five of my attempt at vegetarianism, so I ordered a portobello mushroom and cheese sandwich. For the balance of the evening, I glanced enviously at the bits of turkey on K’s chef salad. (I made it, for the record, to Day Seven, then capitulated to carnivorous longings. Last night I actually dreamed of steak. Medium rare.)<br /><br />We talked and talked, nonstop. I described the Winter, Spring, and Summer of My Discontent and their numerous reverberations. We discussed the challenges of moving to a new place. We pondered the exhilarating weirdness of New York. We talked about blogging, what it means to each of us.<br /><br />And of course we talked about diabetes. K had received <a href="http://sixuntilme.com/blog1/2006/09/no_title.html#comments">bad news</a>. I admired her attitude: frank, honest, unsettled but absolutely unwilling to be defeated.<br /><br />The legendarily cool and compassionate Chris joined us for the last half hour. He’s real, girlfriends! My gosh. It’s not often in my current life situation that I’m around people whose love for one another simply shows in all their words and gestures. K and Chris are two such people. Meeting them both was a gift, a warm and heartening interlude during a time that’s been, often, less than reassuring about the questions that plague me around true love (is it even possible, does it last, how will I ever find it for myself, etc etc, ad nauseam).<br /><br />Isolation is one of the hardest aspects of this disease for me. Here’s to its eradication.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1159114226593210912006-09-24T09:08:00.000-07:002006-09-24T09:10:26.610-07:00Subject line: FeetSince I began living alone again, my mom has called almost every day—so often, in fact, that when I don’t hear from her I wonder why.<br /><br />She likes to keep in touch. And she wants to know how the transition is unfolding, how I’m liking the new neighborhood, whether the money part is going okay.<br /><br />But mostly she calls so often because she’s haunted. She can’t shake the fear that I’ll have a nighttime hypo I can’t wake up from, no one will know I need help, and I’ll end up <a href="http://www.diabetes123.com/d_0n_g00.htm">dead in bed</a>.<br /><br />“Just checking to see if you’re on your feet,” she often says to my answering machine, usually after calling me at the office and not getting an answer for some reason or other. Her voice—a lilting Virginian singsong that’s always signaled “home” to me, even though I’ve never lived in Virginia—sounds just a little more cheerful than necessary. “Give me a call.”<br /><br />It’s been not even two years for Mrs. Violet, just as it has for me. We’re still neophytes in several respects, including how to cope with the mercurial nature of this disease. But I don’t have trouble with hypo unawareness. And I follow the drills we all know: test before bed, eat snack if needed, test during the night now and then. I watch my basals (currently 0.15 overnight, what the hell?) and tweak as needed.<br /><br />I take care of myself, I’m not afraid, and I’m not about to die in my sleep. (We all have to believe that, right?) That works for me. But for a parent? Harder, much harder, it seems. And Mrs. Violet is a person for whom the wolf is always at the door.<br /><br />I think I’ll begin a practice of daily morning e-mail. Subject line: feet. Text: Good morning, I’m on them, I love you.<br /><br />It’s the least I can do for the one person in my life whose voice sounds like home.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1158805530871880882006-09-20T19:22:00.000-07:002006-09-20T19:25:30.893-07:00Change is complex, or, A conversation with my colon<div align="left">Violet's colon: Rumble. Grumble.<br /><br />Violet [concerned]: Everything OK down there?<br /><br />V's C: Rumble. Rumble. Grumble.<br /><br />V: Hmm. I sense a disturbance.<br /><br />V's C: We are displeased.<br /><br />V: We?<br /><br />V's C: We do not like some of the gifts recently offered to us.<br /><br />V: Us? What are you, a collective? Like the Borg?<br /><br />V's C: We accept the offering of bread. The oatmeal we also accept. Meats and cheeses we acknowledge as appropriate gifts.<br /><br />V: ...<br /><br />V's C: But what is this thing called "fruit"?<br /><br />V: Ohh. That. Right. Well, fruit is tasty and full of nutrients and fiber. It's good for us. Err, good for me.<br /><br />V's C: We do not like this "fruit."<br /><br />V: You'll get used to it. I promise.<br /><br />V's C: It disturbs us. It causes distress.<br /><br />V: Well, that's really my fault. You see, I didn't eat much fruit for a long time, so you got out of the habit of dealing with it, and now I'm trying to make changes--<br /><br />V's C: Fruit is your fault?<br /><br />V [alarmed]: Um--<br /><br />V's C: We do not accept the gift of "fruit."<br /><br />V: Well, you have to. It's your job.<br /><br />V's C: Grumble. Rumble. Rumble.<br /><br />V: Aww, come on. Fruit is Nature's Dessert!<br /><br />V's C: WE DO NOT ACCEPT THE GIFT OF "FRUIT."<br /><br />V: ...<br /><br />V's C: GRUMBLE. RUMBLE. GRUMBLE!<br /><br /><br />And so the negotiations unfold. I guess this may complexify my recent interest in vegetarianism...</div>Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1158540497328934072006-09-17T17:44:00.000-07:002006-09-17T17:48:17.373-07:00Things I learned this evening1. I may be bionic, but I am not in the Universe for the purpose of using power tools.<br /><br />2. Especially drills.<br /><br />3. A crooked coat rack is better than none.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1158331818357941762006-09-15T07:28:00.000-07:002006-09-15T07:50:18.426-07:00Breakthrough?In a continuation of our assualt on the <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/05/plan-b.html">Other D</a>, Dr. Two-Fifty graduated me to a Big Girl dosage of generic Zoloft 10 days ago. (It’s pale yellow, for anyone who shares my fascination with the <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/08/psychopharmacological-istic-whatever.html">antidepressant rainbow</a>.)<br /><br />A lot has changed:<br /><br />1. What is this current of vitality flowing through my body? How come I keep thinking about going dancing at <a href="http://www.nerveana.com/cultureclubnyc.html">Culture Club</a>, the cheesiest club in New York? Oh, right: energy. That thing that makes walking places enjoyable instead of a truncated death march.<br /><br />2. Aha, I AM creative. Who knew? I, for one, had entirely forgotten.<br /><br />3. Hello, intellectual curiosity. I remember you.<br /><br />4. Greetings, sex drive. I remember you too. Vaguely.<br /><br />5. <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/05/roof-repair.html">Nonbloggable thoughts,</a> don’t let the door smack you on the ass on your way out.<br /><br />6. I can name my emotions and inhabit the painful ones without feeling instantly compelled to numb them via external means (TV, food, glass of wine, computer games).<br /><br />7. I feel gentle toward myself.<br /><br />Whoosh. This is a lot of change. Am I, for lack of a better term, hopped up on goofballs? I phone Dr. Two-Fifty to present my concerns.<br /><br />“I think maybe we need to decrease the dosage,” I say. She asks why; I present the above.<br /><br />“Are you behaving impulsively?” she inquires. “Spending a lot of money, or making sudden decisions, or placing yourself in dangerous situations?” She’s wondering if I might be having a manic episode, which is not part of my history but could be triggered by an excess of this type of medication.<br /><br />“No,” I say. “Nothing like that. But I feel kind of buzzy.”<br /><br />“Here’s what I think.” Dr. Two-Fifty sounds quite perky. “Maybe the dosage is too high. But all the things you describe are suggestive of recovery from depression.”<br /><br />“Oh,” I say. “Right.”<br /><br />“The buzziness may go away in a few days. If it doesn’t, we can reduce the dosage—but I don’t want to reduce it unless we have to, because it sounds like it’s helping you. Call me on Monday and we’ll see how you’re doing.”<br /><br />Sure enough, two days later I am feeling less buzzy.<br /><br />I’m not giving the medication all the credit for these transformations. I’ve been working hard to help myself in other ways—therapy, writing, making huge and painful life-changing decisions, opening up to people more than before. Maybe it’s all beginning to come together.<br /><br />I worried about the trampling of my personality, of some essential Violetness, via antidepressant medication. But I don’t feel less like myself. I feel more like myself. I feel connected to myself and to other people. I feel aware.<br /><br />It’s pretty cool, to put it mildly.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1158183645755436802006-09-13T11:46:00.000-07:002006-09-13T14:40:45.813-07:00No poetic title comes to mindMrs. Violet has prediabetes.<br /><br />Son of a b*tch!<br /><br />Already I feel this irrational (?) urge to defend my mother from the blamers. No, she’s not obese. Yes, she struggles with her weight and with exercise. No, she doesn’t pig out on a daily basis. Yes, she overeats now and then. Piss off.<br /><br />I know two other people who have been faced with this situation. One of them, my oldest friend, made major, very challenging changes in her diet and exercise patterns and got her fasting BG down to 80ish. The other, my ex, has ignored the problem for a year and a half, though he has type 2 on both sides of his family and lost his dad to complications.<br /><br />Two paths, two sets of choices.<br /><br />I wonder about other paths. Is there a path in which the PWP tries her damnedest, but her efforts cannot stave off deterioration into D-Land? Yeah, I bet there is. How about a path in which supreme effort leads to only temporary improvement? I bet that path exists too.<br /><br />Then again, at least there’s a chance, however uncertain, for Mom to make a difference through her own efforts. As a type 1, I didn’t have that opportunity. I wish I had.<br /><br />When I was diagnosed, the words tumbled out of her mouth like a confession: “Diabetes is the disease I’m most frightened of."<br /><br />A few months later, she apologized. “That probably wasn’t what you needed to hear at the time,” she observed.<br /><br />“Well,” I answered, “I needed to take it very seriously, and you helped me do that.” And she did. Maybe I can do the same for her now.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1158106810425417532006-09-12T16:48:00.000-07:002006-09-12T17:20:10.540-07:00Food for brain & soulPursuant to #5 <a href="http://pumplandia.blogspot.com/2006/09/24-things-that-mostly-do-not-fit-in.html">below</a>, some nonfiction I’m reading:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Five-Flights-Other-Apartment-Stories/dp/1568985851/sr=1-1/qid=1158104652/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-8388522-7632162?ie=UTF8&s=books">Five Flights Up and Other New York Apartment Stories</a> by Toni Schlessinger: an anthology of her Shelter columns from the Village Voice. Interviews with denizens of the city in and about their homes. At once fascinating, comical, and comforting as I adjust to my new quarters.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hard-Questions-Authentic-Life-Essential/dp/B000BTH4WM/sr=8-1/qid=1158104526/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-8388522-7632162?ie=UTF8&s=books">The Hard Questions for an Authentic Life</a> by Susan Piver: bought long ago and allowed to collect dust on bookshelves in two states. Its time has come. Fantastic, thought-provoking questions about many areas: family, friendship, love, spirituality. Very clarifying.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Person-Therapist-View-Psychotherapy/dp/039575531X/sr=1-1/qid=1158104721/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-8388522-7632162?ie=UTF8&s=books">On Becoming a Person</a> by Carl R. Rogers: Published in 1961 by one of the revolutionaries of modern psychology, an argument in favor of what Rogers terms “client-centered therapy,” in which the patient and therapist build a healing relationship. This is hardly news 45 years later, but it was radical stuff when written. What intrigues me most about this book is (1) how courageously yet humbly Rogers puts forth his ideas and (2) how the journey of self-discovery he describes brilliantly articulates what I hope to gain from my own therapeutic process.<br /><br />And pursuant to #14, after considerable overspending on iTunes, I offer a few songs for inspiration of many kinds:<br /><br />Colin Hay, Beautiful World: a paradoxically melancholy celebration of simple pleasures. I'm so charmed by this song that I listened to it at least 6 times before I realized/remembered (well, okay, I actually read it online, but then I remembered, truly I did) that Colin Hay was the lead singer of Men at Work. How mortifying to my distinguished lineage as an 80s pop junkie that I didn't make the connection immediately! Bonus: one of the verses is about tea, my favorite nonalcoholic beverage.<br /><br />Joey Ramone, What a Wonderful World: Whoa, this song rocks. Irresistible. NB: Not for gentle moments.<br /><br />REM, Find the River: Opposite mood. "You have to go to task in the city, where people drown and people serve...Don't be shy, your just deserve is only just light years to go." This song was mysteriously written about Violet’s journey to New York to open an office for her company <em>years before the fact</em>. Isn’t that remarkable? If I could be reborn as any psychic gay man on the planet, hands down I would pick Michael Stipe.<br /><br />Smashing Pumpkins, Tonight: “Believe, believe in me, believe...that life can change, that you’re not stuck in vain, we’re not the same, we’re different tonight…We’ll crucify the insincere tonight...Believe in me as I believe in you tonight.” Wow. Sign me up.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theslip.com/">The Slip</a>, Even Rats: Click the link to hear this beauty for free. Then go pay Apple a buck to download it. It's only fair! Confession: my exposure to this one came via <a href="http://www.guitarherogame.com">Guitar Hero</a>. (Yeah, I beat it on Expert. I’m not at all sure what this says about me, but there it is.) I absolutely love this song. Something brilliant going on in the brain of whoever wrote it. A spot-on political message, too.<br /><br />10,000 Maniacs, These Are Days: “These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face...and when you do, you’ll know how it was meant to be, see the signs and know their meaning...it’s true, you’ll know how it was meant to be, hear the signs and know they’re speaking to you.” Natalie, she can seriously tap into those agnostic yearnings, yes indeed.<br /><br />Finally, three delectably fluffy treats from my growing-up years:<br /><br />Big Country, In a Big Country: Does anybody else remember how frickin' cute the lead singer of this Scottish band was? You know, in the video with the gorgeous green fields and cliffs and suchlike? Tell me I'm not the only one who remembers.<br /><br />Nenah Cherry, Buffalo Stance: "No moneyman can win my love, it's sweetness that I'm thinkin of." Love this beat. Ten points to anyone who can explain to me what a buffalo stance is. I was never cool enough to know.<br /><br />Tom Tom Club, Genius of Love: Just. Plain. Fun.<br /><br />Any suggestions for my next reads/downloads?Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10302840.post-1158082605766592262006-09-12T10:30:00.000-07:002006-09-12T10:36:45.770-07:00Reasons for bloomingI used to blog almost exclusively about diabetes and other health issues. I shared my ideas about other topics in different ways. Or I didn’t share them at all.<br /><br />I liked the compartmentalization: it felt safe, tidy, to do most of my diabetes-related processing in cyberspace, anonymously. In the 20 months since my first post, only three people who had met me in real life knew that this was my blog. One is a close friend. Another is <a href= "http://scotts-dblife.blogspot.com/">Scott</a>, whom I met in my pumpers’ support group in Minnesota and whose blog inspired this one. The third, my ex, never read anything I wrote here, seemingly because he felt so much anxiety in relation to all issues medical. <br /><br />Grow or die, right? OK, fine! I pick growth. The landscape of Pumplandia, as a blog and as my way of living, is changing. I’m starting to meet D-bloggers in person for the first time. Those folks already know the online me, and soon they’ll know the “real” me as well. I’m also sharing my blog with a small number of other people, some new to me and some not at all new, for the sake of openness and authenticity. <br /><br />With these shifts and the many other changes in my life, I no longer want Pumplandia to be so compartmentalized. I’m remaining anonymous, and diabetes will always be a major focus here. But I’ll no longer limit my posts to issues relating to health. As in my recent posts, a lot more of the Whole Violet will appear. I’m a little freaked out about this--who gives a rip about your weird-ass life, says an evil, simpering little voice in my brain--but I’m mainly looking forward to sharing more of myself with the kind and brilliant OC, in all its richness and variety. Thanks for reading this far. You guys are helping me stay sane.Violethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192589162857921119noreply@blogger.com7