9th Diaversary

Nine years ago today was the last day of my pre-diabetes life.

The day before the day everything changed.

I knew I was sick.  I knew something was terribly wrong.  Hallowe'en 2002 was the last day of my life without diabetes.

It's too bad that I was feeling too poorly to appreciate it.

The next morning, November 1st, I had an appointment with my family doctor.  Within hours I was in intensive care.  By the time I went home a week later I had learned what a glucometer was.  I had learned how to count carbs. I had forced myself to prick my own finger and draw my own blood to check my sugar.  I had sat on the edge of the bed in my open back gown with a nurse beside me - working up the courage to give myself my first needle.  I had had my first low in the middle of the night and had to ring for the nurse because I had no idea what was happening.  All I knew was something was NOT right.

Nine years ago, I went into the hospital as Céline and came out as Céline but everything had changed.

I was now a person with diabetes.  And, trust me, that was a very very scary thing.

I remember shaking uncontrollably when we stopped at the mall on the way home.  I was terrified to go in, terrified of having a low and not knowing what would happen.  I remember having my first low after I left the hospital and trying hard to ignore it in the hopes that it would go away.  It didn't.  I cried when I realized that willpower didn't work.  I couldn't push through a low.  I had to acknowledge it, stop whatever I was doing and deal with it.

I hated that.

I still hate that.

I also remember feeling better as soon as they gave me insulin.  I was looking pretty awful by the end.  Severely dehydrated, 35 pounds lighter that I had been in June, pale and weak.  As soon as my blood sugar started dropping I felt and looked immensely better.

Insulin is NOT a cure...

...but it is a miracle.

Nine years ago today, I had severe ketoacidosis and my blood sugar was around 35.  I was dying.  Dying of a disease that was a guaranteed killer before 1921.

Thanks to Drs Banting and Best, the Canadian doctors who discovered insulin, I was handed a new life.

One that involves a lot of finger pricking, needle pokes, medical appointments, highs and lows but a new life.

Many people never have an experience that shakes their world.  I had two by the time I was 22 years old. Each time taught me some pretty important lessons.

The first time happened in 1991 and it taught me the value of family and friends.  I learned to appreciate every moment because I had learned how easily moments can disappear and lives can change.

In 2002, diabetes taught me about priorities.  It changed my life and, in return, gave me the courage I needed to change my life.

I left the path I was on and forged a new life.  Along the way, I changed everything.

It's been nine years already.  I remember how overwhelmed I felt after I had lived with diabetes for only one week.  All the carb counting.  All the meal planning.  All the highs and lows. Then a month went by.  Then a year.

It's almost been a decade.

I'm starting to forget what life was like before diabetes.  What it was like to eat what I wanted, when I wanted, without worrying about anything.  What it was like to go for a walk without pockets full of fast acting carbs just in case.  What it was like to not have calloused fingers or needles in my purse.  What it was like to travel without an entire carry-on devoted to diabetic supplies.

Some things I can only imagine.  Like what it would be like to go for a run in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt.  I started running after diabetes so I will never know what it is like to run without fear of having a low.

Other things I would never have experienced without diabetes.  I would not have started blogging.  I would not have discovered the DOC.  I would not have started running, cycling or swimming.  I would not have taken up photography.  I would not have many of the friends I have today.

My life has been immeasurably changed with my diagnosis.  Some things have changed for the worse but most have changed for the better.  Because I learned, again, what's really important.

Nothing like a life-altering event to show you what the priorities are.

Next year is ten years.  I think that calls for a party don't you?

Addicted to Chlorine

I'd like to say that Wednesday morning dawned bright and beautiful but, at the time I'm talking about, dawn was a long way off.

Despite the dark, rain and cold, I popped up ten minutes before my 5:30am alarm.  It's crazy how my body bounces out of bed on swim mornings and yet refuses to wake up on the days I get to sleep in until 6:30.  Bizarre. 

Anyway, I bounced down the stairs, down the street, through the change room and out to the pool.  

Seven lanes were set up.  Six swimmers, including me, were milling around.  

Where's the swim team?  Where is the large noisy group of boisterous teenagers? 

We asked the lifeguard.  Nope, they're not coming today.

Whaaaaat??

We looked at each other like little kids on Christmas morning.  We each get our OWN LANE! 

Best. Swim. Ever. 

I just put my head down and swam.  I felt my body move through the water.  I tried out different breathing techniques.  I thought about what my arms and legs were doing and tried to fix little things.  I swam fifty lengths without once worrying about anything.  

Even my swim cap seemed willing to behave and I would get 6 or 8 lengths in before I had to adjust things. 

It was absolutely lovely.  

When I finished the lengths and headed to the deep end to pool run, my friend Mary called out.  Céline, have you tried the new running clinic on Wednesday nights?  

Ummmm....no?

"It's awesome" yelled the lifeguard across from the pool.  "Best workout I've ever had in the water."

Really? 

Apparently on Wednesday nights there is a one hour running clinic that basically involves vigorous pool running and other activities geared for runners. 

Sounds right up my alley. 

Is it crazy that I'm actually thinking about swimming on Wednesday mornings and then going back Wednesday nights for more?  

Mary does it.  The lifeguard loves it.

Why the hell not?   

Little Miss Diagnosis

It probably sounds crazy to put it this way but I've been pretty lucky in terms of medical diagnoses during my fairly short but eventful life.

With my car accident, it took a while for the doctors to realize that there was a really big problem.  But, once they clued in, diagnosing it was a snap and figuring out what had to be done was pretty straightforward too.  I'm not saying it was easy, painless or without stress but the diagnosis part was cut and dry.

My type one diabetes diagnosis was also pretty easy to come by.  I know this doesn't happen as easily with everyone but I walked into my doctor's office, said I was insanely thirsty, had lost 30+ pounds without trying, and basically felt like death.  The nurse pricked my finger, told me I had a BG of 35 which meant nothing to me and I was in ICU and on insulin in no time.  Again, I'm not saying it was easy but it took less than a minute from describing my symptoms to figuring out what was going on.

This latest challenge is proving to be exactly that.  A challenge. The spot in my ankle that hurts is probably the size of a loonie.  Behind the ankle bone.  It seems so damn small compared to the other stuff I've been through.  Maybe I'm just used to being a medical drama queen who ends up in ICU every decade or so but I like to know what's going on.

Here are the developments from the last few days.

 Last Friday, I went to my family doctor.  I described my running injury and, bless her heart, she didn't tell me to give up running forever.  She checked me out, asked some questions and then told me that I'm doing exactly what I should be doing to heal so she doesn't want to send me for any more tests.  In fact, she said, whatever you do - don't stop running.

What?!?

I very politely told her that I would, under no circumstances, be running until my ankle felt better.  She disagreed.  I argued back and we left it there.  She was worried that I would lose my muscle fitness.  I was worried that I would do more damage because we don't really know what's wrong.  She told me to take ibuprofen for a week and keep doing what I was doing.

I left frustrated but a little reassured because she didn't seem too worried about it.

Then I saw Geoff on Tuesday and told him that I would not be going for an MRI, ultrasound or bone scan anytime soon.  He said that I should really get a bone scan asap to rule out (or rule in I guess) the possibility of a stress fracture.

What!?!?

I thought he thought I had a sprained calf muscle?

Stress fracture is a whole other ball game.  Eight weeks off minimum and a long slow healing process.

Bloddy hell.  Good thing I didn't sign up for the Ottawa marathon in a fit of passion yesterday.

So Geoff and I talked about how to get me a proper diagnosis and he recommended that I call a local sports injury doctor who could prescribe a bone scan.  And yes, I did wonder why I was being told about this doctor five weeks after my injury occurred.  But I guess we were working on the assumption that I had a sprain which didn't really require a major intervention.  I called and, lo and behold, I'm in on Friday morning at 8:30am.  

Yep, this Friday, as in tomorrow.

So we'll see what this Dr. Prince says about everything.

Easy Versus Hard

Three more weeks until I can run.

Hopefully.

Once I can run I have to ease back into it by running one minute and walking one minute - repeat ten times.  

If it feels ok, I build up from there.  If it doesn't, I take more time off. 

Best case scenario is that I can run for one hour by the end of 2011. 

What do you call it when I can't run, won't be running for a while and yet am trying to decide which spring marathon to train for?  

Optimism...

...craziness? 

I'm not signing up for anything just yet but it does help to think positive thoughts. Make plans. Have something shimmering far off on the horizon to look forward to. 

What is it about running?  

Now that I've discovered cycling and swimming, I am very very aware of how much pounding running puts on the body.  Cycling and swimming don't hurt.  Sure, I could get repetitive motion injuries in my shoulders after months of swimming but right now I don't feel anything after a workout other than refreshed. 

I don't have to ice my shoulders or my legs.  I don't have to stretch for an hour or take ibuprofen to keep the pain in check.  

I just do the workout, shower and get on with my day. 

And yet when I'm cycling or swimming, I'm thinking about running.  

I want to run.  

Why?  Why do I want to pound my body so hard?  Why do I want to do something that is so difficult?  That takes so much time?  That requires massage and chiropractic treatments, icing and stretching just to keep going? That makes my blood sugar go crazy?  

Swimming = easy on the BGs, easy on the body, easy on the pocketbook.

Running = the opposite of swimming. 

I love them both very much.  But if I were forced to choose, I'd pick my running shoes, my shuffle and the open road. 

No question. 

Like a Fish

I LOVE SWIMMING!

I seem to have taken to it like a fish.

Perhaps it's my orca tattoo?

Or my marine biology degree?

Or the fact that I have big hands and feet that propel me through the water?   I mean really, with size 10.5 feet, who needs flippers?

I can say with 100% certainly that it's not the damn swim cap.  That thing needs a blog of its own so it can tell stories of all the things it did every day to make me crazy.  I've even got a name for the blog picked out.   What do you think of "Head Games"?

I have diligently tried all suggestions as well as a few MacGyver tricks of my own but nothing keeps it in place for more than two lengths of the pool.  One trip back and forth across the pool and my ears are uncovered and the cap has slid off my forehead and partway off the back of my head.  I have to stop and adjust every single time.  It's enough to drive me batty.

Other than my swim cap challenges, swimming is great fun and my body seems to love it.

After three weeks of swimming, I feel taller.

Does that make sense?

I'm even kinda sorta starting to like the chlorine smell.

Last week, I swam on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.  Each time, in addition to pool running, I swam 40 lengths.  Forty lengths equals one kilometre.

Yesterday morning, I swam 50.  My arms were a little floppy by the last few but I did it. Looks like 50 is this week's distance of choice.

It's so crazy how little after effects I feel when I swim.  I'm not tired. I'm not sore.  In fact, by lunch on Monday I was thinking back and wondering if I had really swum that morning at all.

Then I sniffed my hands and found the unmistakable smell of chlorine.  Yep, I swam that morning.

The weird thing is that swimming also seems to have very little effect on my blood sugar.  Some people (Lindsay and Katie I think) told me that this is how it works with some people.  I've now got to the point where, unless my blood sugar is 7.0 or below, I don't eat anything.

No carbs at all before a 60+ minute full body workout.

How is that possible?  A 30 minute run would have me dropping from 7.0 to 4.0 in no time.

Swimming has absolutely no lingering effects on my blood sugar.  There are no mid-afternoon lows.  No rebound highs.  It's like I didn't do any exercise at all.  I do not adjust my basal or bolus insulin at all either before or after a swim.

After the diabetes roller coaster that is running, not having to worry too much is quite refreshing.  I still diligently place two juice boxes at the side of the pool but I don't even check my blood sugar when I finish a swim.  I just shower, hop in the car and head home for breakfast.  How nice.

On a running note, it has been exactly three weeks today since my last run.  I am now halfway through my estimated recovery period.  I say estimated because I have to brace myself for the fact that it may take more time than that to get back out there.  That being said, it's been three weeks off and so far, so good.  I haven't lost my mind.  I haven't gained 20 pounds.  My ankle feels better all the time.  A few twinges after I spend too long on my feet (oh, like Sunday when I photographed runners for hours on end) but otherwise, it's definitely getting better.

Soon I'm going to have to figure out how to fit running into my swimming schedule.

How quickly life changes.

Niagara Falls International Marathon

This post is being posted a little later than usual but yesterday was a really busy day and there was no time to write.  It was a weekend to experience.

The Niagara Falls International Marathon was yesterday so the entire weekend seemed to revolve around a race that I was not running.  But one that I was determined to experience in whatever way I could.

First stop, the race expo on Saturday.  I wanted my damn shirt but that meant that I had to go through the entire rigamarole of clearing customs (it's an international race so they check your passport before you get your bib number) and picking up my race number.  I couldn't just sneak in, grab the shirt and sneak out.  I had to face everything.  The excitement of all the runners, the words of encouragement from all the volunteers, the endless "Are you running the marathon" questions - to which I answered 'yes' because I didn't know what else to say.  And all the jackets, hats and shirts that I was going to buy but didn't because I hadn't earned the right to...yet.

Doug went with me and we didn't get there until around noon.  I figured that, by then, most of the people I knew would have already come and gone.  Not that I don't love them, I just didn't think I could hold it together if I had to face the "I'm so sad for you" look.  As it was we had to make several detours into quiet corners so I could get the emotions back under control.

My race number would have been 244 which, for anyone who knows me, is about as perfect as it can get.  My name was spelled right but, as usual, they forgot the accent.  It's Céline!

I got my race shirt and my crazy black and neon yellow toque and we headed home.

I had texted Scully earlier to offer her a ride to the start.  I figured she'd appreciate not having to take the bus PLUS having someone counting on a ride would mean that I could not back out of going to the race if I had second thoughts.

Race morning dawned cool, crisp and beautiful. Scully, Dan and Steve met me at 7:15am and we headed off Buffalo. I had declared myself the unofficial official Runners' Edge photographer and, from 8:00am until 3:45pm, I chased runners around and tried my best to document their day....

...and live the race through them.

It was everything a good race should be.

It was fun and full of energy.

It was emotional.

It broke my heart to see people I cared for struggling.  Yet it was amazing to watch the troops rally around a struggling runner, give some words of encouragement and send them off again.

I didn't see everyone on the route but I heard the stories.  The story of Geoff who ran out to find some of the last runners and run them in, holding their hands and kicking their asses.

Angie and Alain, who planned to run together but, after 30k, knew they would have to finish it alone. Angie was running a great race and went on ahead in tears.  Alain struggled through his own tears as his body and spirit broke.  Then he put the pieces back together and finished the race on his own terms, beating down some pretty tough demons to do it.

Scully got to the start line after a nasty night fighting the diabetic gods.  She was already in trouble before the gun even went off.  She ran the entire race on her own and we saw her go through every emotion.  We saw her focused, happy, in tears and completely nauseated and exhausted.  And we screamed and cheered as she crossed the finish line - rocking her insulin pump and looking no worse for wear.

I'm so glad I went.  

Being on the route and being part of it all was cathartic. 

The moment that got me? 

When Mike rounded the last corner, saw the finish line and was overcome. 

I was proud, I was honoured to be a witness and I tried my best to capture it for him...

I shed tears of joy and of solidarity...  

...and a few for what might have been. 

Getting My Ice Legs

Curling starts next Friday.

Last January Doug convinced Janice, Chris and I that we should join the Friday night curling league.  Doug has curled for years and knows what he's doing.  We had no idea what to expect.

Not a clue.

So we signed up, had a practice and then started playing on Fridays.  We loved it.

This season, we're playing from October until April and we have recruited four more players so now we have two teams of runners curling.

Curling runners?

Whatever we are, it's fun.

Last night we went to the curling club for a quick practice - to get our ice legs back.  It's amazing how slippery the ice felt after five months off.

It's also amazing how much my quads hurt after a few minutes of sliding around.

When we started sweeping - I was overheated and shaking from exertion within minutes.

Curling is hard work folks and apparently it's going to take a few times before my body gets used to it again.

The funny thing was that I am usually struggling to get my rocks across the ice.  This time, I was struggling not to hit the other side.

Somehow my arms and legs got stronger since last spring.

Could that be from all the running?

Cycling??

Swimming?

Whatever it is, I'm going to have to learn to control it a bit or Doug's going to stop giving me the finesse shots and start giving me all the takeouts.

Good Curling folks!